for the big kitchen, though as neat as wax, had nothing lovely in it,
except a red geranium blooming at the window. Nor were the
people all that could be desired, in some respects, as they sat about
the table shovelling in pork and beans with their knives, drinking
tea from their saucers, and laughing out with a hearty "Haw, haw,"
when anything amused them. Yet the boys were handsome, strong
specimens, the farmer a hale, benevolent-looking man, the
housewife a pleasant, sharp-eyed matron, who seemed to find
comfort in looking often at the bright face at her elbow, with the
broad forehead, clear eyes, sweet mouth, and quiet voice that came
like music in among the loud masculine ones, or the quick,
nervous tones of a woman always in a hurry.

Merry's face was so thoughtful that evening that her father
observed it, for, when at home, he watched her as one watches a
kitten, glad to see anything so pretty, young, and happy, at its play.

"Little daughter has got something on her mind, I mistrust. Come
and tell father all about it," he said, with a sounding slap on his
broad knee as he turned his chair from the table to the ugly stove,
where three pairs of wet boots steamed underneath, and a great
kettle of cider apple-sauce simmered above.

"When I've helped clear up, I'll come and talk. Now, mother, you
sit down and rest; Roxy and I can do everything," answered Merry,
patting the old rocking-chair so invitingly that the tired woman
could not resist, especially as watching the kettle gave her an
excuse for obeying.

"Well, I don't care if I do, for I've been on my feet since five