"She may have been very good," said Harry, "but I don't believe she had half as sweet a temper as our Midge. I'll answer for it that those eyes could flash with something besides fun; could they not, papa?"
"Was she a relation of yours, papa?" asked Fred.
"Yes," answered Mr. Bradford, "and I am going to tell you a story about her."
"One summer, a good many years ago, two boys were staying on their uncle's farm in the country. Their father and mother were travelling in Europe, and had left them in this uncle's care while they should be absent. It was a pleasant home, and the boys, accustomed to a city life, enjoyed it more than I can tell you. One afternoon, their uncle and aunt went out to visit some friends, giving the boys permission to amuse themselves out of doors as long as they pleased. All the servants about the place, except the old cook, had been allowed to go to a fair which was held in a village two or three miles away, so that the house and farm seemed to be quite deserted. Only one other member of the family was at home, and this was an aunt whom the boys did not love at all, and they were only anxious to keep out of her way."
"Papa," said Fred, eagerly, "what were the names of these boys and their aunt?"
"Ahem," said Mr. Bradford, with a twinkle in his eye, as he saw Fred's knowing look. "Well, I will call the oldest boy by my own name, Henry, and the youngest we will call Aleck."
"Oh," said Fred, "and the aunt's name was, I suppose—"
"Henrietta," said his father, quickly; "and if you have any remarks to make, Fred, please keep them until my story is done."
"Very well, sir," said Fred, with another roguish look at Harry, and his father went on.