their final decision. I know Mother too well to expect her to change her mind, and Father is always governed by her judgment in important decisions. Of course I am somewhat disappointed, but two years will soon pass. I have much to do and to learn before I shall be ready for a place by Alfred's side. I mean to read and study and try to make myself like those fine ladies who talked so easily and moved so gracefully at the party. Then it will take me about two years to do all the spinning that will be necessary if I am to keep house for myself. Oh, I am not impatient. I shall be too busy to have time to be lonely, even when Alfred goes away, which he told Mother he should do soon. Mon., Mar. 6. Alfred came down to say good-by to us last night. He said if by waiting he could not take me to New York with him, it would be better for him to go at once. He is bitterly disappointed and inclined to think we have been hardly used, but I tried to tell him how it seems to me and he went away more reconciled to the waiting time. He does n't in the least understand having his will crossed, and he frets, and makes himself quite wretched about it. He thinks it is grief at leaving me-and so it is, partly, but he could leave me more easily and feel happier about it if he had planned to do so, instead of having some one else do the planning for him. The poor fellow has the worst of our waiting, for while I shall be busy all of the time, he will have nothing to do except "be a gentleman.' What a crusty old fellow that uncle must have been, anyhow! Mon., Mar. 27. Almost a month has passed since Alfred left me and since I wrote here last! I am so busy all the time that I cannot write as often as I would like. When Alfred went away, he promised to send me books that I might read and study as I wished to, which he has done. I spend all the time that I can spare, over them; and that, with my spinning and letter writing, keeps me from you. Alfred is a tireless correspondent, and it takes a good deal of time to answer his letters. It is a pleasant task, however, for I am never happier than when I am writing to him, if I except the time that I am reading 'his letters to me. June 1. This is the first day of the month in which Alfred wished to be married. Even now I see the wisdom of deferring that event, for the more I study, the more I realize how much I need to. The country is lovely at this season, and it would be harder to leave it than it would be if the springing grass and sweet early flowers were asleep under a snowy blanket. I should be perfectly happy if only Alfred were here! But then, his letters are as delightful as ever. He writes me that he is very busy all the time, as the property is a large one. He proposes to acquaint himself with the details of the care of it, and as he is unused to business, it is something of an undertaking. He writes me just what occupies him and I in turn tell him of our home interests. July 12, 1809. A most dreadful thing happened near here last week, which I will write a full account of, as I want to remem "but there has been an explosion at the fort and a fearful one, too. I don't want any supper," he added, seeing the table ready for him, "so you can clear away as soon you like. As soon as I have changed my clothes, I'll tell you about the accident," and he went directly to his room. Mother and I were just ready to sit down when he returned to the kitchen, and throwing himself upon the sofa, proceeded to give us an account of his afternoon's experience. ber every detail of it-though I am hardly likely to forget anything that has filled the whole county side with horror. Early in the afternoon of the Fourth of July, we were startled by a fearful noise that sounded like the loudest thunder, only there were several reports, which followed each other in rapid succession. The house shook, windows clattered, and dishes in the closet were thrown down and broken by the shock. Of course we all rushed out of the house, supposing that we were in the midst of an earthquake; but the ground was firm and the sky clear except off to the northeast, where a heavy cloud of something that looked like smoke was rising above the tree-tops, and filling the air with a strong, sulphurous odor. "It must be an explosion at the while boats of every description filled Fort and a heavy one, too, exclaimed Father. "I guess I had better go across and see how bad things are, for they may need help down there," and away he ran to the boat-house. Mother and I watched him cross the field to the creek, and then row down stream until the rocks and trees hid him from our view, just because we were too anxious and frightened to want to go into the house by ourselves. We watched and waited for his return till dusk, and when he did not come then, we were sure something had happened to him. About eight o'clock he came home, covered from head to foot with smoke and dirt, and looking like a ghost. "After I left here," he said, “I went down to the creek to Great Island, following the direction of the smoke which still hung over the lower point of the island. As I approached the fort, I saw, floating on the water, pieces of board and fragments of what looked like wreckage, with men and boys were making for the landing. We were all bent on the same errand, and as no one was wiser than another, it was useless to ask questions; but questions were unnecessary, for even while we were landing, we saw before us through the smoke, the house of Colonel Walbach, partially ruined. The side nearest us was stove in and we could look into the dining-room and see in one huge heap, the ruins of furniture, table, and banquet. Fragments of food, dishes, and