She held out the hand that could best be spared from the
little one's support, and said cordially,--
"I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Glendenning; are your aunt and uncle
here?"
"No, Miss Olmstead; I left them in Boston, and just ran down for a day
or two, before I go West once more. I--had business."
She saw him seated before she stepped to the alcove bed to lay the baby
down, then, coming back, took a seat on the other side of the fireplace,
and asked softly,--
"Have you heard?"
"Yes," in the same tone; "Miss Zeba told me. You did not write to
auntie?"
"I could not--yet."
There was a little pause, which was broken by an outburst from the other
side of the room, where the children were supposed to be studying.
"I tell you 'tis too, Morton Olmstead. I'll ask Sara, now!"
"Well, Molly, what is it?" she turned to ask.
"Isn't it right to say 'seven and six _are_ twelve?" Morton says it
isn't."
"Why, certainly," began Sara obliviously, when the guest interposed,--
"How'll seven and _five_ do, Molly? Perhaps that will suit Morton
better."
Molly tossed her head at her grinning brother, pouting an instant, then
broke into a giggle, as she caught the full force of the sell, and went
on with her sums, while Sara remarked,--
"I am not quick at such things, Mr.
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