They were pretty rooms, with soft carpets, pictures on the walls, and in the winter time the sun shining in all day at the south window and the glass door.  In summer with this door wide open and the piazza cool and shady with woodbine and clematis, you would have agreed with the little girls who made up Ruth Elliot’s sewing circle, that first Wednesday afternoon, that they were “just lovely!”

All were there—­the Jones’ twins, Ann Eliza and Eliza Ann, tall girls as like each other as two peas and growing so fast one could always see where their gowns were let down; Grace Tyler with curly black hair and rosy cheeks; Nellie Dimock, a little dumpling of a girl with big blue eyes and a funny turned up nose; Fannie Eldridge, looking so sweet and smiling, you would not suspect she could be guilty of the fault Susie had charged her with; and Florence Austin, whose father had lately purchased a house in Green Meadow, and with his family had come to live in the country.  Last of all, the minister’s two little daughters, whom you have already met.

Ruth Elliot was sitting at a table covered with piles of bright calico pieces cut and basted for sewing, and when each girl had received a block with all necessary directions for making it, needles were threaded, thimbles adjusted, and the Patchwork Quilt Society was in full session.

“Now, Aunt Ruth,” said Susie, “you promised to tell us a story, you know.”

“Yes; tell us about Dinah Diamond, please,” said Mollie.

“You and Susie have heard that story before, Mollie.”

“That does not make a bit of difference, Auntie.  The stories we like best we have heard over and over again.  Besides, the other girls haven’t heard it.  Come, Aunt Ruth, please begin.”

And so, while all sat industriously at work, Ruth Elliot related to the little girls

THE TRUE STORY OF DINAH DIAMOND.

“When I was a little girl,” she began, “I had a present from a neighbor of a black kitten.  I carried her home in my apron, a little ball of black fur, with bright blue eyes that turned yellow as she got bigger, and a white spot on her breast shaped like a diamond.  I remember she spit and clawed at me all the way home, and made frantic efforts to escape, and for a day or two was quite homesick and miserable; but she soon grew accustomed to her surroundings, and was so sprightly and playful that she became the pet of the house.

“The first remarkable thing she did, was to set herself on fire with a kerosene lamp.  We were sitting at supper one evening, when we heard a crash in the sitting-room, and rushing in, found the cloth that had covered the center table and a blazing lamp on the floor.  It was the work of an instant for my father to raise a window, wrap the lamp in the table-cloth, and throw both into the street.  This left the room in darkness, and I don’t think the cause of the accident occured to any of us, till there rushed from under the sofa a little ball of fire that flew round and round the room at a most astonishing pace.