It was five o'clock on Saturday afternoon when father left me.

Aunt Mercy continued her preparations for tea, and when it was ready, went to the foot of the stairs, and called, "Supper." Grand'ther came down immediately followed by two tall, cadaverous women, Ruth and Sally Aikin, tailoresses, who sewed for him spring and fall.

Living several miles from Barmouth, they stayed through the week, going home on Saturday night, to return on Monday morning.

We stood behind the heavy oak chairs round the table, one of which Grand'ther tipped backward, and said a long grace, not a word of which was heard; for his teeth were gone, and he prayed in his throat.

Aunt Mercy's "Moltee" rubbed against me, with her back and tail erect.