LONGHAMPTON, NEW JERSEY, June 27th.

MY DEAR MARGARET [so Nancy read],—­The climate of this seaside place suits me so badly that I have concluded to spend the rest of the summer with you, lightening those household tasks which will fall so heavily on your shoulders.

[Groans from the whole family greeted this opening passage, and Gilbert cast himself, face down, on his mother’s lounge.]

It is always foggy here when it does not rain, and the cooking is very bad.  The manager of the hotel is uncivil and the office clerks very rude, so that Beulah, unfortunate place of residence as I consider it, will be much preferable.

I hope you are getting on well with the work on the house, although I regard your treating it as if it were your own, as the height of extravagance.  You will never get back a penny you spend on it, and probably when you get it in good order Mr. Hamilton will come back from Europe and live in it himself, or take it away from you and sell it to some one else.

    Gilbert will be home by now, but I should not allow him to touch
    the woodwork, as he is too careless and unreliable.

["She’ll never forget that the bed came down with her!” exclaimed Gilbert, his voice muffled by the sofa cushions.]

    Remember me to Julia.  I hope she enjoys her food better than
    when I was with you.  Children must eat if they would grow.

[Mother Carey pricked up her ears at this point, and Gilbert raised himself on one elbow, but Nancy went on gravely.]

    Tell Kathleen to keep out of the sun, or wear a hat, as her
    complexion is not at all what it used to be.  Without color and
    with freckles she will be an unusually plain child.

[Kathleen flushed angrily and laid down her work.]

    Give my love to darling Nancy.  What a treasure you have in your
    eldest, Margaret!  I hope you are properly grateful for her.  Such
    talent, such beauty, such grace, such discretion—­

But here the family rose en masse and descended on the reader of the spurious letter just as she had turned the first page.  In the amiable scuffle that ensued, a blue slip fell from Cousin Ann’s envelope and Gilbert handed it to his mother with the letter.

Mrs. Carey, wiping the tears of merriment that came to her eyes in spite of her, so exactly had Nancy caught Cousin Ann’s epistolary style, read the real communication, which ran as follows:—­

DEAR MARGARET,—­I have had you much in mind since I left you, always with great anxiety lest your strength should fail under the unexpected strain you put upon it.  I had intended to give each of you a check for thirty-five dollars at Christmas to spend as you liked, but I must say I have not entire confidence in your judgment.  You will be likelier far to decorate the walls of the house than to bring water into