“Very noisy,” she said, half laughingly. “I fear they will annoy you; it is so quiet at your house, and there is so much confusion here.” I said, “Oh! not at all,” not knowing what other reply to make. “My uncle Lytle”--I pricked up my ears at this, as her pronunciation of her uncle’s name was different from that given it by his neighbors--“my uncle Lytle is trying to bring them up in town fashion here in the country, and they are seldom allowed to go out of doors, so that they can’t be blamed for being rude and bad. All of them except the baby would be out at the stables with Big Adam if they were given the opportunity, but their father’s orders are to keep them away from the stables, and in the house. So we make the best of them.” Just then they all came tearing out into the hall above to the stair rail, and I knew they were peeping over; but some one came out hurriedly after them, and, driving them all back into the room again, shut the door with a bang. “They are anxious to see you,” Agnes said, smiling. “They have the greatest curiosity imaginable. There will be no peace until they are allowed to look at you.” Feeling that I was an intruder in the house, for some reason, I suggested that she let them come down, promising I would amuse them as best I could. She thought a moment, and then, excusing herself, went out. After a long time I heard her coming back with them. Six of them rushed into the room ahead of her, and, taking up a position behind the chairs, looked at me curiously. The other two she carried in her arms, one of them being an infant not more than four or five months old.