Vacation was slipping away all too rapidly, and the first of September drawing near to carry Pokey away from her beloved Springdale and back to the city and school duties. But Pokey was an ambitious little soul, as well as a very philosophical one, and took her blessings as they came, making the most of them for the time being, and taking up the duties with a cheerful face when the time arrived to take them—a characteristic which followed her through her whole life, and made many a wearisome burden less wearisome.

But two more weeks remained of that precious vacation, and how to make those weeks the very best of all was a problem the children were settling themselves to solve one warm morning, when John appeared with the mail-bag. Springing from their seats upon the soft grass under the old apple-tree, and scattering dogs, cats, a goat, and a pony helter-skelter, the two girls rushed after him to claim any mail the bag might hold for them. True, their correspondence was not so overwhelming that they required amanuenses, but a mail-bag has a wonderful fascination for both old and young folk, and simply to watch for a possible letter was exciting.

This time there was the usual supply for each member of the family, and, although there was nothing for either of the children, there was one letter which held a peculiar, and none too pleasing, interest for the family. This one came from an aunt who usually visited the family once a year—an aunt of Mr. Lombard’s, who had seen many, many summers and winters pass by, and yet had never learned that simplest of all lessons: to look upon certain situations with other people’s eyes. No, Aunt Miranda saw things with her own eyes, and why her range of vision was not the only correct one, or why some one’s else might not be equally correct, sixty-seven years spent upon this big globe had utterly failed to convince her. In her day young girls, young men, middle-aged men, and middle-aged women did thus and so, and consequently ought to do so at the present day.

It need hardly be added that her annual visit was not anticipated with enthusiasm, for, from the moment she entered the front door to the moment it closed upon her, a succession of comments, criticisms, and commands, issued as only Aunt Miranda could give voice to them, kept everybody rubbed the wrong way, and made things generally miserable.

“Oh, dear-r-r! Is she really coming day after to-morrow?” wailed Denise, in a tone very unlike her usual cheery one, for if “coming events cast their shadows before,” certainly Aunt Miranda’s letter had already obscured the sun.

“Sweetheart!” said Mrs. Lombard gently.

“Yes, I know what you mean, mamma, and I know it isn’t the proper way to speak of a guest; and I know you don’t like to have me feel so; and I know that it’s just hateful to; and I know that Aunt Miranda is coming, and, oh, me, that means the fidgets for every one of us, from Beauty Buttons straight down to you, or up, just as you want to count. There! Now I’ve said my hateful things, I’ll set about getting my mind in shape for saying nice ones, when way down inside myself I feel like saying horrid ones, and if that is not being a little hypocrite I’d like to know it,” and Denise gave herself a shake as though she hated the very thought of doing something which she knew did not ring true.

Mrs. Lombard was too wise a woman to read her little daughter a lesson on manners and morals and goody-goody conduct generally, for she understood human nature too well for that, and realized just how hard it was for a happy, open-hearted girl, entirely natural in speech and manner, to control herself when every act, every word, and every expression of countenance was undergoing the keenest criticism, and she was being taken to task for the very acts which had always been considered proper by those who had trained her so carefully. So now, instead of speaking harshly, or making the situation even more trying by laying down certain rules to be followed during the coming visit, she did the one thing best calculated to smooth a ruffled spirit. Laying down the unwelcome letter, she took Denise’s rather defiant face in both her hands, drew her gently toward her, and kissed her ever so softly just under the little curls upon her forehead, saying as she did so:

“If it were not for the little clouds in the sky we should never half appreciate the sunshine, darling. We all have obligations, and you and I will endeavor to meet ours gracefully, even though they are not as pleasant as they might be. One little week out of our lives will hardly count, and some day we shall both be old and, possibly, peculiar ourselves. Then we will be glad to have others tolerant of our peculiarities. But in the present case we must both fill the rôle of hostess, and, as the Scots say, ‘Stranger is a holy name.’ Aunt Miranda is not a stranger to us by any means, but if we substitute the word ‘guest’ for that of ‘stranger,’ we shall hold to the spirit of the old saying, and that is all we need consider. Shall we try to remember, Sweetheart?”

“I’d be the crankiest old thing that ever lived if I didn’t, and Aunt Miranda will find me a perfect saint!” cried Denise, the laugh coming back to her usually sunny face.

“Not a saint; they are entirely too oppressive for every-day life; just a ‘creature not too wise or good for human nature’s daily food,’ you know,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with a final pat upon Denise’s head, and a smile for Pokey.

In the course of time Aunt Miranda, her baggage, and her whims arrived. Denise and Pokey drove to the station with John when he went to meet that estimable lady, and were greeted with:

“My heart and body! how do you ever expect me to get into that carriage with you in it already? I can’t abide being crushed, and I shall not put my bag and things on the bottom of the carriage.”

