cane-seat, the tables of stained wood; but in its cheerful aspect and its neatness, it shamed many a dining-room in palatial homes. The linen was not extra fine, but it was exquisitely white and had been so carefully ironed that auntie afterwards declared she believed it was folded by the threads. There was only ironstone china, but it was fairly slippery with its polish, while the spoons and knives and forks glistened as though newly bought. The repast was very simple, for our friends were far from wealthy, but they had the luxuries which the owner of a garden and pasture can offer his guests, sweet cream, sweet butter, crisp radishes, and fresh strawberries, while such light and snow-white biscuits and such delicately cured ham are seldom seen on the table of the moneyed rich. And then the tea, -if there was anything Aunt Annie especially delighted in, it was a cup of good tea, and this to-night suited her exactly. "The water hadn't been just warmed through, nor had it been boiled till the life was out of it, nor had the kettle been filled with stale water either. You can't make good tea, and there's no use in trying to, unless your water is fresh from the well, boiled on a brisk fire, and then turned on to the tea just as soon as it's fairly a-bubbling.. And then ten chances to one if the tea isn't spoiled, either standing round till it's red and half cold or steeping till it smells like hay-seed." "And now, Charles, you must sit with auntie awhile in the parlor, till I put baby to bed. Auntie will excuse me, I know, if I keep up my rules even this first night. These little pets are sure to take an ell if you give an inch; and she's so good, now, I can't bear to have her spoiled. I'll bring her down for her kisses;"--and she ran lightly up-stairs, the refrain of a sweet song floating through the hall. "She hasn't lost her voice," said Mrs. Gray, as she lingered on the porch, watching the purple shadows that were creeping over the distant hills. "No, indeed; I tell her sometimes she's always singing. I never come into the house but I hear her. And she keeps up her practice, too, wonderfully; she's learned four new pieces since the baby was born. Indeed, we have quite a little concert here every night. She plays and sings, and I have my flute and they're very pleasant, too;" and a look of intense satisfaction settled over his features. "And how about that baby; don't it ever put in a solo ?" "Seldom, auntie. Indeed, I don't believe there ever was just such another child, though Mary says it's a mother's own fault that there are not more just like pet. You see she has a theory of her own, that a child should be managed right as soon as it's born; and by that, I suppose she means that it should be properly washed and dressed and handled and fed regularly, and put to sleep at set hours. I don't pretend to know much about it, but I do know ours has been wonderfully little trouble. She's always asleep at dinner-time, when Betsey is needed in the kitchen and couldn't be spared to go up and tend her, and she's always awake at tea-time, when she can go as well as not. But here she comes," as Mary glided down the stairs with the little one in its night-dress, and ran into the parlor. There were a few moments of merry gambolling with papa, and then the careful, thoughtful mother took the babe again and, handing it around for its kisses, went up with it. In less than five minutes she was down again. Baby asleep so soon?" said Mrs. Gray. "Asleep!" and Mary laughed. "No, indeed; she's wide awake in her crib, cooing to herself like a little dove. Asleep!" Why, you don't mean to say you put that six-months-old baby to bed awake!" exclaimed auntie. "But I do. I've never rocked her to sleep yet." "Not when she's sick?" "She's never been sick yet." "Hasn't? Well, you're lucky; or rather there's a providence in it." "No, auntie; it's neither luck nor providence, unless it was a providence that I had a little common sense incorporated into my organization. I'll let you into my secrets a little. Just as soon as I found out that God was going to give me my little pet, I began to get ready for the darling. I was always pretty healthy you know, and from that time I took extra care of myself, - not coddling myself, but doing those things which I thought would strengthen me and act happily upon the nature of the little one. I ate only such food as I knew to be perfectly healthy and at regular hours. I forced myself to get up at just such a time in the morning, to take a nap at just such an hour in the day, and I went to bed at ten precisely. I never allowed myself to get tired; I always stopped and rested when I began to flag. I went out every day. I studied some every day, and was very careful about my reading; I never allowed myself to read anything intensely sensational, whether of love or murder. And, above all, I never fretted. When anything happened to worry me, I would run to the piano and play and sing till I was good-natured again. And as soon as my little one was placed in my arms I began to manage her. I made the nurse wash and dress her and undress her at just such hours. I had regular times for nursing. I never allowed her to sleep on my arm, or in the same bed with me, nor would I let the nurse rock or trot her to sleep. She had her little crib, and she has never been put into it asleep, unless she happened, which was not often, to fall asleep on my arm. I was careful of my own diet, that her food might be healthy and free from anything that might worry her. And I dressed her, not as the fashion-plates dictate, but as the doctors say a baby should be dressed. My neighbors all laughed at me when they came in to see her; for, instead of long white cambric robes, embroidered and fluted and tucked till a laundry maid would be ready to cry out and wonder where