For a week or more Miss Hansford kept up this style of conversation with herself, while her bones clamored more and more for Elithe. At last she made up her mind and wrote to Roger inviting Elithe to spend the summer with her, and as much longer time as she chose, if she proved the right kind of a girl, and didn’t make more trouble than her company was worth. “One thing I may as well mention now,” she wrote, “I can’t have her gadding nights to concerts and rides on the water and clambakes and the Casino and the like. She must be in by nine, or half-past at the latest, as I keep early hours. I can’t have her slat her things round everywhere. I can’t have her sing and whistle in the house. I ain’t used to it. I like to be still and meditate. I don’t want you to think she isn’t to have any privileges, for she is. I shall use her well, and I inclose money for her fare and a little more, as she may want to buy a dress or two. Let me know when to expect her.—Phebe Hansford.” “P. S.—Give my regards to Lucy and a dollar to each of the boys. I’ve allowed for that.” “There, I’ve done my duty,” Miss Hansford thought, as she posted the letter, and then rather anxiously awaited the result. CHAPTER VII. IN SAMONA. If Miss Hansford could have seen the Rectory in Samona she would hardly have likened it to bedlam. It was a small wooden structure without much architectural symmetry, but with its coat of white paint, its green blinds and its well-kept plot of ground around it, it looked very homelike and cozy, and was regarded as one of the finest houses in the little mountain town. The gate was not off the hinges, nor was there any unsightly object obtruding from a broken window, as had been the case in the Potter House in Ridgefield. Indoors there was perfect neatness and order, notwithstanding that four active boys were constantly running in and out, making a great deal of work, and care, too, for the delicate mother and Elithe, on the latter of whom the most of the burden fell. As Roger had written to his aunt, Elithe was the right hand and left hand and both hands of the family,—the one to whom he went for counsel and comfort, just as the boys went to her for help in every emergency, from the mending of a kite or ball to the mastering of a lesson hard to be learned. Between Elithe and her mother the natural relations seemed to be reversed. Elithe was the mother and Lucy the child. A very dainty, pretty child, whom her husband loved as devotedly as he had done when, in the face of bitter opposition, he had made her his wife. He had been told that she was not a helpmeet for a poor clergyman,—that she would be sickly and inefficient, and as the years went by and she proved the truth of all this he gave no sign that he knew it, and bore his lot uncomplainingly. Indeed, he was very happy in his Western home. The miners, to whom he preached every four weeks in Deep Gulch, and with