not the kind to appeal to the Major. Spot confined himself to the daily paper and an occasional magazine of short stories or a farmers' quarterly. Myra kept up with the continued stories in two or three magazines, and read with interest all the advertisements and articles on the subject of domestic science, although she had no occasion to use the information gained thereby, since the queen of Mill House kitchen, Aunt Testy, brooked no interference from members of the household as to her domain. Evelyn was deeply religious and read only books of devotion or stories about missionaries and their travels and trials in foreign lands.
Young Master Tom, who had gone to New York to be an artist, had liked the kind of books the Major liked. He had been a reader from the time he was a little lad spelling out the titles on the fine old calf bindings. Spottswood was cut out for a farmer and the eight hundred acres of fertile land in the arm of the little river would keep him busy enough. But Tom—Tom might have done wonders with the hub factory, thought the Major, as he waited for the mail on this June morning. It would have grown under his clear-headed management, grown into a great industry, and yet there would have been time for reading at home in the evenings, read-