“Oh, Pokey and I will sit on the front seat of the surrey with John, Aunt Miranda, and you can put all your things on the seat beside you,” cried Denise, remembering her mother’s gentle words, and doing her best to overcome the spirit of rebellion which this “dash of cold water” instantly summoned up within her, for Aunt Miranda had not taken the slightest notice of her greeting, but, pushing her to one side, had sailed straight for the surrey, and the opening remark had been her first words.

“And crowd him up so that he can’t manage the horses? Not if I know it! I never risk my life with fractious horses.”

“Oh, Sunshine and Flash are never fractious!” cried Denise, prompt to defend her favorites. “They are only spirited, and John can manage them perfectly.”

Aunt Miranda turned upon her like a whirlwind. “Young lady, will you be good enough to let me have an opinion of my own? I’ve ridden behind those animals more than once, I can assure you, and I think that I know a thing or two about them which even you, with all your wisdom, may not have learned yet. Elizabeth Delano, come right out of that surrey! You and Denise (where on earth your father and mother ever found that heathenish name I can’t conceive) may walk home. ’Twon’t hurt you one mite. Then I’ll put my things on that seat and set Lorenzo on this seat beside me; he can’t bear to be away from me a moment,” and she held forth to John, who was already seething inwardly, a bag and bundle of shawls, while she firmly grasped a huge cage which held the idolized “Lorenzo,” a parrot of many accomplishments and diabolical temper.

Pokey came meekly forth, and Aunt Miranda stalked into the place she had vacated. The cage was settled beside her, her traps beside John, and her orders issued.

“Now, don’t you children come tearing home as though your lives depended upon your getting there within the next five minutes. It’s only eleven o’clock now, and your luncheon won’t be ready for two hours. So take your time, do you understand?”

“Wait here, Miss Denise, and I’ll drive back for you and Miss Pokey,” said John, for he was wroth with the elderly maiden who would make his young mistress tramp nearly a mile through the sultry August heat.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort! My heart and body, do you suppose it is going to kill two perfectly healthy girls to walk that distance? In my time girls walked or stayed home, I can tell you. No such nonsense as teams being sent for them. Now you girls come right along behind; do you understand?” and Aunt Miranda wagged a lisle-covered finger at the bewildered pair upon the platform. But before further orders could be issued, John adroitly drew the long whip-lash gently across Flash’s flanks, and that sagacious horse needed no broader hint to put a quietus to Aunt Miranda’s tirade. It was all fun and good spirits, but when Flash “arose to the occasion” by rearing upon his hind feet and then making a dash forward, which Sunshine was not slow in following, Aunt Miranda had all she wished to attend to.

“My heart and body! My heart and body!” she screamed, grasping the front seat with one hand and holding on to Lorenzo for dear life with the other. “Look out for those demons! Didn’t I say they were fractious? I shall do all in my power to persuade Lewis to sell them at once. They are not fit to be driven by any one! Vicious brutes!”

“Oh, that’s jist the tickle in their fate, ma’am,” said John, doing his best not to smile, and sending at the same time a silent message along the reins all too well understood by those sagacious beasts. That ride of three-quarters of a mile was a wild one, for if John could not speak his mind to the lady behind him, he certainly held a means of retaliation which worked to a charm, and when he finally whisked her up to the door=step, both she and Lorenzo had experienced a very lively five minutes, and a more flustered bird, or more flustered elderly lady, it would have been difficult to find.

“Emilie Lombard, if you ever send those horses for me again I shall refuse to ride behind them!” was the greeting Mrs. Lombard heard as she hastened to welcome her guest. “They are perfect demons; just nothing but demons! Here, let me get out before they kill me outright! Never, never again shall I ride in this carriage! There, there! Be careful how you handle Lorenzo, Mary. He has been nearly shaken to death as it is, and I dare say will be ill from the fright. No, don’t touch that bag! It has my camphor and smelling-salts, to say nothing of several other things, which I never permit any one to touch, in it. Emilie, you hold this while I get out, and John, get straight down and hold those beasts’ heads. I sha’n’t stir one step from this carriage unless you do, and I don’t know but what I’ll die of fright if I stay in it. My heart and body, why people can want to drive such fractious animals is entirely beyond my understanding.”

John obediently dismounted, and, going to the horses’ heads, began the little freemasonry which he and they so well understood, with the result that they nosed and mumbled him like a pair of kittens, and no kittens could have shown more coyness than they while their irate passenger was removing herself and her belongings from the carriage, and fussing and bustling herself into the house.

“Faith, we fixed her well that toime, didn’t we now, me dandies?” said John with a knowing laugh, as he gave a final pat to the pretty creatures, and sprang back into the surrey. “And now we’ll spin back for the young ladies, that we will, and never turn a hair for the spin. Walk home is it they will? Faith, I’d loike to see thim doin’ the loiks of it if me and you knows what we’re about! Now, thin! Off wid yees!”