were fairly gone, I harnessed old Fan to the phaeton, and set out to
visit every one of the girls with an invitation to tea the very next
evening. I did put my head into grandmamma's chamber to tell her what I
thought of doing, but the dear old lady was asleep in her easy-chair,
her knitting lying in her lap, and I knew she did not wish to be
disturbed. I closed the door softly and flew down stairs.

Just as I was ready to start, Aunt Hetty came to the kitchen door,
calling me, persuasively: "Miss Milly, honey, what yo' done mean to hab
for dinner?"

"Oh, anything you please, aunty," I called back, gathering up the reins,
chirping to Fan, and taking the road to the Curtis girls' house.
Certainly I had no time to spend consulting with Aunt Hetty.

Mother knew me better than father did. I found out later that this
wasn't at all a proper way to keep house, giving no orders, and leaving
things to the discretion, of the cook. But I hadn't really begun yet,
and I was wild to get the girls together.

Bloomdale is a sort of scattered up-hill and down-dale place, with one
long and broad street running through the centre of the village, and
houses standing far apart from each other, and well back from the
pavement in the middle of the green lawns, swept into shadow by grand
old trees. The Bloomdale people are proud of the town, and keep the
gardens beautiful with flowers and free from weeds. Life in Bloomdale
would be perfectly delightful, all the grown-up people say, if it were
not for the everlasting trouble about servants, who are forever changing
their places and going away, and complaining that the town is dull, and
their church too distant, and life inconvenient; and so every one envies