"I'll teach ye ter knit while I'm here," said Aunt Prudence. "And now the evenings are beginning to be cool, ye might begin ter make a pretty little shawl for yer mother out of that deep red worsted; I guess there's enough of it. That blue yarn will make some mittens for little Prudence, and the rest of it ye can do what ye like with."

Randy's delight knew no bounds, and she could hardly wait to hunt for needles and have her first lesson in knitting.

That night, in their little chamber under the eaves, the children talked of Aunt Prudence.

"I always said Aunt Prudence might be nice, if we really knew her," said Randy.

"Yes," said Prue, "you said that when she was here before, I 'member it; but, Randy," she added, "that was when I was a little girl."

Randy stifled a laugh, "Why, Prue, what are you now?" said she.

"Now, Randy, you do know you medjured me last Sat.u.r.day, and you said I'd growed most a inch."

"Well, so you have," said Randy, gently, "and it's likely you'll grow a lot more this winter."

"Course I will," said Prue, "and, oh, Randy, mustn't Aunt Prudence have growed awful fast when she was a little girl? Just think how big she is now! She's growed good awful fast, too, Randy," she continued, "for she wouldn't have gived me that little cradle for anything the last time she was here, would she, Randy?"

Randy ignored this question.

"We ought to be going to sleep, Prue," she said; "but I'll tell you something first: I mean to be just as nice to Aunt Prudence as I can, while she stays here."

"So do I," said little Prue. "I told her to-day when her needle plagued her, I told her I'd fred all her needles when she was sewing, and you'd never guess what she said, Randy. She said I was a good little girl,-she did, truly."

The patter of raindrops on the roof soon lulled the children to sleep, and in their dreams Aunt Prudence figured as the G.o.ddess of Plenty, distributing gifts with lavish hands.

CHAPTER XII-A WEDDING FEAST

Sunday morning Randy and Prue were early at church, and as they leaned back against the pew, in expectation of one of Parson Spooner's long sermons, Randy put her hand in her pocket and lovingly caressed a square envelope which she had placed there before starting for church.

"Got any candy in your pocket, Randy?" eagerly questioned Prue, as she leaned toward her sister. Randy shook her head.

"Didn't Jotham give you some when he speaked to you at the door?" she asked in such a loud whisper that Randy e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed "sh-sh," and again shook her head.

"Then what's in your pocket?" persisted Prue.

Randy drew Helen's precious letter from her pocket, showing just enough of the envelope to satisfy Prue's curiosity. Then the little girl took a hymn book from the rack, and with her wee forefinger commenced to point out, and at the same time name those letters which she knew. She found every O upon the page, then every S, and Randy thought best to let her thus amuse herself as, at least, she was quiet-a most unusual thing.

Helen had mailed the letter at once upon reaching Boston, and Mr. Weston had brought it from the village on the following day and placed it in Randy's hand as she sat listening to Mrs. Gray, who had called to deliver Helen's message.

"A letter for me, father?" questioned Randy in surprise. "Why, who's it from?"

Mr. Weston laughed. "Shouldn't wonder if ye had to open it to find out, Randy," said he.

Randy opened it and laughed with delight when she found it was from Helen. She had read it three times and had taken it to church with her, because she said she "just couldn't leave it at home."

So Sunday morning Randy kept her mind upon the sermon, and her hand upon the letter. The sermon had been less lengthy than usual, and when the good old pastor had closed the Bible, he removed his spectacles; and as he slowly wiped them, he said: "Dear friends, I have a notice to give to-day, or perhaps I should say an invitation, and there could be no better time or place for what I have to say.

"A quiet wedding ceremony took place at a little church in New York City, the contracting parties being our friend and neighbor, Mr. Sandy McLeod,-or, as the papers have it, Alexander McLeod,-and Miss Margaret McLean of Scotland, an old playmate and friend, from whom our friend has been separated many years. I have received a delightful letter from him in which I am asked to make this announcement, and to say that they will be at home on Wednesday evening. They extend an invitation to all the good people of this town to be present, and an especially urgent request that all the children be there."

What a stir that announcement made! What a great event!

Sandy's farm was one of the finest in the neighborhood, and his house the largest and most substantial in the place; but Helen and Parson Spooner were the only people who had ever entered it, save Sandy himself and the men who worked for him.

