and a few years younger than she really was. Some of the neighbors who enjoyed her outfit, and the remarks she made concerning it, suggested a round hat as a fitting accompaniment to her suit, but this Aunt Jerry repelled with disdain, hoping she was not such a fool as to put her old snuff-colored face under a round hat, not she. She had a nice velvet bonnet, for which she paid the ’bominable price of fifteen dollars; she should wear that, and her thread-lace veil; and she looked so nice and stylish that Edna, who was waiting for her at the station, did not recognize her at first, and looked twice at the fashionably dressed woman, holding so fast to her check, which the hackman was trying to get from her. “Why, auntie,” she cried, when the turn of the velvet bonnet showed her Miss Pepper’s face, “how pretty, and young you look. I did not know you at first.” “Fine feathers make fine birds,” was Aunt Jerry’s reply; but she did not seem ill-pleased with her niece’s compliment as she followed on to the little pony-carriage waiting for her, and which Edna had driven down herself. “Is this his,—Mr. Overton’s, I mean?” Aunt Jerry asked, in some surprise; for Edna’s account of Bobtail and the square-backed buggy did not quite tally with this stylish turnout. Edna explained, blushingly, that the establishment was her own,—a gift from Roy, who had driven it up to Rocky Point two weeks before, and left it for her use while she was there. “Love in the tub, just now; but wait till by and by,” Aunt Jerry said; but Edna had no fears of the by and by; and her face was radiant with happiness as she drove her aunt through the main street of Rocky Point, in the direction of Uncle Phil’s. “That is the place,” she said, as they turned the corner which brought the old farm-house in view. “Uncle Phil talks of building a new house in the spring,—a Gothic cottage,—only, he says if he does, there is nobody to live in it but himself and Aunt Becky.” “The nigger, you mean,” Aunt Jerry said, rather crisply; and, as one of the ponies shied a little just then, Edna said no more of the Gothic cottage, but gave her attention to her horses, until they drew up before the unpretentious building, which Aunt Jerry eyed sharply, keeping her veil closely drawn over her face, and feeling a decided trembling in her knees, as she walked through the gate and up to the front door, where she intended waiting till Edna could tie her ponies, and was ready to usher her in. But,—greatly to her surprise,—the door swung open, seemingly by itself,—for she saw no living being; only a voice, which came from behind the door, and sounded a little smothered, said to her: “Walk in, Jerry, and make yourself at home.” Then she walked in; and, as the owner of the voice emerged into view, and offered her his hand, she said: “How do you do, Philip?” as naturally as if it had been yesterday they parted, instead of thirty years before.