NO. I.
AUNT ALICE was going away for a visit of two or three weeks.
Her trunk was on the little front porch waiting for Farmer Dodds, whenever, with his fat white horse and rattling spring wagon he should make his appearance coming over the hill.
Rose seated herself on the trunk, and lightly tapping her heels against the side, looked off in a dreamy way toward the dusty road that wound down from among tree-covered hills, on its way past their own white cottage with rose-vines climbing over the small square windows, and so prettily set down in the midst of an old-fashioned garden, with a broad, straight path leading from the gate to the porch, and at that season bordered with asters of all colors.
Farmer Dodds was not in sight, and Rose, now turning toward the left, followed with her eyes the line of the road, where, having left the slope of hill behind, it struck out across the level. Stubble fields down there were yellow, the green of the meadows was turning into a soft pale brown, and far off the horizon was like a rising mist of purple.
"Aunt Alice," said Rose, stopping the tapping of her heels, "some way the sunshine down yonder looks almost as if you could take it in your hands."
"Tangible light?" said Miss Alice, coming to the porch to look abroad.
"What's that?" asked Rose.
"Why, just the opposite of 'darkness that could be felt', I think."
"Is it?" said Rose gravely. "But, aunt Alice," she continued, "I wonder what I'll do without you here to ask questions of. And how will I ever get along without the Saturday afternoon talks—I've got so used to them, you know. I'll just be awfully lonesome."
"We'll have to plan a way to help that," returned her aunt. "Let me see—how would you like to write a letter to me on the first Saturday? Only you must be careful to write what you would be most apt to talk about if I were here."
"Oh! I'd like to do that," interrupted Rose.
"And then," continued Miss Alice, "I could have a little packet for you at the post-office. Perhaps grandma would let you ride to town with Mr. Dodds, when he goes for his mail, and you could have the pleasure of getting the packet yourself."
"That's a splendid idea!" cried Rose. "But what will you put in the packet?"
"I don't know yet," replied her aunt. "That will depend upon the letter you write to me. It may be some trifling present, or perhaps a single Bible verse, such as I often give you on Saturday evening. But of one thing you may be sure, there will be something in it that will be a true answer to your letter."
AUNT ALICE FAIRLY STARTED.
While they were talking Mr. Dodds' wagon had come rattling up to the gate. Immediately everything was in a bustle. Grandma came out to see the trunk lifted into the wagon—aunt Alice found that she had left her gloves upstairs and must go after them at the last minute—and there came Priscilla Carter running up the road with a great bunch of bitter-sweet, which Miss Alice was to take to a friend. Rose thought it was delightful, and kept skipping up and down the path, wishing all the time that she were aunt Alice, with a new trunk and going to have a trip on the cars. But at last good-bys were said, the wagon rattled and jingled off, and Mrs. Harrison, Rose and Priscilla were left standing quietly by the white picket gate in the pleasant autumn sunshine.
When Saturday afternoon came around Rose asked her grandmother for pen and ink. Then drawing a square writing-table out to the porch, where it was shady, she began the task of writing a letter that would tell all that had been going on since her aunt went away. Mrs. Harrison was sitting by the window sewing, and for nearly an hour there was no sound save the scratching of her little granddaughter's pen, or now and then a question from her as to how a word should be spelled.
But by and by Rose threw down her pen and pushed her chair noisily back, exclaiming as she did so:
"Well, grandma, I declare! I've got it done at last! Wouldn't you like me to read it to you?"
"Of course, dearie, I should like it very much," answered Mrs. Harrison, glancing up from her sewing.
So Rose sat down on the doorstep and began to read as follows:
Dear Aunt Alice:
I started to school Tuesday, and I'm awfully sorry I was not there the first day, for my seat isn't one bit nice. I'd a great deal rather have the one Altie Crawford is in. She can look out the window and see everybody drive by. There's a real hateful girl sits just behind me too. She is always twisting my curls around her finger; or if she isn't doing that, why, she is borrowing my white-handled knife—the one Mr. Dodds gave me. Miss Milton has a new blue dress. Priscilla took her a great big bunch of white chrysanthemums to put in her belt, and she looked lovely. She is the meanest teacher, though, that I ever had. She won't listen to a word you say to her, and she makes me lend my eraser to everybody in school.
I don't think that's one bit nice of her, and its most worn out, too! She just does it because it is a pretty one. There's a new boy named Robert Wilkie, just started to school, and Miss Milton pets him to death. She is always holding him up for an example, but I think he don't know his lessons any better than the rest of us. I told the girls that you were going to send me a packet, and they were all as excited trying to guess what would be in it!
I've been trying to be real good, and I help grandma wash the dishes most every day, especially when she looks tired. Last evening I got supper all by myself. I fried potato cakes. The edges were a speck jagged, but they were just as brown and nice!
Now I'll have to stop. I've thought and thought, but there isn't anything else to write about. I wonder what you'll put in the packet. I told Priscilla I most thought it would be a ribbon. She's crazy to see what is in it.
Your loving niece,
Rose.P. S. Priscilla says she can't bear that new boy either. Miss Milton sent her love to you.
"I think that is quite a nice letter," said Mrs. Harrison, when Rose had come to the end. "But however your aunt is to answer it is more than I can guess."
"Don't it seem a long time to wait until Saturday?" said Rose as she folded the letter carefully and put it in an envelope which she brought to her grandmother to address.
"The more patiently you wait the shorter the time will seem," returned Mrs. Harrison.
Rose did wait patiently and cheerfully, and on Saturday afternoon it was a happy girl who rode home beside Farmer Dodds in the spring wagon.
As they drew near the white picket gate she saw Priscilla sitting on the horseblock.
"Have you got it?" cried Priscilla, jumping down, and running to meet the wagon.
For answer Rose held up a square package wrapped in white paper.
"I don't know yet what is in it," said Rose when they drew nearer, "for grandma told me not to open it until I got home. It feels flat, and then there's something round, like a stick of candy, only its pretty large."
The white horse had come to a decided stop by this time and Priscilla held out her hand for the package, while Rose clambered down from the wagon.
"I thank you for the ride, Mr. Dodds," said she, when she reached the ground, "and I'll tell you what is in my packet the next time you come by."
"All right," replied Mr. Dodds, with a sort of merry chuckle, "but be a leetle careful how ye open it. It might be candy, and it might be red pepper."
So saying, he drove off uphill.
"There might be something you wouldn't like," suggested Priscilla, looking a little doubtfully at the package.
"O pshaw!" retorted Rose; "I know better than that. Let's get the scissors."
Hazlett.