pictures, mingled with plaster and laths from walls and ceiling, and everything in the room was smashed beyond recognition. But the scene outside beggars description. Pieces of iron, timber, cannon-balls, and charred human flesh, were mixed in one horrible, sickening mass. The grass was "Why, Father! What is the matter; are you hurt?" cried Mother and I in terror. "No, I'm all right,” he replied, strewn with pieces of burned cloth ing from which was likely to protrude an armless hand or a leg without body or foot. For a few moments, everybody was paralyzed with horror, but we soon rallied from this and began to search for the victims of the disaster. At first it seemed impossible to tell how many had been killed or injured, but after searching about three hours, we learned that only seven people had been killed and six soldiers and several citizens comprised the list of the wounded; then we knew that further search was unnecessary and applied ourselves to clearing away the traces of the accident. It was dreadful work! Why, the leg of one poor fellow who was dismembered, was blown through a heavy door over the dining-room, leaving a hole in the door the shape of his foot," and Father covered his eyes with his hand, as if to shut out the gruesome sight. two-pound cartridges, for the salute. It appears that the small cartridges were to have been placed in the ammunition chest, but the sergeant thought that they felt damp and left them in the sun for a while, to dry. The wind probably carried a spark from a lighted linstock to the cartridges, and the explosion followed. It was an awful occurrence, and one that no person who was present will ever forget, although the loss of life. was not so great as was at first supposed. Ephraim Pickering of Newton was one of the victims-he was killed. You remember him, don't you, Wife? "Horrible!" "Fearful!" we shud- tireless in their exertions in behalf deringly exclaimed. of the wounded and through their "What caused the explosion?" prompt efforts more of the wounded asked Mother. will probably recover than, from the nature of their injuries, one would have a right to expect. "The countersign given out on the Fourth was 'Dreadful.' Father was so unnerved and we were so shocked by the recital, that no one cared to talk, so we soon separated for the night, though I doubt if any one in the house slept much that night. The remains of the soldiers were buried with the honors of war, in a common grave, last Sunday, July 8. CHAPTER XI. Aug. 7. Alfred has been in Riverside since the middle of July. He comes here frequently, but of course he can't come as often as when he had no care of any kind. Madam Sherburne drove down here with him a while ago and invited me to go to Riverside and make her a visit of several days, but Mother was not willing for me to stay so long; she would only promise that I might spend a day there, so last Thursday I went and had such a happy day! Alfred drove down after me, and I was glad to learn that I was to be the only guest at his aunt's that day, for I have a nervous dread of meeting their friends. I hope it is only a temporary feeling, but I am always a little uncomfortable when I am brought in contact with Alfred's friends and he is near; probably because I know that I suffer by comparison with them and I hate for him to see it. Alfred is changed somewhat, since he went away; I can hardly tell how, but very likely it is the result of having some responsibility beyond finding amusement for himself, that has made him less boyish and more mature. He was as agreeable and entertaining as possible all the way up to town, and I was happy. It was enough for me just to sit by his side and listen to his conversation, without allowing myself to miss any of the old-time brightness. When we arrived at Major Sherburne's, the door was opened by old Peter, the white-haired, negro servant, who condescended to bow to me with grave cordiality as he ushered me into the drawing-room. I was almost as much flattered by his silent greeting as by Madam S.'s kind, motherly one. "My dear Polly!" she said, "I am very glad that you are here at last. I was afraid that your good mother might repent and refuse to lend you to me for one day, even," and she kissed me affectionately. "Well, Miss Polly, how do you do?" inquired the Major, who now came forward and shook hands with me cordially. "I don't blame Mrs. Tucker for keeping you close, my dear, for you are not likely to be left with her very much longer, and she had better make the most of the time that she has you with her. Where's Alfred, Wife?" he asked in the same breath. "Gone down to the stable, for a moment," replied Madam S., while I sat there wondering if Major S. could possibly have had any design in making that remark and then introducing Alfred's name at once. Just then Alfred came in. "Now Alfred," said his aunt, "I want you to help me decide what will entertain Polly most, to day. You know we can have her only one day and so we must do the best that we can in that time. Perhaps you have a choice of how the time shall be spent, my dear," turning to me; "I hope you have, for in that case we shall be sure to find the right thing." "Pray do not think of making special plans for my entertainment, for I shall be quite happy right here with you," I hastened to reply. "O my dear! two old people like the Major and myself and a young rattlebrain like Alfred, would be poor company for you for a whole day. No, I want you to have a genuine holiday. How would you like to see the new church, for one thing? We think it well worth seeing, and after that perhaps you would like to visit. other points of interest in town?" "Oh, thank you!" I cried. "I |