to begin to iron, she had little soft flannel slips-she was born in cold weather-long enough to cover her feet, but not to be in the way, and made with long sleeves and high necks. I'll own up, auntie, I did have to battle hard with myself to make them; for I always did think a baby's arms and neck were the sweetest things on the earth to look at; but I knew I should be frozen in midwinter to go about the house with a low-necked, short-sleeved dress; and how must a poor little baby suffer! Mrs. Morse, my next-door neighbor, used to say, You must toughen them,toughen them;' and she tried it with her baby, it was born a fortnight after ours, and it only lived six weeks'; took the croup and died." She paused a few moments, and then continued, in a plain tive tone, "You mustn't think, dear. auntie, that I expect to always keep my baby because I've tried so hard to have her come into the world healthy and to keep well. I know she is liable at any hour to have the measles or whooping. cough or scarlet fever or diphtheria. I know babies do die every day, in spite of all that is done to save them; but I do not want to feel when my little one is gone that, but for my foolish pride of show, or my careless neglect of her health, she might have still been with me. And while she does stay, I want her to be happy; and I know a baby that is always sick cannot be happy, and I know, too, that a child who always has its own way isn't happy. The baby don't know that, if I let it overload its stomach, it will have the stomach-ache, but I do, and I know, too, that it will be cross after it; and knowing that, I only let her eat when I know she's hungry. But there, I'm not going to lecture any longer on the baby theme, though it isn't half exhausted yet; but. I'll reserve the rest for some one who is likely to need it more than this blessed auntie;" and gliding from her chair, the nestled down on a hassock at the old lady's feet, and putting off the matron as easily and gracefully as she had left one seat for another, she became a very child, asking question after question about her old associates. "There's Betsey with the lights," said she to her husband, as a glimmer drifted into the hall. "Wont you please put up the bars?" Before Betsey had fairly set down the lamps, the windows, all three, were screened, and a "mosquito door" slipped over the front entrance. Yes, we keep a thermometer here summer and winter, and I never let any thing the least bit foul stay here a minute. See her, auntie; don't she look sweet?" and if the young mother was a little vain of her darling, it was certainly excusable; for she did indeed look "sweet," using the word as it is defined in the mother's vocabulary. "And how long will she sleep so, Mary?" "I don't know how long she would; but I always take her up at ten and nurse her and put her back, and again at four in the morning. At six, I take her up and wash and dress her." "What, before breakfast?” "Oh, yes! Her father always likes to have a good frolic with her before he Precisely at seven the bell rang, and when Mrs. Gray entered the breakfastroom, the meal was upon the table, and the hostess ready to do the honors, her face fresh and smiling, her hair neatly arranged, with a moss rosebud nestling amidst the luxuriant braids. "Some of Charles's doings," she laughingly said. "I never can teach him that it is not in good taste, or according to etiquette, for a lady to wear flowers at the breakfast-table. Just as long as there is a rose or pansy in the garden, he will have it for my hair." The morning-dress of pretty gingham, fast colors, the white apron, yet in its folds, the snow-white stockings and dainty slippers, completed the costume, as becoming as it was serviceable and appropriate. Like the tea, the meal was frugal, but exquisitely appetizing: crisp toast, not a shade too brown, corn bread, golden as the butter that flanked it, fresh eggs, radishes, strawberries, cream, and coffee clear as wine, and with the true Mocha flavor. The breakfast eaten, they repaired to the parlor, and a moment after, Betsey came down the stairs with the baby, pretty as a picture in its simple white slip fresh from the drawer, and looking so contented and happy that, as Aunt Annie said, "it did one's heart good to look at it." While the father frolicked with the child, the mother ran over a new piece of music Mrs. Gray had brought her, saying as she did so, stairs for an hour? I have some things to see to." "Oh, let me go up with the baby!" and they repaired to the nursery. It was in perfect order, Mrs. Seymour always stripping the bed as soon as she rose, that it might be properly aired against breakfast-time, when Betsey made it and brushed up and dusted, the baby cooing to itself in the crib. Bringing from a closet a large bed comfortable, the young mother spread it on the floor, and laid the baby on it, first giving it, as she said, its lunch. "By and by you'll be big enough to sit up, darling," she said, fondly; "but, till then, you must be content to lie here and kick. And now good-by, pet." She was gone an hour. Her face was a little flushed as she came back, and quite wet with perspiration. she frolicked with it for half an hour. Then she nursed it and put it into the crib, and drawing the window-curtains, motioned to her aunt to come with her down-stairs. "This is my den," opening a door into a little room off the hall. "Here I cut out and baste and mend and patch, and this is the time I always take to do it. I can't bear such kind of work around after dinner;" and seating Mrs. Gray in a low rocker, she took her sewing-chair, and darned stockings and sewed on buttons and strings till the mending-basket was empty. "And now I'll go and dress for dinner," she said, laughingly. "I always do, even when there's no one here but Charles; somehow, I