Grandfather Holabird--old Mr. Rufus,--I don't say whether he was my grandfather or not, for it doesn't matter which Holabird tells this story, or whether it is a Holabird at all--bought land here ever so many years ago, and built a large, plain, roomy house; and here the boys grew up,--Roderick and Rufus and Stephen and John. Roderick went into the manufactory with his father,--who had himself come up from being a workman to being owner,--and learned the business, and made money, and married a Miss Bragdowne from C----, and lived on at home. Rufus married and went away, and died when he was yet a young man. His wife went home to her family, and there were no little children. John lives in New York, and has two sons and three daughters. There are of us--Stephen Holabird's family--just six. Stephen and his wife, Rosamond and Barbara and little Stephen and Ruth. Ruth is Mrs. Holabird's niece, and Mr. Holabird's second cousin; for two cousins married two sisters. She came here when she had neither father nor mother left. They thought it queer up at the other house; because "Stephen had never managed to have any too much for his own"; but of course, being the wife's niece, they never thought of interfering, on the mere claim of the common cousinship. Ruth Holabird is a quiet little body, but she has her own particular ways too. There is one thing different in our house from most others. We are all known by our straight names. I say _known_; because we do have little pet ways of calling, among ourselves,--sometimes one way and sometimes another; but we don't let these get out of doors much. Mr. Holabird doesn't like it. So though up stairs, over our sewing, or our bed-making, or our dressing, we shorten or sweeten, or make a little fun,--though Rose of the world gets translated, if she looks or behaves rather specially nice, or stays at the glass trying to do the first,--or Barbara gets only "Barb" when she is sharper than common, or Stephen is "Steve" when he's a dear, and "Stiff" when he's obstinate,--we always _introduce_ "my daughter Rosamond," or "my sister Barbara," or,--but Ruth of course never gets nicknamed, because nothing could be easier or pleasanter than just "Ruth,"--and Stephen is plain strong Stephen, because he is a boy and is expected to be a man some time. Nobody writes to us, or speaks of us, except as we were christened. This is only rather a pity for Rosamond. Rose Holabird is such a pretty name. "But it will keep," her mother tells her. "She wouldn't want to be everybody's Rose." Our moving to Westover was a great time. That was because we had to move the house; which is what everybody does not do who moves into a house by any means.