Fabulous tales the men had told of the fine things which the house contained; so curiosity was rife regarding it, and now every one, even the little ones of the parish, were bidden welcome.

After church Randy stopped a moment to speak to the Babson girls and Phbe Small, to tell them of the letter from Helen, promising to read it to them if they would call on Monday afternoon.

The girls promised, saying, "You can read us the letter, and then we'll talk over the party, or whatever it is to be, at Sandy McLeod's."

Promptly, on Monday afternoon, the girls arrived, and the letter was produced and read. How they laughed at Helen's bright description of the events of her homeward journey. Phbe Small felt that in receiving the letter Randy had been especially favored. A little twinge of jealousy caused her to part her lips to make a sharp little speech; but, remembering a promise to Helen, and her own resolution, she said pleasantly, "You must have been pleased to receive it, Randy; I'm glad she wrote it to you."

It was so unlike her usual remarks that the Babson girls looked at each other; but Randy slipped her arm around Phbe as they stood by the window, and Phbe felt rewarded.

They talked earnestly over the event of Wednesday evening, and all were enthusiastically expectant.

As the afternoon waned, the girls took leave of Randy, looking back as they went down the road to call to her, "We'll see you Wednesday night."

Wednesday proved to be a lovely day, and the evening sky was bright with stars, the air cold and crisp when the merry party drove up to Sandy's door. As no one wished to be the first to arrive, a large party met at Mrs. Weston's house and together they drove to the McLeod farm.

The large house was ablaze with lights, and as the teams stopped, the door was opened wide and a cheery voice shouted, "It's glad we are to see ye, friends, come in, come in," and Sandy led the way proudly to a silver-haired little woman, who stood waiting to greet her husband's friends and neighbors.

Such a sweet-faced little woman, who had a gentle, gracious word for every new friend, and a kiss for each one of the children.

When Sandy brought Prue to her, saying, "This is the little la.s.s, Margaret, wha said 'write the letter,'" she took the child upon her lap and put her arms about her, saying, "Bless the bairn, will ye come sometimes to see me? it wad gae me much pleasure."

"Oh, yes, I will come," answered Prue, "if I may bring Randy. She's my big sister, and there's no one like her anywhere."

Prue was a.s.sured that Randy would be more than welcome. Every one was charmed with the gentle little Scotch woman, who seemed equally pleased with her new friends.

They sometimes found it a bit difficult to understand her. Sandy had been so long in America, and had tried so earnestly to be like his neighbors, that he expressed himself in very good English, with here and there a bit of his old dialect appearing. His wife, however, had lived in a little town some miles distant from the city, and used many words which, while in common use in the Scottish village, were utterly unknown to her new friends. But her manner could not be misunderstood. It was unmistakably the manner of a gentle, lovely character, bearing good-will to all.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "At the Head of a Long Table stood Helen Dayton"]

The hum of conversation rose to a din as the young people laughed and chatted. All had been admiring the furnishings, which were indeed charming. There were some quaint old chairs which had belonged to Sandy's father; a large family portrait hung on the wall above the fireplace; some beautiful old candlesticks in which bright tapers burned; and the evident delight of their guests charmed Sandy and his dear old wife.

"Now, friends," said Sandy, stepping forward, "ye ha' all seen my Margaret, noo will ye walk this way and I'll gie ye another surprise,"

and he led the way to the end of the parlor, where he opened a door, and there at the head of a long table, spread with a feast such as no one in the village had ever seen, stood Helen Dayton.

With a sharp cry of delight Randy ran to greet her, and was folded in Helen's arms. Then every one crowded about Miss Dayton, and many were the questions with which she was plied.

"I cannot answer all these questions," she said with a merry laugh; "but I'll tell you how I happened to be here again so soon. I hastened home, as many of you know, to see my Uncle Robert, who was to be in Boston but a few days, and on the day of his departure for the West I received the glad news of the wedding in a most delightful letter, which also contained a cordial invitation for me to be present and surprise you all to-night."

"We're glad enough to see you again," said Jotham Potts, and a chorus of voices echoed the boy's frank speech.

Then the feast began. Such a treat it was to Sandy's neighbors and friends. The children were fairly wild with excitement. A giant wedding cake graced the centre of the table, and the beautiful frosting, with its garlands of flowers and little sugar cupids, delighted the children, who thought it the finest thing which they had ever seen.