off. At such times, the horse would stop and wait until Hank gave the word to go on again.

FIFTEEN COW-punchers were lolling away Sunday afternoon in the shade of the bunk-house. Hank's absence was being discussed. Around a point two hundred yards away came the stallion. At the sight of the men he stopped quickly, and Hank narrowly saved himself from pitching headlong to the ground.

The stallion turned his head and looked at Hank. "It's all right, old fellow; I'll see you through. Go on!" And the horse went forward at an easy pace, with Hank clinging with his left hand tightly to the flowing mane.

Fifteen punchers held the attitude they were

in when the horse appeared-they were frozen with astonishment. Not one of them broke the silence nor moved a hand.

At the gate the stallion stopped, and Hank crumpled into the arms of one of the punchers, and then to the ground. He lay quiet so long that the horse gently pawed at him and whinnied anxiously. "I 'm all right, old pal," Hank said. aloud, through clenched teeth. "You hit the trail; I'll see you again, when I 'm able to travel."

With head and tail high, mane flowing in the breeze, the stallion galloped away, swinging his magnificent head from side to side as he went, and looking backward continually. But not a man stirred.

I ALMOST got to Fairy-land, one day.

I walked just straight along the sun-path, so,
And there were little hummings in the world;
And moving things went through the grass, and all
The air was just as glad as if there were
A party, somewhere, at a fairy's house.
I knew they had a party, and I knew
That they had kept a seat for me, if I
Could only find the right turn in the road.
I was so near to Fairy-land, so near

That I could almost hear the fairy gates Swing open for me, waiting-just for me.

I was so near to Fairy-land--and then, Just then, I heard my mother calling me, "Come in to supper, dear," I heard her call; And so I never got to Fairy-land.

I know that there are fairies, though, because

I almost got to Fairy-land one day!

CHAPTER I

A LETTER FROM MOUNT VERNON

"THEN they'll b-be m-m-m-married at Denewood, after all!" I stuttered in my excitement, breaking in upon Mrs. Mummer as she finished Bee's letter.

"Aye, that they will, praise be!" she replied heartily, and then read again the news that had gladdened our hearts.

"It has been thought best not to have the wedding at Mount Vernon, on account of a death in the family; but Lady Washington will keep me in countenance at Denewood His Excellency plans to be in Philadelphia in a fortnight, and the wedding must take place almost at once. Mrs. Mummer bounced out of her chair all abustle.

"In a fortnight!" she exclaimed. "'T is well I took time by the forelock,' as Mummer says, and began making ready against their coming." She was across the room, hurrying toward the kitchens ere she finished speaking.

"'T is good I 'm here to help you," I cried, skipping along behind her; but in my eagerness I bumped into her, for she had stopped abruptly, struck by a new thought.

"And what of her plenishings, child?" she asked in dismay, looking at me, as if I could answer such a riddle.

"Can't she get her dresses at Mount Vernon?" I suggested, but Mrs. Mummer shook her head.

"Nay, there are no shops there to supply her fittingly, and what 's more, her outfit will be the last thing Miss Bee will be thinking of."

"Then we must e'en do it for her," I declared. "We c-could n't have Bee wedded in d-dimity."

"That we could n't, Peggy dear," Mrs. Mummer agreed. "I would n't have her dressed in aught but what was most elegant, and what does an old housekeeper like me know of fashions?"

This was true enough, for, although Mrs. Mummer was full of needle wisdom, she had no knowledge of the latest modes, and I was but a child of nine years, who could be of little help.

"Beside," Mrs. Mummer went on, "with all that must be done 'twixt now and their coming, I shall have few moments to spare on mantuamakers. Yet she must have her plenishings."

"I h-h-have it!" I cried, an idea popping into my head. "We'll send for Polly and Betty. They know naught else but what is f-f-fashionable."

Mrs. Mummer clapped her hands at this suggestion, exclaiming: "The very thing! As Mummer says, 'all creatures have their use in this world,' though I never thought to seek help of those two girls," and without more words she went to the great desk in the library.

Laboriously, with her quill grasped in a hand that was little accustomed to it, Mrs. Mummer wrote a note to my sisters, summoning them from our home in Haddonfield. That done, she hung up her pen and despatched the letter immediately by Charley, with instructions to waste no time upon the road.

"And now to work!" she cried, as we watched the black boy disappear on the gallop; "there are a thousand things to be set to rights, and I scarce know where to begin."

"There's the wedding-cake," I suggested.

