HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLSIDE by MRS. MARY JANE HOLMES By the Same Author in uniform style: _Dora Deane_ _Cousin Maude_ _Lena Rivers_ _Meadow Brook_ _English Orphans_ _Maggie Miller_ _Rosamond_ _Tempest And Sunshine_ _Homestead on the Hillside_ CONTENTS The Homestead On The Hillside Chapter I. Mrs. Hamilton Chapter II. Lenora And Her Mother Chapter III. One Step Toward The Homestead Chapter IV. After The Burial Chapter V. Kate Kirby Chapter VI. Raising The Wind Chapter VII. The Stepmother Chapter VIII. Domestic Life At The Homestead Chapter IX. Lenora And Carrie Chapter X. Darkness Chapter XI. Margaret And Her Father Chapter XII. "Carrying Out Dear Mr. Hamilton's Plans" Chapter XIII. Retribution Chapter XIV. Finale Rice Corner Chapter I. Rice Corner Chapter II. The Belle Of Rice Corner Chapter III. Monsieur Penoyer Chapter IV. Cousin Emma Chapter V. Richard Evelyn And Harley Ashmore Chapter VI. Mike And Sally Chapter VII. The Bride The Gilberts; Or, Rice Corner Number Two Chapter I. The Gilberts Chapter II. Nellie Chapter III. The Haunted House Chapter IV. Jealousy Chapter V. New Relations Chapter VI. Poor, Poor Nellie The Thanksgiving Party And Its Consequences Chapter I. Night Before Thanksgiving Chapter II. Thanksgiving Day Chapter III. Ada Harcourt Chapter IV. Lucy Chapter V. Uncle Israel Chapter VI. Explanation Chapter VII. A Maneuver Chapter VIII. Cousin Berintha And Lucy's Party Chapter IX. A Wedding At St. Luke's Chapter X. A Surprise Chapter XI. Lizzie CHAPTER I. MRS. HAMILTON. For many years the broad, rich acres, and old-fashioned, massivebuilding known as "The Homestead on the Hillside, " had passedsuccessively from father to son, until at last it belonged by right ofinheritance to Ernest Hamilton. Neither time nor expense had beenspared in beautifying and embellishing both house and grounds, and atthe time of which we are speaking there was not for miles around solovely a spot as was the shady old homestead. It stood at some distance from the road, and on the bright green lawnin front were many majestic forest trees, on which had fallen thelights and shadows of more than a century; and under whosewidespreading branches oft, in the olden time, the Indian warrior hadpaused from the chase until the noonday heat was passed. Leading fromthe street to the house was a wide, graveled walk bordered with box, and peeping out from the wilderness of vines and climbing roses werethe white walls of the huge building, which was surrounded on allsides by a double piazza. Many and hallowed were the associations connected with that oldhomestead. On the curiously-carved seats beneath the tall shade treeswere cut the names of some who there had lived, and loved, and passedaway. Through the little gate at the foot of the garden and justacross the brooklet, whose clear waters leaped and laughed in theglad sunshine, and then went dancing away in the woodland below, was aquiet spot, where gracefully the willow tree was bending, where thewild sweetbrier was blooming, and where, too, lay sleeping those whoonce gathered round the hearthstone and basked in the sunlight whichever seemed resting upon the Homestead on the Hillside. But a darker day was coming; a night was approaching when a deep gloomwould overshadow the homestead and the loved ones within its borders. The servants, ever superstitious, now whispered mysteriously that thespirits of the departed returned nightly to their old accustomedplaces, and that dusky hands from the graves of the slumbering deadwere uplifted, as if to warn the master of the domain of thedesolation; which was to come. For more than a year the wife of ErnestHamilton had been dying--slowly, surely dying--and though when theskies were brightest and the sunshine warmest she ever seemed better, each morning's light still revealed some fresh ravage the disease hadmade, until at last there was no hope, and the anxious group whichwatched her knew full well that ere long among them would be a vacantchair, and in the family burying ground an added grave. One evening Mrs. Hamilton seemed more than usually restless, andrequested her daughters to leave her, that she might compose herselfto sleep. Scarcely was she alone when with cat-like tread there glidedthrough the doorway the dark figure of a woman, who advanced towardthe bedside, noiselessly as a serpent would steal to his ambush. Shewas apparently forty-five years of age, and dressed in deep mourning, which seemed to increase the marble whiteness of her face. Her eyes, large, black, and glittering, fastened themselves upon, the invalidwith a gaze so intense that Mrs. Hamilton's hand involuntarily soughtthe bell-rope, to summon some one else to her room. But ere the bell was rung a strangely sweet, musical voice fell on herear, and arrested her movements. "Pardon me for intruding, " said thestranger, "and suffer me to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Carter, whonot long since removed to the village. I have heard of your illness, and wishing to render you any assistance in my power, I have ventured, unannounced, into your presence, hoping that I at least am notunwelcome. " Mrs. Hamilton had heard of a widow lady, who with an only daughter hadrecently removed to the village, which lay at the foot of the longhill on which stood the old homestead. She had heard, too, that Mrs. Carter, though rather singular in some respects, was unusuallybenevolent, spending much time in visiting the sick and needy, and, asfar as possible, ministering to their comfort. Extending her hand, she said, "I know you by reputation, Mrs. Carter, and feel greatly pleased that you have thought to visit me. Pray beseated. " This last invitation was superfluous, for with the air of a personentirely at home, the lady had seated herself, and as the room wasrather warm, she threw back her bonnet, disclosing to view a mass ofrich brown hair, which made her look several years younger than shereally was. Nothing could be more apparently kind and sincere thanwere her words of sympathy, nothing more soothing than the sound ofher voice; and when she for a moment raised Mrs. Hamilton, while sheadjusted her pillows, the sick woman declared that never before hadany one done it so gently or so well. Mrs. Carter was just resuming her seat when in the adjoining hallthere was the sound of a heavy tread, and had Mrs. Hamilton been atall suspicious of her visitor she would have wondered at the flushwhich deepened on her cheek when the door opened and Mr. Hamiltonstood in their midst. On seeing a stranger he turned to leave, but hiswife immediately introduced him, and seating himself upon the sofa, heremarked, "I have seen you frequently in church, Mrs. Carter, but Ibelieve I have never spoken with you before. " A peculiar expression flitted over her features at these words, anexpression which Mr. Hamilton noticed, and which awoke remembrances ofsomething unpleasant, though he could not tell what. "Where have I seen her before?" thought he, as she bade them goodnight, promising to come again and stay a longer time. "Where have Iseen her before?" and then involuntarily his thoughts went back to thetime, years and years ago, when, a wild young man in college, he hadthoughtlessly trifled with the handsome daughter of his landlady. Evennow he seemed to hear her last words, as he bade her farewell: "Youmay go, Ernest Hamilton, and forget me if you can, but Luella does notso easily forget; and remember, when least you expect it, we shallmeet again. " Could this strange being, with honeyed words and winning ways, be thatfiery, vindictive girl? Impossible!--and satisfied with thisconclusion Mr. Hamilton resumed his evening paper. CHAPTER II. LENORA AND HER MOTHER. From the windows of a small, white cottage, at the extremity ofGlenwood village, Lenora Carter watched for her mother's return. "Shestays long, " thought she, "but it bodes success to her plan; thoughwhen did she undertake a thing and fail!" The fall of the gatelatch was heard, and in a moment Mrs. Carter waswith her daughter, whose first exclamation was, "What a littleeternity you've been gone! Did you renew your early vows to the man?" "I've no vows to renew, " answered Mrs. Carter, "but I've paved the waywell, and got invited to call again. " "Oh, capital!" said Lenora. "It takes you, mother, to do up things, after all; but, really, was Mrs. Hamilton pleased with you?" "Judging by the pressure of her hand when she bade me good-by I shouldsay she was, " answered Mrs. Carter; and Lenora continued: "Did you seeold moneybags?" "Lenora, child, you must not speak so disrespectfully of Mr. Hamilton, " said Mrs. Carter. "I beg your pardon, " answered Lenora, while her mother continued: "Isaw him, but do not think he recognized me; and perhaps it is as wellthat he should not, until I have made myself indispensable to him andhis family. " "Which you will never do with the haughty Mag, I am sure, " saidLenora; "but tell me, is the interior of the house as handsome as theexterior?" "Far more so, " was the reply; and Mrs. Carter proceeded to enumeratethe many costly articles of furniture she had seen. She was interrupted by Lenora, who asked, "How long, think you, willthe incumbrance live?" "Lenora, " said Mrs. Carter, "you shall not talk so. No one wishes Mrs. Hamilton to die; but if such an afflictive dispensation does occur, Itrust we shall all be resigned. " "Oh, I keep forgetting that you are acting the part of a resignedwidow; but I, thank fortune, have no part to act, and can say what Iplease. " "And spoil all our plans, too, by your foolish babbling, " interposedMrs. Carter. "Let me alone for that, " answered Lenora. "I haven't been trained bysuch a mother for nothing. But, seriously, how is Mrs. Hamilton'shealth?" "She is very low, and cannot possibly live long, " was the reply. Here there was a pause in the conversation, during which we will takethe opportunity of introducing more fully to our readers the estimableMrs. Carter and her daughter. Mr. Hamilton was right when heassociated the resigned widow with his old flame, Luella Blackburn, whom be had never seriously thought of marrying, though by way ofpastime he had frequently teased, tormented, and flattered her. Luellawas ambitious, artful, and designing. Wealth and position was the goalat which she aimed. Both of these she knew Ernest Hamilton possessed, and she had felt greatly pleased at his evident preference. When, therefore, at the end of his college course he left her with a fewcommonplace remarks, such as he would have spoken to any familiaracquaintance, her rage knew no bounds; and in the anger of the momentshe resolved, sooner or later, to be revenged upon him. Years, however, passed on, and a man whom she thought wealthy offeredher his hand. She accepted it, and found, too late, that she waswedded to poverty. This aroused the evil of her nature to such anextent that her husband's life became one of great unhappiness, andfour years after Lenora's birth he left her. Several years later shesucceeded in procuring a divorce, although she still retained hisname. Recently she had heard of his death, and about the same time, too, she heard that the wife of Ernest Hamilton was dying. Suddenly awild scheme entered her mind. She would remove to the village ofGlenwood, would ingratiate herself into the favor of Mrs. Hamilton, win her confidence and love, and then when she was dead the rest shefancied would be an easy matter, for she knew that Mr. Hamilton wasweak and easily flattered. For several weeks they had been in Glenwood, impatiently waiting anopportunity for making the acquaintance of the Hamiltons. But asneither Margaret nor Carrie called, Lenora became discouraged, and oneday exclaimed, "I should like to know what you are going to do. Thereis no probability of that proud Mag's calling on me. How I hate her, with her big black eyes and hateful ways!" "Patience, patience, " said Mrs. Carter, "I'll manage it; as Mrs. Hamilton is sick, it will be perfectly proper for me to go and seeher, " and then was planned the visit which we have described. "Oh, won't it be grand!" said Lenora that night, as she sat sippingher tea. "Won't it be grand, if you do succeed, and won't I lord itover Miss Margaret! As for that little white-faced Carrie, she's tooinsipid for one to trouble herself about, and I dare say thinks you avery nice woman, for how can her Sabbath-school teacher be otherwise;"and a satirical laugh echoed through the room. Suddenly springing up, Lenora glanced at herself in the mirror, and turning to her mother, said, "Did you hear when Walter is expected--and am I so very uglylooking?" While Mrs. Carter is preparing an answer to the first question, we, for the sake of our readers, will answer the last one. Lenora was alittle dark-looking girl about eighteen years of age. Her eyes wereblack, her face was black, and her hair was black, standing out fromher head in short, thick curls, which gave to her features a strangewitch-like expression. From her mother she had inherited the samesweet, cooing voice, the same gliding, noiseless footsteps, which hadled some of their acquaintance to accuse them of what, in the days ofNew England witchcraft, would have secured their passport to anotherworld. Lenora had spoken truthfully when she said that she had not beentrained by such a mother for nothing, for whatever of evil appeared inher conduct was more the result of her mother's training than of anaturally bad disposition. At times her mother petted and caressedher, and again, in a fit of ill-humor, drove her from the room, taunting her with the strong resemblance which she bore to the manwhom she had once called father! On such occasions Lenora was never ata loss for words, and the scenes which sometimes occurred were toodisgraceful for repetition. On one subject, however, they were united, and that was in their efforts to become inmates of the homestead onthe hillside. In the accomplishment of this Lenora had a threefoldobject: first, it would secure her a luxuriant home; second, she wouldbe thrown in the way of Walter Hamilton, who was about finishing hiscollege course; and last, though not least, it would be such a triumphover Margaret, who, she fancied, treated her with cold indifference. Long after the hour of midnight was rung from the village clock, thewidow and her daughter sat by their fireside, forming plans for thefuture, and when at last they retired to sleep it was to dream offuneral processions, bridal favors, stepchildren, half-sisters, anddouble connections all around. CHAPTER III. ONE STEP TOWARD THE HOMESTEAD. Weeks passed on, and so necessary to the comfort of the invalid didthe presence of Mrs. Carter become, that at last, by particularrequest, she took up her abode at the homestead, becoming Mrs. Hamilton's constant nurse and attendant. Lenora, for the time being, was sent to the house of a friend, who lived not far distant. WhenMargaret Hamilton learned of the arrangement she opposed it with allher force. "Send her away, mother, " said she one evening; "please send her away, for I cannot endure her presence, with her oily words and silentfootsteps. She reminds me of the serpent, who decoyed Eve into eatingthat apple, and I always feel an attack of the nightmare whenever Iknow that her big, black eyes are fastened upon me. " "How differently people see!" laughed Carrie, who was sitting by. "Why, Mag, I always fancy _her_ to be in a nightmare when your bigeyes light upon her. " "It's because she knows she's guilty, " answered Mag, her words andmanner warming up with the subject. "Say, mother, won't you send heroff! It seems as though a dark shadow falls upon us all the moment sheeaters the house. " "She is too invaluable a nurse to be discharged for a slight whim, "answered Mrs. Hamilton. "Besides she bears the best of reputations, and I don't see what possible harm can come of her being here. " Margaret sighed, for though she knew