After he had viewed himself in the mirror, dressed in his new suit, he ran to his best comforter, his mother, and said, with a quivering lip,-- "Isn't I _most_ white, mamma?" His mother caught him to her breast and hugged him, brown fur hat and all, and told him he mustn't mind Steenie's jokes; he was not an Indian, and Molly Molasses--the squaw who came around with baskets to sell--would never carry him off. He was three years old at this time, and so full of high spirits and health, that he was rather a troublesome child to manage. Mrs. Parlin sometimes remarked, with a sigh and a smile,-- "I don't know what I _shall_ do with our Willy!" If she had said, "I don't know what I should do without him," it would have been nearer the truth; for never did mother dote more on a child. He was the youngest, and two little children next older--a son and a daughter--had been called to their heavenly home before he was born. People said Mrs. Parlin was in a fair way to spoil Willy, and her husband was so afraid of it, that he felt it his duty to be very stern with the boy. Seth, the oldest son, helped his father in this, and seemed to be constantly watching to see what Willy would do that was wrong. Stephen, two years younger than Seth, was not so severe, and hardly ever scolded, but had a very "hectoring disposition," and loved dearly to tease his little brother. Love, the only sister, and the eldest of the family, was almost as soothing and affectionate to Willy as Mrs. Parlin herself. She was tall, fair, and slender, like a lily, and you could hardly believe it possible that she would ever grow to be such a very large woman as her mother, or that Mrs. Parlin had once been thin and delicate, like Love. There was another, besides these two, who petted Willy; and that was "Liddy," the housemaid. Lydia was a Quaker woman, and every "First Day" and "Fifth Day"--that is, Sunday and Thursday--she went off to a meeting, which was held over the river, three miles away, in a yellow "meeting-house" without any steeple. It was not always convenient to spare Lydia on "Fifth Day," for, Mr. Parlin kept a country hotel, or, as it was called in those days, a "tavern," and there was plenty of work to be done; but no matter how much company came, "Liddy" would leave her pies half rolled out on the board, or her goose half stuffed, and walk off to the Quaker settlement to meeting. But when she came back, she went steadily to work again, and was such a good, honest, pious woman, that nobody thought of finding any fault with her. She was all the "regular help" Mrs. Parlin had; but Mrs. Knowles did the washing, and often Siller Noonin came in to help Lydia with an extra baking. Caleb Cushing--or, as the country people called him, "Kellup"--was the man of all work, who took care of the sheep and cattle, and must always be ready to "put up" the horses of any traveller who happened to stop at the house.