The next day promised to be long to Mell, but before the old tall clock in the corner tolled out the hour of ten, something happened which gave to its every moment a pair of golden wings. Miss Josey Martlett, one of those ancient angels who personate youth, who endeavor to assimilate facial statistics and unfledged manners, who are interested in everything under the sun except their own business, came driving up to old man Creecy's farm. Under this lady's auspices it had been, and through her material assistance, that the sprightly little country girl had been mercifully snatched out of regions of ignorance and darkness, and maintained for a number of years at a famous boarding-school, where, among other things, she had been taught to worship the beautiful in all its forms, to cultivate the refined in all its processes, and to execrate the common and the ugly in all its manifestations. A defective curriculum--for what is more common than human frailty; what uglier than, oftentimes, duty? Let us hasten to concede that old man Creecy has some show of reason on his side. Not all education educates. The best may furnish us with feet and hands, eyes and wings, trained members, fit implements, shields, anchorage, strongholds, and stepping-stones; but also hiding-places, weak spots, loopholes, clogs, and stumbling-blocks. "I would stay, but I can't," protested Miss Josey, as Mell insisted upon her taking off her hat and sitting down in the most comfortable rocker in the house, while she herself sat beside her and toyed with the visitor's hand, and fanned away the heat; and then ran for a glass of fresh buttermilk, and brought in some red peaches and blue grapes on an outlandish little Jap waiter in all colors, "just too 'cute for anything." Miss Josey was Mell's only connecting link with the country "quality," and hence appreciated in due proportion to her importance. "I declare, Mell, you spoil me to death," simpered Miss Josey, "and nothing else in life is half so nice as being spoiled to death. But I must eat and run--must, really--I'm just so busy I hardly know which way to turn. I want you to go to a picnic with me to-morrow." "A picnic!" Mell's heart got into her throat at one single bound, and stuck there. Jerome had said something about a picnic. "What picnic, Miss Josey?" "The Grange picnic. I'm one of the lady managers, as perhaps you know, and I want you to help me with the tables. Mrs. Rutland cannot go, and there are so few to be depended on." "You can depend on me," said Mell; "I will go with you gladly--gladly spend and be spent for you, who have been always so kind to me." Hadn't she, though? But this was the crowning act of all Miss Josey's kindness. At this picnic she would see Jerome, and, who knows, perhaps find out his difficulties!