"Aye, I must get at that soon, and it shall be such a cake as was ne'er seen in Germantown!" declared Mrs. Mummer.

"And I'll help seed the raisins!" I exclaimed, dancing about, ready to begin on the instant.

"Nay, deary," Mrs. Mummer returned quite seriously; "no hand but mine shall touch that cake, or aught that goes into it."

Though I protested somewhat at this decision of Mrs. Mummer's, she had made up her mind and held to it, so that until the great day I never saw the wedding-cake. Nevertheless, I had my fill of seeding raisins, for there were vast quantities of different cakes and sugared cookies baked, and I had my tasks as well as every other maid and man in the house.

Inside and out, Denewood hummed with busy workers; but the kitchens were, of course, the scene of the greatest activity, for not only would there be a vast company at the wedding itself, but the neighbors for miles around would expect their share of the feast. It was not many days before all the cupboards were filled with pasties, fruit-pies, and dozens of other good things that would take no hurt for a little waiting.

Polly and Betty came at once, all atwitter over

a wedding in the family and monstrous set up at having so important a part in the preparations.

Mrs. Mummer had already engaged the most famous mantua-maker in Philadelphia to attend to the dressmaking, and this woman had sent word that, as luck would have it, the fall ships were newly arrived from Europe with cargoes of fine goods, and that we should make our purchases at once. Mrs. Mummer grumbled that she must lose the time at Denewood, but it was too good an opportunity to be missed; so the day after my sisters came, we started betimes in the great family chariot, seeing that the chaise would scarce hold the boxes and bundles we should bring back with us.

Mrs. Mummer had another errand to do in the city, of which she made somewhat of a mystery; but when I saw her slyly disappear into the shop of Mr. Twining, the silversmith, I guessed that her business was to buy the thimble and ring for the wedding-cake. But I said naught of my idea to Betty or Polly, who seemed vastly curious, although they thought it beneath their dignity to show it.

It was a most exciting day to me, and never did I know before that there could be so many different kinds of brocades, satins, laces, fine muslins, and chintzes as I saw then; and when at last we were ready to return to Denewood, there was scarce room for us in the coach. Indeed, so full was it of bundles that when the steps were folded up, there was not one of us but had something in her lap as well as underfoot.

I was a little disappointed when Mrs. Mummer decided that Bee should wear naught more gorgeous than white at her wedding. I would have had her clad in yellow satin with an overskirt of blue mantua, or, belike, purple velvet, for at that age I had a gay taste in colors; but Mrs. Mummer chose a petticoat of white satin veiled with silver tissue richly worked with flowers, and an overdress of silver brocade; and, though I murmured somewhat, when I saw the high-heeled brocade slippers (for which she said she had diamond buckles in the Denewood strong-box), I felt quite reconciled, and could not but admit it would be most elegant and fashionable.

For the bridesmaids, Betty and Polly had their choice, and they selected a peach-color and white changeable mantua with lace, that would be becoming to all. This entirely satisfied me, for heretofore I had worn but the simplest of muslins, so that I was quite set up at the thought of Mistress Margaret Travers in such elegancies.

We would all have been ready to lie late the next morning, but this in no wise suited Mrs.

Mummer, who routed us out ere the sun had fairly risen.

"Up! up!" she cried, coming into each of our rooms in turn; "up! up! I'll have no slugabeds in this house. The time is all too short for what we have to do!" And so began another busy day, with no rest nor shirking till all was accomplished.

As the fortnight drew to a close, I was impatient for the hour to come when I should see my darling Bee again. She, too, was a Travers, but of the English branch of the family, and had arrived in America just at the beginning of our war with the mother country, five years before. She had come a stranger to a strange land, but had soon won all hearts by her courage and loyalty to the home of her adoption; while to me, who was scarce more than a baby when first we met at Denewood, she was all the world.

When Mrs. Mummer, returning alone from Virginia, brought word that Cousin John Travers was to marry with Beatrice, I was at first much surprised. Soon, however, I came to see that this was the nicest thing that could have happened, and felt certain that a lucky sixpence Bee had brought with her from England had played its part in bringing it about.

No wonder that I could not sit still on the morning of their coming. Bill Schmuck, Cousin John's body-servant, had arrived the evening before with a message that the party would stay the night in Philadelphia, where Mr. Chew's house had been put at their disposal, but would reach Germantown early the following morning.

And at last they came. A big chariot with four horses led the way, General Washington upon the one hand and Cousin John upon the other, while behind them were Major McLane, my brother Bart, Mark Powell, and many of His Excellency's train whom I knew not. It was a gay cavalcade, but I saw naught save the great coach, and was dancing before the door ere the steps were let down.

