The Crimson Rambler
"Upon my word, wonders will never cease!" exclaimed Nancy. "The Admiral said you were in Boston, but he never told us you would visit Beulah so soon!"
"No, I wanted it to be a secret. I wanted to appear when the ball was at its height; the ghost of the old régime confronting the new, so to speak."
"Beulah will soon be a summer resort; everybody seems to be coming here."
"It's partly your fault, is n't it?"
"Why, pray?"
"'The Water Babies' is one of my favorite books, and I know all about Mother Carey's chickens. They go out over the seas and show good birds the way home."
"Are you a good bird?" asked Nancy saucily.
"I'm home, at all events!" said Tom with an emphasis that made Nancy shiver lest the young man had come to Beulah with a view of taking up his residence in the paternal mansion.
The two young people sat down on the piazza steps while the music of The Sultan's Polka floated out of the barn door. Old Mrs. Jenks was dancing with Peter, her eighty-year-old steps as fleet as his, her white side-curls bobbing to the tune. Her withered hands clasped his dimpled ones and the two seemed to be of
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