“My Dear Colonel Keith,—­I am just come out of court, and I am to wait at the inn, for Aunt Ailie does not like for me to hear the trial, but she says I may write to you to pass away the time.  I am sorry I left my letter out to go this morning, for Aunt Ailie says it is very undutiful to say anything about the sheep’s wool in Russia smelling of tobacco.  Conrade says it is all smoking, and that every one does it who has seen the world.  Papa never stops smoking but when he is with Aunt Ermine, he sat on the box and did it all the way to Avoncester, and Mr. Beechum said it was to compose his mind.  After we got to Avoncester we had a long, long time to wait, and first one was called, and then another, and then they wanted me.  I was not nearly so frightened as I was that time when you sent for me, though there were so many more people; but it was daylight, and the judge looked so kind, and the lawyer spoke so gently to me, and Mr. Maddox did not look horrid like that first time.  I think he must be sorry now he has seen how much he has hurt papa.  The lawyer asked me all about the noises, and the lions, and the letters of light, just as Mr. Grey did; and they showed me papa’s old seal ring, and asked if I knew it, and a seal that was made with the new one that he got when the other was lost! and I knew them because I used to make impressions on my arms with them when I was a little girl.  There was another lawyer that asked how old I was, and why I had not told before; and I thought he was going to laugh at me for a silly little girl, but the judge would not let him, and said I was a clear-headed little maiden; and Mr. Beechum came with Aunt Ailie, and took me out of court, and told me to choose anything in the whole world he should give me, so I chose the little writing case I am writing with now, and ‘The Heroes’ besides, so I shall be able to read till the others come back, and we go home.—­Your affectionate little friend,

“Rose Ermine Williams.”

“The Homestead,
August 3d, 9 P. M.

“My Dear Alexander,—­You made me promise to send you the full account of this day’s proceedings, or I do not think I should attempt it, when you may be so sadly engaged.  Indeed, I should hardly have gone to Avoncester had the sad intelligence reached me before I had set out, when I thought my sudden return would be a greater alarm to my mother, and I knew that dear Fanny would do all she could for her.  Still she has had a very nervous day, thinking constantly of your dear sister, and of Rachel’s alarm and inexperience; but her unlimited confidence in your care of Rachel is some comfort, and I am hoping that the alarm may have subsided, and you may be all rejoicing.  I have always thought that, with dear Rachel, some new event or sensation would most efface the terrible memories of last spring.  My mother is now taking her evening nap, and I am using the time for telling you of the day’s doings.  I took with me Fanny’s two eldest, who were very good and manageable,