"Bee! Bee!" I cried, and in a moment she was out and had me in her arms, hugging me tight.

"My own little Peg!" she whispered, kissing me; and I could only repeat, "Bee! Bee! Bee!" again and again, while I fair sobbed with excite

ment.

After that, Bee went to greet Mrs. Mummer and to say a word to the servants and black boys who stood about grinning with delight to see her back again, while Cousin John picked me up and kissed me.

"Y-you don't l-look as if you 'd been losted," I told him. At which every one laughed, but in truth he looked happier than I had ever seen him.

"Nay, 't is we who worried about him who are but shadows!" cried Allan McLane; "and we get no sympathy for it," he added, as he brought his great bulk down from his horse.

I wriggled in Cousin John's arms, wishing to go to Major McLane, who was a particular friend of mine, but Cousin John, setting me on the ground, still held my hand.

"You must welcome His Excellency and Lady Washington," he said, for in my excitement I had clean forgot our distinguished visitors.

Holding wide my petticoat, I made my deepest curtsey to the general, and he in his turn bowed low to me, as he might have done to a great lady, for, indeed, he was the most elegant of gentlemen. But when I turned to salute Madam Washington, who stood very dignified and straight, she came quickly to me.

"Nay, child, this would be more suitable than a formal scrape," and with that she kissed me on both cheeks. I vow it was easy to understand how the first lady in the land had won all hearts, but I was too surprised even to stutter a reply.

Then I was free to greet my older friends, and Allan McLane set me on his shoulder and carried me into the house behind the others.

Oh, how good it was to have Bee and Cousin John back, and Denewood full of people again, as in the old days before the war had come so close to us! And what a gay table it was when we all sat for dinner! Bec, at its head, in spite of her protests that Cousin John should have that honor. "Nay, Bee," he insisted, "'t is you saved Denewood, and it is yours."

And so, with His Excellency on her right hand and me on her left, Beatrice Travers once more played hostess to the guests of Denewood.

But, though I longed to have her to myself for a minute, and could scarce wait for all the questions I had to ask her, it was not till night that Bee and I were alone together. She slipped, into my bed, which had been set up for the time being in the day-nursery next her room.

"Oh, Peggy dear, it was n't so, after all!" she whispered, referring to the past when all save she and I had believed Cousin John dead. For answer I kissed her and snuggled into her arms. "T-t-tell me all about it, Bee," I murmured, and straightway she recounted the adventures that had befallen her since she had left Denewood, many weeks before.

CHAPTER II

LADY WASHINGTON TAKES COMMAND

DIRECTLY after breakfast next morning, the men went away in attendance upon General Washing

ton, and we stood for a moment in the portico to watch them.

"T-t-t is well they 're gone," I said gravely to Madam Washington; "w-w-we women have our hands full w-w-without them." Why she and Bee laughed so immoderate at this I could not fathom, for, to my mind, it was no jest. The tasks still before us seemed innumerable when one remembered that on the following day, "at candle-light," as the invitations read, the wedding would take place.

First of all, Bee's plenishings must be inspected. She gladdened Mrs. Mummer's heart by the surprise and delight she showed in all her finery, telling the old housekeeper she was too good to her, and thanked Polly and Betty for their share in the work, vowing she could think of naught that would be an improvement, which pleased my sisters mightily. And, indeed, even the fit of the gown was well-nigh perfect, and, save for a seam or two which could be run up in a minute, the bridal outfit was complete from lace veil to brocade slippers. But it was not quite finished that day, for Mrs. Mummer saw to it that there should be a few stitches to set on the morrow, as 't is well known that ill luck follows if the wedding-gown is completed ere the wedding-day.

There had been talk of having the ceremony at Christ Church, in Philadelphia; but, rather than take the long ride to the city, it was finally decided that they should wed at Denewood, which was large enough to accommodate all the invited guests. It was a question, however, just where the bridal party should stand during the service.

Polly and Betty had spoken for the diningroom, with the great bow-window at one end, as the most fitting place, and Mrs. Mummer, too, was inclined to such an arrangement; but there were objections to this, and the drawing-room being thought too small, no decision so far had been reached.

When the subject was broached anew, Madam Washington made short work of the matter. She marshaled us all into the great hall, and pointed to the first stair-landing, which was but a step or two up.

"The parson shall stand there!" she declared. "We will place some growing plants, or, if we can do no better at this time of the year, a bank of green boughs on either side. 'T will make a most tasteful bower."

