Pretty in her person and pleasant in her ways, endowed with native self-possession and address, lively and chatty, having a mind and a will of her own, yet good-humored withal, Miss Grace was a universal favorite. It would have puzzled a city lady to understand how Grace, who never was out of Newbury in her life, knew the way to speak, and act, and behave, on all occasions, exactly as if she had been taught how. She was just one of those wild flowers which you may sometimes see waving its little head in the woods, and looking so civilized and garden-like, that you wonder if it really did come up and grow there by nature. She was an adept in all household concerns, and there was something amazingly pretty in her energetic way of bustling about, and "putting things to rights." Like most Yankee damsels, she had a longing after the tree of knowledge, and, having exhausted the literary fountains of a district school, she fell to reading whatsoever came in her way. True, she had but little to read; but what she perused she had her own thoughts upon, so that a person of information, in talking with her, would feel a constant wondering pleasure to find that she had so much more to say of this, that, and the other thing than he expected. Uncle Lot, like every one else, felt the magical brightness of his daughter, and was delighted with her praises, as might be discerned by his often finding occasion to remark that "he didn't see why the boys need to be all the time a' comin' to see Grace, for she was nothing so extror'nary, after all." About all matters and things at home she generally had her own way, while Uncle Lot would scold and give up with a regular good grace that was quite creditable. "Father," says Grace, "I want to have a party next week." "You sha'n't go to havin' your parties, Grace. I always have to eat bits and ends a fortnight after you have one, and I won't have it so." And so Uncle Lot walked out, and Aunt Sally and Miss Grace proceeded to make the cake and pies for the party. When Uncle Lot came home, he saw a long array of pies and rows of cakes on the kitchen table. "Grace--Grace--Grace, I say! What is all this here flummery for?" "Why, it is _to eat_, father," said Grace, with a good-natured look of consciousness. Uncle Lot tried his best to look sour; but his visage began to wax comical as he looked at his merry daughter; so he said nothing, but quietly sat down to his dinner. "Father," said Grace, after dinner, "we shall want two more candlesticks next week." "Why, can't you have your party with what you've got?" "No, father, we want two more." "I can't afford it, Grace--there's no sort of use on't--and you sha'n't have any." "O, father, now do," said Grace. "I won't, neither," said Uncle Lot, as he sallied out of the house, and took the road to Comfort Scran's store. In half an hour he returned again; and fumbling in his pocket, and drawing forth a candlestick, levelled it at Grace. "There's your candlestick."