[Controlcambios-bdoo] And show us what can be got out of a fiddle!" "Let

[Frugoli Copeman]

Ceful snoring of Mrs. Philander and the little Keelers, which was responded to from some remote western corner of the Ark by the triumphant

snores of Grandma and Grandpa Keeler. I attempted to kindle a fire in the stove, but it sizzled a little while, spitefully, as much as to say, "What, Sunday morning? Not I!" and went out. So I concluded to put on some wraps and go out and warm myself in the sun. I climbed the long hill back of the Ark, descended, and walked along the bank of the river. It was a beautiful morning.
The air was--everything that could be desired in the way of air, but I felt a desperate need of something more substantial. Standing alone with nature, on the bank of the lovely liver,
I thought, with tears in my eyes, of the delicious breakfast already recuperating
the exhausted energies of my far-away home friends. When I got
back to the house, Mrs. Philander, in simple and unaffected attire, was bustling busily about the stove. The snores from Grandma and Grandpa's quarter had ceased, signifying
that they, also, had advanced a stage in the grand processes of Sunday morning. The children
came teasing me to dress them, so I fastened for

them a variety of small articles which I flattered myself on having combined in a very ingenious and artistic manner, though I believe those infant Keelers went weeping to Grandma
afterwards, and were remodeled by her all-comforting hand with much skill and patience. In the midst of her preparations for breakfast, Madeline abruptly assumed

her hat and shawl, and
was seen from the window, walking leisurely across the fields in the direction of the
woods. She returned in due time, bearing an armful of fresh
evergreens, which she twisted around the family register. When the ancient couple made their appearance, I remarked silently, in regard to Grandma Keeler's hair, what proved afterward to be its usual holiday morning arrangement. It was confined in six infinitesimal
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