"Aye, that's true enough," agreed Mrs. Mummer, though she still shook her head dubiously.

"In that way," continued Lady Washington, "we shall gain the upper gallery for guests as well as the hall itself, and thus we can accom

modate more than in the drawing-room and still have the dining-room free."

"But, Lady Washington, ma'am," said Mrs. Mummer, anxiously, "if so be we have guests in the gallery, how will Miss Bee ever win down the stair without crushing her finery?"

"She must not come down those stairs," Lady Washington asserted with decision. "I like not to look at a woman as she bobs from step to step, and in the face of so great a company it would be most awkwardish. Nay, she shall seek her maids in the dining-room by way of the back stairs. I 've seen such before lined with clean sheets to save the bride's ruffles."

"Now that 's well thought of!" exclaimed Mrs. Mummer, and then, with a little toss of her head, "but, begging Your Ladyship's pardon, there will be no need of sheets. My back stairs are as white as my front."

"Aye, that I'm well assured of, Mrs. Mummer," came the quick reply. "You are too notable a housewife to make so slovenly an expedient necessary."

It was so quickly and gracefully done, that Mrs. Mummer glowed at the compliment.

"I thank Your Ladyship," she murmured, "and I'm sure the arrangements you have suggested will be perfect."

"Yes, 't is the best plan, I 'm certain," Madam Washington went on, with a nod and a smile to us all. "Once in the dining-room, the great doors may be set wide, the bridesmaids will enter the hall in front, and, last, the bride herself, with eyes as they should be, modestly cast down, leaning upon His Excellency's arm." For General Washington was to stand in place of a father to Bee, she having no near relatives outside of England, and her own father being dead since she was a baby.

So it was agreed, and when that evening we spoke of the arrangements to General Washington, telling him how his lady had solved our difficulties, he chuckled thoughtfully to himself.

"Eh, now, 't is Her Ladyship who should have been the general!" he declared with pride. “'T is a most suitable arrangement. I like well the strategy of taking the guests upon the flank, rather than braving their fire from the front. What say you, Mistress Beatrice?"

Bee laughingly assented, but truth to tell she assented to everything, and would have said "Aye" had they wished her to wed in the kitchen.

There was no doubt Bee was happy. 'T was plain to all who saw her, but now and then I caught a wistful look on her face, as if, perchance, she longed for something she could in no wise attain.

I taxed her with it that night as she sat on the edge of my bed.

"Nay now, Peggy!" she protested; "'t is your imagination. I'm the happiest girl in America. Sure no others see aught else in my face?"

"There's no one loves you as I d-d-do, Bee," I answered. "I think 't was my heart t-t-told me." At that she took me in her arms and held me close.

"'T is not that I 'm sad, Peg dear," she began, "but-but I can't help thinking now and then of Granny, and of Horace and Hal, my brothers, far away in England. They don't even know yet that I am to be married, and-and a maid can't help wishing that one of her own family was by upon her wedding-day."

I had no words to comfort her. Indeed, I scarce understood, seeing that her brothers could not love her better than we at Denewood; but, to show my sympathy, I nestled close to her, and so we stayed a moment or two in silence.

Then I said, a little hurt perhaps: "Is n't a c-c-cousin a piece of the family, Bee?" At which she gave a low laugh.

"Your old Bee is an ungrateful girl!" she cried. "I feel ashamed to be wishing for the impossible when I have so much. Let us speak no more of it." And a little later, with a good-night kiss, she left me.

CHAPTER III

BEE'S WEDDING-CAKE

I AWOKE next morning to find Mrs. Mummer standing at my bedside, looking down at me with a smile upon her face.

"Is the d-d-day fair?" I asked anxiously, for it had looked cloudy the night before.

"Aye," she answered contentedly, "'t is fair, and happy is the bride the sun shines on,' as Mummer says."

But I wanted to see for myself, so, jumping up, I pattered to the window in my nightrail to look out. The sky was blue, with scarce a cloud in it, and it was so warm and sunny that it seemed like a day in June rather than early December.

"T is fine enough even for Bee's w-w-wedding," I stuttered, with a sigh of satisfaction.

Most of the day I was busy scurrying here and there upon errands for Mrs. Mummer, and was but half aware of the many arrivals at Denewood. All the wedding-party was on hand, that I knew, and the Rev. William White, of Christ Church, who was to read the service. For the rest I had little concern, though once or twice I remember running into Major McLane, who would have stopped me, vowing I was forgetting old friendships.