“How holy the calm, in the stillness of morn,”—­

and threw down my paper, being suddenly quenched by self-ridicule, as I was debating whether to write “To Ethelind” over the top.  Returning that way after my ramble, I found the following conclusion pinned to the tree by a jackknife:—­

  “How holy the calm, in the stillness of morn,—­
  When to call ’em to breakfast Josh toots on the horn,
  The ducks gives a quack, and the caow gives a moo,
  And the childen chimes in with their plaintive boo-hoo.

  “How holy the calm, in the stillness of neune,
  When the pot is a singin its silvery teune,—­
  Its soft, woolly teune, jest like Aribi’s Darter,
  While the tea-kettle plays up the simperny arter.

  “How holy the calm, in the stillness of night,
  When the moon, like a punkin, looks yaller and bright;
  While the aowls an’ the katydids, screeching like time,
  Jest brings me up close to the eend o’ my rhyme.”

And underneath was added, as if in scorn of my fruitless endeavor:—­

“I wrote that are right off, as fast as you could shell corn.  S.P.”

I suppose it is by way of thanks for my having driven the pigs from the garden, that I find a great bunch of dahlias adorning my mantelpiece.  A brown earthen pitcher!  And in the middle of the dahlias, a magnificent sunflower!  It must be my aunt’s doing, and its very homeliness pleases me, just as I love her homely sincerity of affection.  Who arranges the glasses in the parlor?  Etty, I would not fear to affirm, from the asters and golden-rod, cheek by jole with petunias and carnations.  I wonder if she would not like some of the clematis I saw twining about a dead tree by the pond.  It is more beautiful in its present state than when it was in flower.  Etty loves wild flowers because she is one herself, and loves to hide here in her native nook, where no eye (I might except my own) gives her more than a casual glance.—­

Noon.  “I shall think it quite uncivil of Little Ugly if she does not volunteer to arrange my share of the booty I am bringing, now that I have almost broken my neck, and quite my cane, to obtain it.”  This I said to myself, as I came into the house by the kitchen entrance, and proceeded to deposit my trailing treasures on Norah’s table, by the side of a yellow squash.

“Do go with me to Captain Black’s,” said Etty’s voice at the side door.  “The old folks have not seen you since your return.”

“I can’t!” said Flora with a drawl.

“Yes, do!  Be coaxable, for once!”

“It only makes me obstinate to coax.  Why not go without me, I beg?”

“I am no novelty.  I was in twice only yesterday.  Old people like attention from such as you, because—­”

“Because it is unreasonable to expect it.”

“The old man is failing.”

“I can’t do him any good.  It is dusty, and my gown is long.”