at its desolate appearance; one half its proper paraphernalia
having been forgotten, and the other
half put on awry. Nan laughed till the tears ran
over her cheeks, and John was gratified at the
efficacy of his treatment; for her face had brought
a whole harvest of sunshine from the garden, and
all her cares seemed to have been lost in the windings
of the lane.

"Nan, are you in hysterics?" cried Di, appearing,
book in hand. "John, you absurd man,
what are you doing?"

"I'm helpin' the maid of all work, please
marm." And John dropped a curtsy with his
limited apron.

Di looked ruffled, for the merry words were a
covert reproach; and with her usual energy of
manner and freedom of speech she tossed "Wilhelm"
out of the window, exclaiming, irefully.--

"That's always the way; I'm never where I
ought to be, and never think of anything till it's
too late; but it's all Goethe's fault. What does
he write books full of smart 'Phillinas' and
interesting 'Meisters' for? How can I be expected
to remember that Sally's away, and people must
eat, when I'm hearing the 'Harper' and little
'Mignon?' John, how dare you come here and