"Yes, Laura," replied the girl, coming back
with the third volume for the literay cormorant,
who took it with a nod, still too content upon
the "Confessions of a Fair Saint" to remember
the failings of a certain plain sinner.

"Don't forget the Italian cream for dinner. I
depend upon it; for it's the only thing fit for me
this hot weather."

And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds
of her white gown more gracefully about her, and
touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she was
drawing.

"Little daughter!"

"Yes, father."

"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my
bag, for I must go at once; and some of you bring
me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."

The old man went away into his imaginary
paradise, and Nan into that domestic purgatory
on a summer day, -- the kitchen. There were
vines about the windows, sunshine on the floor,
and order everywhere; but it was haunted by a
cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied