" Mr. Easterbrook's stay at Trevecca was brief.

It's Mr. Easterbrook.

The violinist is lots more thrilling, but I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Easterbrook was more comfortable to live with.

The violinist is the kind of a man that makes you want to sit up and take notice, and have your hair and finger nails and shoes just right; but with Mr. Easterbrook you wouldn't mind a bit sitting in a big chair before the fire with a pair of old slippers on, if your feet were tired.

Mr. Easterbrook doesn't care for music.

In fact, I guess there isn't anything about Mr. Easterbrook that she doesn't notice.

Aunt Hattie likes Mr. Easterbrook lots better than she does the violinist.

Anyhow, I know Mother's part will be, for it's getting more and more excitingabout Mr. Easterbrook and the violinist, I mean.

It's Mr. Easterbrook.

This morning she broke an engagement with Mr. Easterbrook to go auto-riding and went with the violinist to a morning musicale instead; and after she'd gone Aunt Hattie sighed and looked at Grandfather and shrugged her shoulders, and said she was afraid they'd driven her straight into the arms of the one they wanted to avoid, and that Madge always would take the part of the under dog.

And I thought how she'd broken engagements with Mr. Easterbrook to go with him, and it made me angry all over again.

Besides, there's Mr. Easterbrook left (and one or two others that I haven't said much about, as I didn't think they had much chance).

There's Mr. Easterbrook, now" But Mother wouldn't even listen then.

She pooh-poohed and tossed her head, and said, "Mr. Easterbrook, indeed!"

And she doesn't go so much with Mr. Easterbrook as she did.

And then how, on Christmas morning, there was a lovely new snow on the ground, and Mr. Easterbrook came with a perfectly lovely sleigh and two horses to take Mother and me to ride, and what a splendid time we had, and how lovely Mother looked with her red cheeks and bright eyes, and how, when we got home, Mr. Easterbrook said we looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, and wasn't that nice of him.

And then how, on Christmas morning, there was a lovely new snow on the ground, and Mr. Easterbrook came with a perfectly lovely sleigh and two horses to take Mother and me to ride, and what a splendid time we had, and how lovely Mother looked with her red cheeks and bright eyes, and how, when we got home, Mr. Easterbrook said we looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, and wasn't that nice of him.

Of course, I told a little more about Mr. Easterbrook, too, so Father'd know who he wasa new friend of Mother's that I'd never known till I came back this time, and how he was very rich and a most estimable man.

There's just school, and the usual things; only Mr. Easterbrook doesn't come any more.

I don't know whether Mr. Easterbrook proposed or not.

Really, there just isn't anything going on, and things aren't half so lively as they used to be when Mr. Easterbrook was here, and all the rest.

Then I went on to tell him how I thought it was the prettiest one I ever saw, and 'way ahead of even Mr. Easterbrook's.

"And, pray, who is Mr. Easterbrook?" asked Father then.

And he spoke of the violinist again, and, of course, this time I told him all about him, and that he didn't come any more, nor Mr. Easterbrook, either; and Father was so interested!

SEE EASTERBROOK, MARY HEROLD.