Joe and Jake came forward with a half-shy delight, to welcome “Cousin Martha,” as she was called in the Fairthorn household, her mother and Sally's father having been “own” cousins. There was a cheerful fire on the hearth, and the three ladies gathered in front of it, with the work-stand in the middle, while the boys took possession of the corner-nooks. The latter claimed their share of the gossip; they knew the family histories of the neighborhood much better than their school-books, and exhibited a precocious interest in this form of knowledge. The conversation, therefore, was somewhat guarded, and the knitting and sewing all the more assiduously performed, until, with great reluctance, and after repeated commands, Joe and Jake stole off to bed. The atmosphere of the room then became infinitely more free and confidential. Sally dropped her hands in her lap, and settled herself more comfortably in her chair, while Miss Lavender, with an unobserved side-glance at her, said:-- “Mark is to put up Barton's new wagon-house, I hear, Martha.” “Yes,” Martha answered; “it is not much, but Mark, of course, is very proud of his first job. There is a better one in store, though he does not know of it.” Sally pricked up her ears. “What is it?” asked Miss Betsy. “It is not to be mentioned, you will understand. I saw Alfred Barton to-day. He seems to take quite an interest in Mark, all at once, and he told me that the Hallowells are going to build a new barn this summer. He spoke to them of Mark, and thinks the work is almost sure.” “Well, now!” Miss Betsy exclaimed, “if he gets that, after a year's journey-work, Mark is a made man. And I'll speak to Richard Rudd the next time I see him. He thinks he's beholden to me, since Sarah had the fever so bad. I don't like folks to think that, but there's times when it appears to come handy.” Sally arose, flushed and silent, and brought a plate of cakes and a basket of apples from the pantry. The work was now wholly laid aside, and the stand cleared to receive the refreshments. “Now pare your peels in one piece, girls,” Miss Betsy advised, “and then whirl 'em to find the _initials_ o' your sweethearts' names.” “You, too, Miss Betsy!” cried Sally, “we must find out the widower's name!” “The widower's name,” Miss Betsy gravely repeated, as she took a knife. With much mirth the parings were cut, slowly whirled three times around the head, and then let fly over the left shoulder. Miss Betsy's was first examined and pronounced to be an A. “Who's A?” she asked. “Alfred!” said Sally. “Now, Martha, here's yours--an S, no it's a G!” “The curl is the wrong way,” said Martha, gravely, “it's a figure 3; so, I have three of them, have I?” “And mine,” Sally continued, “is a W!” “Yes, if you look at it upside down. The inside of the peel is uppermost: you must turn it, and then it will be an M.”