hat down the well, which, for fear of its spoiling the water, they spent
a great deal of time in fishing up--I fell from the mow, but fortunately
sustained no injury; and Sylvia one day caught me skimming off the
cream--an amusement which I considered very innocent, but she speedily
undeceived me.




CHAPTER XII.

Two or three weeks passed on very pleasantly, and I began to think it
time to write a letter home. I had made but little progress in the art,
and letter-writing always appeared to me a great undertaking; but Aunt
Henshaw, having one afternoon provided me with pen, ink, and paper, and
elevated me nicely with the large Bible and my "Pilgrim's Progress," I
sat biting the end of my quill, and pondering over some form of
commencement. I had already written "dear mother" at the top; at length
I added after considerable reflection:

"I am well, and hope that you are the same. It is very pleasant here. No
more at present from

Your affectionate Daughter,

AMY."

Aunt Henshaw pronounced this "very well--what was of it;" and Cousin
Statia smiled, though I could not well why; but her smiles were so few
and far between that they always set me a wondering. The letter was