endure them. It was in one of these flashes that she ran up the
back stairs to put a vase of apple blossoms and a red tomato-
pincushion on Rebecca's bureau.
The stage rumbled to the side door of the brick house, and Mr.
Cobb handed Rebecca out like a real lady passenger. She alighted
with great circumspection, put a bunch of flowers in her aunt
Miranda's hand, and received her salute; it could hardly be
called a kiss without injuring the fair name of that commodity.
"You need n't 'a'bothered to bring flowers," remarked that
gracious and tactful lady; "the garden's always full of 'em here
when it comes time."
Jane then kissed Rebecca, giving a somewhat better imitation of
the real thing than her sister.
"Put the trunk in the entry, Jeremiah, and we'll get it carried
upstairs this afternoon," she said.
"I'll take it up for ye now, if ye say the word, girls."
"No, no; don't leave the horses; somebody'll be comin' past, and
we can call 'em in."
"Well, good-by, Rebecca; good-day, Mirandy'n'Jane. You've got a
lively little girl there. I guess she'll be a first-rate company
keeper."
Miss Sawyer shuddered openly at the adjective "lively" as applied
to a child; her belief being that though children might be seen,
if absolutely necessary, they certainly should never be heard if
she could help it. "We're not much used to noise, Jane and me,"
she remarked acidly.
Mr. Cobb saw that he had spoken indiscreetly, but he was too
unused to argument to explain himself readily, so he drove away,
trying to think by what safer word than "lively" he might have
described his interesting little passenger.