Oats like these, and hay such as this, were not to be found on the plains.
Toward evening the grave butler, with many a deprecatory glance at the neighborhood, arrived at the door of Mrs.Brady, and delivered himself of the following message to that astonished lady, backed by her daughter and her granddaughter, with their ears stretched to the utmost to hear every syllable: "Mrs.Merrill Wilton Bailey sends word that her granddaughter, Miss Elizabeth, has reached her home safely, and will remain with her.

Miss Elizabeth will come sometime to see Mrs.Brady, and thank her for her kindness during her stay with her." The butler bowed, and turned away with relief.

His dignity and social standing had not been so taxed by the family demands in years.

He was glad he might shake off the dust of Flora Street forever.

He felt for the coachman.