“Isn’t it nice? Aren’t you glad you came?” asked Sophie, as she led her friends into the parlor, which she had redeemed from its primness by putting bright chintz curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the old portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table, and a splendid fire on the wide hearth. “It is perfectly jolly, and this is the way I begin to enjoy myself,” answered Emily, sitting down upon the home-made rug, whose red flannel roses bloomed in a blue list basket. “If I may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it will be quite perfect. Won’t Samson join me?” asked Randal, waiting for permission, cigar-case in hand. “He has no small vices, but you may indulge yours,” answered Sophie, from the depths of a grandmotherly chair. Emily glanced up at her friend as if she caught a new tone in her voice, then turned to the fire again with a wise little nod, as if confiding some secret to the reflection of herself in the bright brass andiron. “His Delilah does not take this form. I wait with interest to discover if he has one. What a daisy the sister is. Does she ever speak?” asked Randal, trying to lounge on the haircloth sofa, where he was slipping uncomfortably about. “Oh yes, and sings like a bird. You shall hear her when she gets over her shyness. But no trifling, mind you, for it is a jealously guarded daisy and not to be picked by any idle hand,” said Sophie warningly, as she recalled Ruth’s blushes and Randal’s compliments at dinner. “I should expect to be annihilated by the big brother if I attempted any but the ‘sincerest’ admiration and respect. Have no fears on that score, but tell us what is to follow this superb dinner. An apple bee, spinning match, husking party, or primitive pastime of some sort, I have no doubt.” “As you are new to our ways I am going to let you rest this evening. We will sit about the fire and tell stories. Aunt is a master hand at that, and Saul has reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing if we can only get him to tell them.” “Ah, he was there, was he?” “Yes, all through it, and is Major Basset, though he likes his plain name best. He fought splendidly and had several wounds, though only a mere boy when he earned his scars and bars. I’m very proud of him for that,” and Sophie looked so as she glanced at the photograph of a stripling in uniform set in the place of honor on the high mantel-piece. “We must stir him up and hear these martial memories. I want some new incidents, and shall book all I can get, if I may.” Here Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who came in with an armful of wood for the fire. “Anything more I can do for you, cousin?” he asked, surveying the scene with a rather wistful look. “Only come and sit with us and talk over war times with Mr. Randal.” “When I’ve foddered the cattle and done my chores I’d be pleased to. What regiment were you in?” asked Saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly,—