anybody to speak to. One grows tired, even of the Peak, when there's
nobody but grown-up people to go on to. That's why I want Mopsy and
Ted and Silver Tail. It wouldn't be so lonesome. But they can stay at
home if Lucy comes."

"Poor Minnie," said her father, laughing with the rest at the child's
aggrieved tone. "We must do all we can to persuade them, then, to
spare you the necessity of frightening the cats out of their wits."

"I'll go up to Thankful Rest to-morrow and extract permission from
Miss Hepsy," said Carrie, "though I am not very hopeful of the
result.--Come, Frank, we must be off; it is nearly eight."

"You will let us know on Sunday, then, if they can come," said Miss
Keane; and with cordial good-nights the friends parted.

Early next afternoon Miss Goldthwaite walked up to Thankful Rest on
her mission to Miss Hepsy. That lady was making preserves, for which
Lucy had been kept since early morning paring and coring apples and
stoning plums. As Miss Goldthwaite passed the kitchen window, she
caught a glimpse of a slight figure almost lost in a huge apron, and
a very white, weary-looking face bent over the basket of fruit. Aunt
Hepsy was grimly stirring a panful of plums over the stove, and did
not look particularly overjoyed to see Miss Goldthwaite; but Lucy
did.

"Always busy, Miss Hepsy," said Carrie briskly, not choosing to mind
the snappy greeting she received. "I declare I always feel a lazy,
good-for-nothing creature when I come to Thankful Rest.--Here, Lucy
child, sit down and let me do your work while I am here; you look