"That's the talk!" exclaimed Miss Lightcap laughing. "You'll do, Mis' Keith." "Comin' so late you won't be able to raise no garden sass this year," remarked the mother; then went on to give a detailed account of what they had planted, what was growing well, and what was not, with an occasional digression to her husband, her cooking and housework, the occasional attacks of "agur" that interfered with her plans; and so on and so on--her daughter managing to slip in a word or two now and then. At length they rose to go. "How's Viny?" queried Rhoda Jane, addressing Mildred. "Quite well, I believe," replied Mildred in a freezing tone, and drawing herself up with dignity. "Tell her we come to see her too," laughed the girl, as she stepped from the door, "Good-bye. Hope you won't be ceremonious, but run in sociable any time o' day." [Illustration] Chapter Eleventh. "Zeal and duty are not slow: But on occasion's forelock watchful wait." --MILTON. "THE impudent thing!" exclaimed Mildred to her mother with a flushed and angry face; "putting us and our maid of all work on the same level! Visit her? Not I, indeed, and I do hope, mother, that neither you nor Aunt Wealthy will ever cross their threshold." "My dear, she probably did not mean it," said Mrs. Keith. "And now let us go on with our story. You have all waited quietly and politely like good children." "Gotobed Lightcap! Lightcap! Gotobed Nightcap!" sang Cyril, tumbling about on the carpet. "O Don, don't you wish you had such a pretty name?" "No, I wouldna; I just be Don." "There, dears, don't talk now; sister's going to read," said their mother. "If you don't want to be still and listen you may run out and play in the yard." "Somebody else tumin'," whispered Fan, pulling at her mother's skirts. Mildred closed again the book she had just resumed, rose and inviting the new comer to enter, handed her a chair. She was a tall, gaunt, sallow-complexioned woman of uncertain age, with yellow hair, pale watery blue eyes, and a sanctimonious expression of countenance. Her dress was almost austere in its simplicity; a dove-colored calico, cotton gloves of a little darker shade, a white muslin handkerchief crossed on her bosom, a close straw bonnet with no trimming but a skirt of plain, white ribbon and a piece of the same put straight across the top, brought down over the ears and tied under the chin. "My name is Drybread," she announced with a slight, stiff courtesy; then seating herself bolt upright on Mildred's offered chair, waited to be addressed. "Mrs. or Miss?" queried Mrs. Keith pleasantly. "Miss. And yours?" "Mrs. Keith. Allow me to introduce my aunt, Miss Stanhope, and my daughter Mildred. These little people too belong to me." "Gueth we do so?" said Don, showing a double row of pearly teeth, "cauth you're our own mamma. Ain't she, Cyril?"