"Here lies dear old Major. He was a good horse when he was young. But people were not kind to him when he was old. We made him as happy as we could. He loved us, and we mourn for him. Amen." Ned's knowledge of epitaphs was very slight, so he asked mamma if this one would do; and she answered warmly,-- "It is a very good one; for it has what many lack,--the merit of being true. Put it up, dear, and I'll make a wreath to hang on the gravestone." Much gratified, Ned planted the board at the head of the grave, Posy gathered the brightest leaves, and mamma made a lovely garland in which to frame the "eppytap." Then they left old Major to his rest, feeling sure that somewhere there must be a lower heaven for the souls of brave and faithful animals when their unrewarded work is done. Many children went to see that lonely grave, but not one of them disturbed a leaf, or laughed at the little epitaph that preached them a sermon from the text,-- "Blessed are the merciful." VI. WHAT THE GIRLS DID. "I'm so disappointed that I can't go; but papa says he can't afford it this summer. You know we lost a good deal by the great fire, so we must all give up something;" and Nelly gave a sigh, as if her sacrifice was not an easy one. "I'm sorry, too, for I depend on hearing all about your adventures every summer. It is almost as good as going myself. What a pity Newport is such an expensive place," answered Kitty Fisher, Nelly's bosom friend. "I dare say papa could manage to let me go for a week or so; but my outfit would cost so much I dare not ask him. One must dress there, you know, and I haven't had a new thing this summer," said Nelly. "I'm sure your old things as you call them, are nice enough for any place. I should think I was made, if I had such a lovely wardrobe;" and Kitty's eye roved round the pretty room where several gowns and hats were strewn as if for a survey. "Ah, my dear, you don't know how quickly fashionable women spy out make-shifts, and despise you for them. All the girls I should meet at Newport would remember those clothes and I shouldn't enjoy myself a bit. No, I must stay at home, or slip away to Aunt Becky's, up in New Hampshire, where no one minds your clothes, and the plainer they are the better. It is as dull as tombs up there, and I long for the sea, so it seems as if I _couldn't_ give up my trip." "Why not go to a cheaper place?" asked Kitty, adding, with sudden excitement, "Now look here! This is just the thing, and I can go too, so you won't be lonely. "Mary Nelson wrote me the other day, begging I'd come down to Oceana, and stay with her. It's a nice, quiet place, with a beach all to ourselves, lighthouse, rocks, fishing, boats, and all sorts of agreeable things. Not a bit fashionable, and every one wears old clothes and enjoys him or her self in a sensible way." "What's board there?" "Ten a week, with bath-house, boats, and an old carriage thrown in." "Who is there?"