THE OLD BRIMMER PLACE.
By Margaret Sidney.
CHAPTER I.
THE air was clear and fresh; a slight fall of snow just conveniently stopping at the point of becoming higher than the overshoes of the pedestrians, lay on the ground. It was an early fall, as the old farmers say when there is snow at Thanksgiving, and every sign gave promise of winter shutting in rapidly.
The old gray house set back from Cherryfield high road, had its chimney smoking by break of day, for Mother Brimmer tied on her baking apron as soon as she had told Rosalie how to prepare the simple breakfast “to hurry forward those pies,” as she said.
“All that can be done to-day, Rosy,” she observed, in the midst of the bustle that now ensued, “is clear gain toward to-morrow. Always remember that, child; don’t leave a lot of odds and ends to do when you’re going to have company, thinking you’ll have time. You never do; and the last minute catches you before you know it.”
“It’s such fun,” hummed the one girl of the family, stirring the cornmeal mush in the kettle vigorously, “to have company. I don’t ever remember having any before.”