There were a dozen tea-spoons, half a dozen table-spoons, and the same number of forks and silver knives. A silver teapot, cream-pitcher and sugar-bowl of colonial design crowned the show. Every article except the knives was engraved with an F. upon which Captain Salter gazed with admiration. The good soul could not even begrudge Mrs. Pogram’s presence at the unveiling of so much splendor; for the raven more nearly resembled a lark now, in her chirps and cries of joy. Hiram held his wife in an embrace while they stood looking upon the array. “You want to bring the burglars down on me, that’s what you want, Betsy.” “Oh, it’s too handsome, too handsome!” Betsy was murmuring. “Mr. Irving hadn’t ought to spent so much money!” She held the card against her breast. “I hain’t a particle of objection,” said Hiram jovially. “Would _you_ have, Mrs. Pogram?” The latter was eyeing the tea-set. “It’s lots like mine,” she answered, with recovered recollection of the Brown-Pogram estate. “I’m just bound and determined Loomis’s wife shan’t have my tea-set!” “We can’t do anything but eat, to do justice to it, Betsy,” went on Hiram. And she turned her head and buried her face on his breast, while he kept his arms around her. Mrs. Pogram began to be inspired with the idea that perhaps the pair would not mind being left alone for a little while. “Betsy’s kind o’ worked up,” she said leniently, to Hiram. “She set so much store by Irvin’. I’ll just go on, and see her some other time.” Some of Mercury’s fleetness was lent to the visitor’s heavy sandals as she considered the number of neighbors she could see on her way home; and before bed-time that night, it was known in Fairport that the Bruce family had given to Captain Salter’s bride a complete dinner-service of solid silver, a watch studded with diamonds, and Oriental rugs for every room in the cottage! CHAPTER XXVIII GOOD-BY, SUMMER ONE errand which Irving Bruce performed in Boston besides buying Betsy’s wedding present, was to seek out a poor relation of his step-mother’s in her suburban home, and carry her back with him to Fairport. He wired: “Miss Frost is returning with me.” And such was Mrs. Bruce’s loneliness, and worry, and desire to hide from her friends, that never did poor relation receive a more cordial welcome. Miss Frost, a bird-like little person with a high apologetic voice, was bewildered with joyful excitement.