“Yes,” said Hiram, “seems if some special dispensation o’ common sense had been given Betsy, for our benefit, Rosalie. I’ll have ye know I keep an asylum. Never know any day I come home to dinner who I’ll find here. They get _their_ Thanksgivin’ three hundred and sixty-four days a year. I maintain we deserve the sixty-fifth.” “Don’t be such a goose, Hiram,” laughed his wife. “This is all ’cause Mrs. Pogram wanted to see you to-day, Rosalie. I told her you were comin’ for the whole Christmas vacation, and she should see you then.” During dinner Rosalie told many things about the school and her work, and afterward the trio sat around an open fire while the first snow of the season flung its stars upon the window-panes. “Do you hear from any o’ the Boston folks?” asked Betsy. “Yes, I have, once or twice. I must show you some pictures I brought. They’re in my suit-case.” Rosalie ran upstairs to the cold little white room. “Do you know, Betsy,” said Hiram, as he sat in a corner where the smoke from his pipe curled up the chimney with that of the blazing logs, “do you know I used to think last summer Irvin’ Bruce was as set on Rosalie as I am on you. I minded my own business, but I wasn’t blind; and b’gosh I was surprised that he let her teach school this winter. D’ye s’pose she could ’a’ given him the mitten?” “No, I don’t, Hiram. Pshaw! You know how young men tag after a pretty girl who can sing and dance and cut up and amuse ’em. When it comes to marryin’, folks like the Bruces want some one in their own set. Mr. Irving—” “Here they are,” said Rosalie, returning. “Irving Bruce had some of our kodaks enlarged. He said I might keep these, so I brought them. I knew Captain Salter would like to see himself as others see him.” The Clever Betsy was indeed immortalized. There were pictures of her exterior and interior; and her captain held his pipe in his hand as he looked upon the excellent likenesses of himself and his passengers. Gay, smiling pictures they were, except for his own dark countenance; and in each photograph in which Irving Bruce appeared, he was next to Rosalie. The captain gave his wife a look of which she was conscious, but which she refused to receive. “Set be hanged,” he muttered to himself. “What?” asked Rosalie. “Aren’t they good? I’m going to leave one of them with you and Betsy. Now, choose.” “This one, then!” returned the captain. In it Rosalie had one knee on the seat. Her wavy hair was flying in a halo, and she was laughing. Close behind her was Irving Bruce. He was standing, his arm outstretched in some gesture. “That isn’t _my_ choice,” said Betsy. “I’d rather have this.” She picked up a photograph of the Clever Betsy under full sail. Gallantly she was breasting a high sea. “Why in the world!” objected Hiram; and she caught his eyes with an expression he seldom saw. “Don’t you want the children?” he began. She smiled a little. “I’ve no objection to the children,” she answered, “but I want—the boat.”