feel the better for it." The change was only to a simple white "I hope you haven't been worrying cambric loose dress, with a black silk over the stove, Mary, this hot morning. apron; yet it would have suited the most Pray don't make any difference for me." "fastidious taste, so perfectly neat and beI wont, auntie; I never do for any- coming was it. She made a pretty picbody. What's good enough for Charlesture in her fresh, cool dress, fair counteis good enough for the next best friend Inance, and womanly grace, as she stood have, I have hardly been in the kitchen. Betsey takes care of that mostly, that and the dining-room. I tend the parlor and hall and stairs. It's weeding makes me look so warm; I take all the care of the flower-garden. It's healthy, and then I love it. But how's this little one? Fast asleep as usual?" "Yes, I never saw anything like it! She just rolled and kicked and cooed, and then dropped off to sleep in a moment. Does she always do so?" "Yes; but I don't let her sleep long this first nap, because I like to have her asleep at dinner, as we need Betsey in the kitchen then;" and she proceeded to wash her face and hands and smooth her hair; then she knelt down by the side of the child and began to play with its fingers and kiss its face and neck,-gently, very. It soon began to stir. She whispered in its ear, and then began to sing, on the threshold, framed in with rose and heaven." he As soon as dinner was over, Mrs. Seymour went to the nursery, and in a little time returned with the baby, who, goodnatured with its long nap, was all ready for a frolic with its father. He danced with it while the mother played, and Aunt Annie declared he'd have the house down with his hornpipes and jigs and reels. "She's used to it," he said, as he finally sat down; "we always have a time after dinner; don't we, pet?" and he fondled the child tenderly. "Don't you think I ought to be a very happy man, with such a pretty baby and"-he glanced roguishly at his wife," such a pretty little mother for it." “Indeed, I do, Charles. The baby is a beauty, and so good; and Mary, why, I declare she don't look a day older than when you married her." "That's because I've such a good husband," said she, archly; but there was a world of love in the look after all. "Not altogether, Mollie," answered he, in the same tone; "it's because you're so good yourself. I'll leave it to you, auntie, if she isn't a pattern wife, mother, and housekeeper." wanted to find me in the parlor always when he came home. But I was going to be very economical, and so wouldn't have one, forgetting that money isn't the only thing in the world we should be saving of. Well, for a few days everything went on pretty well, only I couldn't, of course, be in the parlor when he came in to dinner, because if I was, the dinner burned up in the kitchen. And then sometimes I'd be so busy there I'd forget the fire here, and the room would be like a barn; and then, careful as I tried to be of my dress, there would sometimes grease spatter over it, and I'd come to the table in a hurry and forget my check apron, or have my sleeves rolled up, or my hair would be tumbled, or my face would be like a beet; and all such things fretted Charles, though he didn't say a word. You needn't say they didn't, now," putting her fingers over his lips, you for feeling cross; for when a man is able to hire help and wants to do so, he's a right to expect his wife will come to dinner as a companion should, neat and pretty, and not too hot and tired to feel like talking pleasantly. And then, though healthy, I wasn't strong, and I did get so tired some days, and then I was shiftless. I'd feel too tired to do this to-day, and I'd say, "Well, then, she is, Charles. But do you know I really dreaded to come here, for fear I should find she wasn't? You" for they did, and I don't blame don't know what a relief it is to me " "Not to find every thing helter-skelter, - baby dirty and cross, mother snappish and slovenly, husband sour and buttonless, girl sulky and greasy, and so on and so forth!" and a merry laugh rippled from Mrs. Seymour's lips. "Own up, now, auntie, didn't you always think I'd turn out a shiftless woman?" "Well, I did, Mary. You were al-I'll wait until to-morrow;' but to-morways quick to learn things about the house, and, when you had a mind to, nobody could do better; but — well —you weren't prompt, and that's the secret of good housekeeping. Things must be done at the right time. I'm so glad you've learned the lesson, got it by heart, too, I guess; for, old as I am, I don't think I could improve anything I have seen yet." "But oh, what a time I had learning it, auntie! Didn't I, Charles?" "Yes, but don't speak of it now, dear; it's all over, and I don't like to think of it." "But you must let me confess to auntie. You see, I made a mistake in the beginning. Charles wanted a girl at once, a competent woman. He said he was able to hire one, and he didn't want me in the kitchen half the time; he row brought its own work, and something else was left over. But I wont tire you telling you just how we lived the first three months. One morning Charles was going out of town, and I was hurrying to get breakfast, when he came to the stairs and called, Mary, haven't I got any shirts with buttons on?' I didn't say yes, for I couldn't have told for the life of me; but I ran up-stairs to see. There wasn't one; so I got my sewing-basket, hunted up some buttons, and sewed them on, he, poor martyr, standing there ail the time in a shiver. Well, I ran down to find my ham all burned up, and the kitchen thick with greasy smoke. I had just cut another slice when, Mary, have I got any whole socks?' I ran to see. No, he hadn't. I couldn't stop to darn a pair then; but I picked out the pair that had the smallest holes, handed them to · |