More precious than any doll could be, rises in my memory the majestic form of Pistachio. It was Flossy, ever fertile in invention, who discovered the true worth of Pistachio, and taught us to regard with awe and reverence this object of her affection. Pistachio was an oval mahogany footstool, covered with green cloth of the color of the nut whose name he bore. I have the impression that he had lost a leg, but am not positive on this point. He was considered an invalid, and every morning he was put in the baby-carriage and taken in solemn procession down to the brook for his morning bath. One child held a parasol over his sacred head (only he had no head!), two more propelled the carriage, while the other two went before as outriders. No mirth was allowed on this occasion, the solemnity of which was deeply impressed on us. Arrived at the brook, Pistachio was lifted from the carriage by his chief officer, Flossy herself, and set carefully down on the flat stone beside the brook. His sacred legs were dipped one by one into the clear water, and dried with a towel. Happy was the child who was allowed to perform this function! After the bath, he was walked gently up and down, and rubbed, to assist the circulation; then he was put back in his carriage, and the procession started for home again, with the same gravity and decorum as before. The younger children felt sure there was some mystery about Pistachio. I cannot feel sure, even now, that he was nothing more than an ordinary oval cricket; but his secret, whatever it was, has perished with him. I perceive that I have said little or nothing thus far about Harry; yet he was a very important member of the family. The only boy: and such a boy! He was by nature a Very Imp, such as has been described by Mr. Stockton in one of his delightful stories. Not two years old was he when he began to pull the tails of all the little dogs he met,--a habit which he long maintained. The love of mischief was deeply rooted in him. It was not safe to put him in the closet for misbehavior; for he cut off the pockets of the dresses hanging there, and snipped the fringe off his teacher’s best shawl. Yet he was a sweet and affectionate child, with a tender heart and sensitive withal. When about four years old, he had the habit of summoning our father to breakfast; and, not being able to say the word, would announce, “Brescott is ready!” This excited mirth among the other children, which he never could endure; accordingly, one morning he appeared at the door of the dressing-room and said solemnly, “Papa, your food is prepared!”