Miss Betsey trotted along the platform by her nephew's side, quite unconscious of the tumult she was raising in the breast of her grandniece. She was dressed in a short, scant velveteen gown that might have belonged to her grandmother, and a large bonnet of the same date, from which hung a figured lace veil. A gay shawl was folded about her slender shoulders, and Mr. Franklin carried her carpet-bag with the silver lock and key. She waved a welcome to Edith with a mittened hand, and Edith, recovering herself, nodded in response. "How do you do, Aunt Betsey?" she said. "What a surprise!" "Yes, my dear, I like to surprise you now and then. I came up to Boston town on business, and your father insisted upon my coming out to see you all. In fact, I knew he would, so I just popped my best cap and my knitting into my bag, along with some little things for you children, and here I am." And she stepped nimbly into the buggy, followed by Mr. Franklin. "We shall be a 'Marblehead couple,'" he said, as he balanced himself on the edge of the seat and took the reins. Edith detested "marblehead couples"--otherwise, driving three on a seat--and she hid herself as much as possible in her corner, and hoped that people would not know she was there. Miss Betsey chatted away with her nephew, and in time the three miles were covered, and they turned into the Oakleigh drive. Edith had recovered somewhat by this time, having been engaged in scolding herself all the way from the village for her uncordial feelings. She was even able to tell her aunt with perfect sincerity that she was glad she had come. After all, the old lady was a dear old soul, and devoted to her nephew and his children. The others welcomed her most cordially. Aunt Betsey's carpet-bag always contained some rare treat for the little ones; and, besides, they were a hospitable family. "But come with me, girls," said Miss Betsey, mysteriously, when she had bestowed her gifts; "there is something I want to consult you about." She trotted up the long flight of stairs to her accustomed room with the springiness of a young girl, Edith and Cynthia following her. She closed the door behind them, and seating herself in the rocking-chair, looked at them solemnly. "Do you remark anything different about my appearance?" "Why, of course, Aunt Betsey!" exclaimed Cynthia. "Your hair." "Well, I want to know! Cynthy, you are very smart! You get it from your great-grandmother Trinkett, for whom you were named. Well, what do you think of it?" Edith had hastened to the closet, and was opening drawers and removing garments from the hooks in, apparently, a sudden desire for neatness. In reality she was convulsed with laughter. Cynthia controlled herself, and replied, with gravity: "Did it grow there?" Miss Betsey rocked with satisfaction, her hands folded in her velveteen lap.