"Oh! ain't this be-yoo-ti-ful! What a wonderful change from the old side of this house! I declare, I should think Mr. Minot would be thankful enough for this addition to his house." "Oh! I am the one to be thankful," said Clara, "he was so kind as to build it for me." "Oh! he built it, hey; with his own money, did he?" "Certainly, he never would use any other person's. Cousin Minot in a very nice man." "Is he your cousin?" said Jane in astonishment. "Why, of course he is. Did you not know of it?" "Never heard of it before." "What are you knitting?" said Clara. "Stockings," was the monosyllabled reply. "Did you ever knit silk?" "Shouldn't think I did. I ain't grand enough to afford that." "You could, though, I know," said Clara. "Why, I dunno,--praps so." Jane North was foiled, and she succumbed as gracefully as she could, although awkwardly enough; but Clara went on: "I have some beautiful silk thread, I have had it for years. My grandfather's people, over in France, were silk weavers. It is through my mother that I am related to Mr. Minot; my father's people were French," she said, noticing an incredulous look in the eyes of Jane. "I have a lot of silk in thread and floss: I'll get the box and show it to you," and she did. My own curiosity led me into the room--I had stood back of the door all this time--and the silk was beautiful; rich dark shades and fancy colors mingled, and a quantity of it too. Although kept so long, it was strong, having been of such fine material. "Sakes alive! I should be scar't to death to own all that," said Jane. "Well," said Clara, "if you will show me how to knit some for myself, I will be willing to scare you a little. I would like to give you enough to make a pair or two of stockings for yourself. Chose your own colors," and she emptied the contents of the box on the lounge at her side. "You don't mean it, Mis' De-mond." "Certainly I do, take any shade you prefer, and if Emily has needles, we will go right to work on our cutting." The right string was touched, the cutting started, and when Jane North left us, she whispered to me: "I like that woman, and I don't care whether she is a Baptist, or what she is, she's a lady." Those stockings averted much, for her head was full of wonder talk. I reminded Clara of the indignation she felt at her expressions, when she first saw her, and told her I did not suppose she ever would desire to look at her again.