298 BRAGGADOCIO.

“And don’t forget, father, to take the basket
of nice greens Tom gathered this morning. I
have put an old tin kettle in the basket for the
tar.” .

Bran Mixon took the basket on one arm,
and carried his dinner as usual; as he walked
off, he cast one look back at his house; there
stook little Bessie, looking out the window after
him. She nodded and smiled. -

_ “For all the world just like her mother,”
said Mixon, wiping a tear from his eyes with
his sleeve, and then stepping briskly over the
ground with a light, cheerful heart.

Bessie’s parlor had one window in front, and
one at the side of the house. Over both of
these, her mother had carefully trained the
roses and honeysuckles which the storm had
now beaten down. With right good will, Tom
went to work to nail them up against the
brown clap-boards.

Bessie, meanwhile, was putting her room in
order, and a nice, comfortable room it was.
In one corner stood a bed, with gay chintz
curtains. A small bureau with a looking-glass
over it was in the opposite corner. A clean