The ARRRIVAL.

On Friday morning, Miss Hepsy received a brief note from Mr. Goldthwaite, stating that he had attended the funeral of Mrs. Hurst, paid the little she had owed in Newhaven, and would be at Pendlepoint by the noon cars that day, when he requested Miss Hepsy to be in waiting at the depot to meet her nephew and niece.

Now, Friday was Miss Hepsy’s cleaning day.  Although ordinary eyes would have been puzzled to point out what spot in that shining domain required more than the touch of a duster, the house was upturned from ceiling to basement, and received such sweeping and dusting and polishing, such scouring and scrubbing, that it was a marvel Miss Hepsy was not exhausted at the end of it.  She had just turned out the parlour chairs into the lobby, and was busy with broom and dust-pan, sweeping up invisible dust, when Ebenezer brought her Mr. Goldthwaite’s letter.  So much did it upset her, that he had to depart without his glass of cider, for she took no more notice of him than if he had been one of the pillars at the door.  It was eleven o’clock almost; it would take her every moment to dress and be at the depot in time; so she had to set the chairs back into the half-swept room, replace her working garb by the green dress and the plaid shawl, take her blue umbrella and trudge off, leaving the management of the dinner to Keziah.  Her frame of mind as she did so augured ill for the welcome of her sister’s children.

The cars were half an hour late, and Miss Hepsy strode up and down the platform in a ferment of wrath and impatience, thinking of the dinner under awkward Keziah’s supervision; of the sweeping and dusting and baking all to be done in the afternoon; of the bother two strange children were sure to be; of a hundred and one things, which brought her temper up to fever heat by the time the train puffed into the depot.  From the window of a first-class compartment two faces looked out eagerly, but failed to recognize in Miss Hepsy the sister of the dear dead mother they had so lately lost.  Miss Hepsy saw Mr, Goldthwaite step out first, followed by a tall, handsome-looking boy, well dressed and refined-looking, who in his turn assisted with care and tenderness a slight, delicate-looking girl, who bore such a strong resemblance to her dead mother that her aunt had no difficulty in recognizing her.  She stamped forward, nodded to Mr. Goldthwaite, and held out a hand in turn to each of the children.

“I’m tired to death waitin’ on these pesky cars,” she said, addressing herself to Mr. Goldthwaite.  “I hope they’ve behaved themselves, sir, an’ not bothered ye.—­Bless me, children, don’t stare at me so; I’m your Aunt Hepzibah.  You look as if you had never seen a woman afore.”

“There is a trunk, Miss Hepsy,” said Mr. Goldthwaite, unable to help an amused smile playing about his mouth.  “You will need to send a cart for it.—­They have been very good children indeed, and instead of bothering, have greatly helped to make my journey enjoyable.”