of going was very much lessened by the necessity of leaving the dear old lady, who would not listen to their entreaties to accompany them.  “You, with your smooth cheeks and bright eyes, may well think of passing a winter in Washington; but what should I do there?  Why, the people would say I had lost my senses.  No, we three ladies will have a nice quiet time at Exeter, and I can go on with my quilting and patchwork.  You see, Miss Alice, that you come back with red cheeks.  The birds and the flowers will be glad to see you again when the spring comes.”

“Ring the bell, Alice,” said Mr. Weston.  “I must know how Mr. Mason’s little boy is.  I sent Mark shortly after dinner; but here he is.  Well, Mark, I hope the little fellow is getting well?”

“He is receased, sir,” said Mark, solemnly.

“He is what?” said Mr. Weston.  “Oh! ah! he is dead—­I understand you.  Well, I am truly sorry for it.  When did he die?”

“Early this morning, sir,” said Mark.  “Have you any more orders to give, sir? for as I am to be up mighty early in the morning, I was thinking of going to bed when you are done with me.”

“Nothing more,” said Mr. Weston; and Mark retired.

“Mark,” continued Mr. Weston, “has the greatest propensity for using hard words.  His receased means deceased.  He was excessively angry with Bacchus the other day for interfering with him about the horses.  ‘Nobody,’ said he, ’can stand that old fellow’s airs.  He’s got so full of tomposity, that he makes himself disagreeable to everybody.’  By tomposity, I suppose you all know he meant pomposity.  Bacchus is elated at the idea of going with us.  I hope I shall not have any trouble with him.”

“Oh! no, uncle,” said Alice; “he is a good old fellow, and looks so aristocratic with his gray hair and elegant bows.  Ellen and I will have to take him as a beau when you are out.  Aunt Phillis says, that he has promised her not to drink a drop of any thing but water, and she seems to think that he has been so sober lately that he will keep his word.”

“It is very doubtful,” said Mr. Weston; “but the fact is he would be troublesome with his airs and his tomposity were I to leave him; so I have no choice.”

“Dear Alice,” said Ellen, fixing her large dark eyes on her; “how can I ever be grateful enough to you?”

“For what?” asked Alice.

“For getting sick, and requiring change of air, which is the first cause of my being here on my way to the great metropolis.  Whoever likes a plantation life is welcome to it; but I am heartily sick of it.  Indeed, Miss Janet, good as you are, you could not stand it at uncle’s.  Ten miles from a neighbor—­just consider it!  Uncle disapproves of campmeetings and barbecues; and aunt is sewing from morning till night; while I am required to read the Spectator aloud.  I have a mortal grudge against Addison.”

“But, my dear,” said Miss Janet, “you must remember you are to return to your uncle’s, and you must not learn to love the great world too much.”