"It's no use to contend against the Fates," said Mrs. Whitney, laughing,
"Mrs. Pepper, you and I know that."

"That's so," cried old Mr. King, "and whoever finds it out early in
life, is the lucky one. Now, children, off with you and talk it over,"
he cried, dismissing them as if they were all below their teens. "I want
to talk with Mrs. Pepper now."

And in two days they were ready to go. Mrs. Chatterton with nose high in
the air, and plentiful expressions of disgust at such a mid-winter
expedition, taking herself off to make a visit of corresponding length
to some distant relatives.

"I hope and pray this may not get into a society paper," she cried at
the last, as she was seated in the carriage, "but of course it will;
outre things always do. And we shall be disgraced for life. One comfort
remains to me, I am not in it."

Mr. King, holding the carriage door, laughed long and loudly. "No,
Cousin Eunice," he said, "you are not in it. Take comfort in that
thought. Good-by," and the carriage rolled off.

Mother Pepper and the five little Peppers were going back to the little
brown house. "Really and truly we are," as Phronsie kept saying over and
over again with every revolution of the car-wheels, in a crooning
fashion, and making it impossible for Mr. King to shiver in apprehension
at the step he was taking. Were not two cases of blankets and household
comforts safely packed away in the luggage car? "It's not such a
dreadful risk," said the old gentleman gruffly to himself, "it's quite a