sweet, little prairie blossom as the dearest memory of their lives.  Had she lived, with her naturally refined tastes, and her nicety of perceptions, there was no guessing what that farmhouse might have been, for a young girl makes a deal of difference in any family.  But she died, and so the house, which when she died, was not quite finished, remained much as it was—­a large, square building, minus blinds, with a wide hall in the center opening in front upon a broad piazza, and opening back upon a stoop, the side entrance to the kitchen.  There was a picket fence in front; but the yard was bare of ornament, if we except the lilac bushes under the parlor windows, the red peony in the corner, and the clumps of violets and daisies, which grew in what was intended for borders to the walk, from the front gate to the door.  Sometimes the summer showed here a growth of marigolds, with sweet peas and china asters, for Andy was fond of flowers, and when he had leisure he did a little floral gardening; but this year, owing to Richard’s absence, there had been more to do on the farm, consequently the ornamental had been neglected, and the late autumn flowers which, in honor of Ethelyn’s arrival, were standing in vases on the center table and the mantel, were contributed by Melinda Jones, who had been very busy in other portions of the house working for the bride.

She could do this now without a single pang of jealousy, for she was a sensible girl, and after a night and a day of heaviness, and a vague sense of disappointment, she had sung as merrily as ever, and no one was more interested in the arrival of Richard’s bride than she, from the time when Richard started eastward for her.  Between herself and her mother there had been a long, confidential conversation, touching Mrs. Markham’s ways and the best means of circumventing them, so that the new wife might not be utterly crushed with homesickness and surprise when she first arrived.  No one could manage Mrs. Markham as well as Melinda, and it was owing to her influence wholly that the large, pleasant chamber, which had been Richard’s ever since he became a growing man, was renovated and improved until it presented a very inviting appearance.  The rag carpet which for years had done duty, and bore many traces of Richard’s muddy boots, had been exchanged for a new ingrain—­not very pretty in design, or very stylish either, but possessing the merit of being fresh and clean.  To get the carpet Melinda had labored assiduously, and had enlisted all three of the brothers, James, and John, and Andy in the cause before the economical mother consented to the purchase.  The rag carpet, if cleaned and mended, was as good as ever, she insisted; and even if it were not, she could put on one that had not seen so much actual service.  It was Andy who finally decided her to indulge in the extravagance urged by Melinda Jones.  There were reasons why Andy was very near to his mother’s heart, and when he offered to sell his brown pony, which he loved as he did his eyes, his mother yielded the point, and taking with her both Mrs. Jones and Melinda, went to Camden, and sat two mortal hours upon rolls of carpeting while she decided which to take.