full well the "possible harm"which might come of it, she could not tell it to her pale, dyingmother; and ere she had time for any answer, the black bombazinedress, white linen, collar, and white, smooth face of Widow Cartermoved silently into the room. There was a gleam of intense hatred inthe dark eyes which for a moment flashed on Margaret's face, and thena soft hand gently stroked the glossy hair of the indignant girl, andin the most musical tones imaginable a low voice murmured, "Maggie, dear, you look flushed and wearied. Are you quite well?" "Perfectly so, " answered Margaret; and then rising, she left the room, but not until she had heard her mother say, "Dear Mrs. Carter, I am soglad you've come!" "Is everybody bewitched, " thought Mag, as she repaired to her chamber, "father, mother, Carrie, and all? How I wish Walter was here. Healways sees things as I do. " Margaret Hamilton was a high-spirited, intelligent girl, aboutnineteen years of age. She was not beautiful, but had you asked forthe finest-looking girl in all Glenwood, Mag would surely have beenpointed out. She was rather above the medium height, and in her wholebearing there was a quiet dignity, which many mistook for hauteur. Naturally frank, affectionate, and kind-hearted, she was, perhaps, alittle strong in her prejudices, which, when once satisfactorilyformed, could not easily be shaken. For Mrs. Carter she had conceived a strong dislike, for she believedher to be an artful, hypocritical woman, and now, as she sat by thewindow in her room, her heart swelled with indignation toward one whohad thus usurped her place by her mother's bedside, whom Carrie waslearning to confide in, and of whom even the father said, "she is amost excellent woman. " "I will write to Walter, " said she, "and tell him to comeimmediately. " Suiting the action to the word, she drew up her writing desk, and soona finished letter was lying before her. Ere she had time to fold anddirect it, a loud cry from her young brother Willie summoned her for afew moments from the room, and on her return she met in the doorwaythe black bombazine and linen collar. "Madam, " said she, "did you wish for anything?" "Yes, dear, " was the soft answer, which, however, in this case failedto turn, away wrath. "Yes, dear, your mother said you knew where therewere some fine bits of linen. " "And could not Carrie come for them?" asked Mag. "Yes, dear, but she looks so delicate that I do not like to send herup these long stairs oftener than is necessary. Haven't you noticedhow pale she is getting of late? I shouldn't be at all surprised--"but before the sentence was finished the linen was found, and the doorclosed upon Mrs. Carter. A new idea had been awakened in Margaret's mind, and for the firsttime she thought how much her sister really had changed. Carrie, whowas four years younger than Margaret, had ever been delicate, and herparents had always feared that not long could they keep her; butthough each winter her cough had returned with increased severity, though the veins on her white brow grew more distinct, and her large, blue eyes glowed with unwonted luster, still Margaret had never beforedreamed of danger, never thought that soon her sister's voice would bemissed, and that Carrie would be gone. But she thought of it now, andlaying her head upon the table wept for a time in silence. At length, drying her tears, she folded her letter and took it to thepost-office. As she was returning home she was met by a servant, whoexclaimed, "Run, Miss Margaret, run; your mother is dying, and Mrs. Carter sent me for you!" Swift as the mountain chamois, Margaret sped up the long, steep hill, and in a few moments stood within her mother's sick-room. Supported inthe arms of Mrs. Carter lay the dying woman, while her eyes, alreadyovershadowed with the mists of coming death, wandered anxiously aroundthe room, as if in quest of some one. The moment Margaret appeared, asatisfied smile broke over her wasted features, and beckoning herdaughter to her bedside, she whispered, "Dear Maggie, you did notthink I'd die so soon, when you went away. " A burst of tears was Maggie's only answer, as she passionately kissedthe cold, white lips, which had never breathed aught to her save wordsof love and gentleness. Far different, however, would have been herreply had she known the reason of her mother's question. Not longafter she had left the house for the office, Mrs. Hamilton had beentaken worse, and the physician, who chanced to be present, pronouncedher dying. Instantly the alarmed husband summoned together hishousehold, but Mag was missing. No one had seen her; no one knew whereshe was, until Mrs. Carter, who had been some little time absent fromthe room reentered it, saying "Margaret had started for thepost-office with a letter when I sent a servant to tell her of hermother's danger, but for some reason she kept on, though I dare sayshe will soon be back. " As we well know, the substance of this speech was true, though theimpression which Mrs. Carter's words conveyed was entirely false. Forthe advancement of her own cause she felt that it was necessary toweaken the high estimation in which Mr. Hamilton held his daughter, and she fancied that the mother's death-bed was as fitting a placewhere to commence operations as she could select. As Margaret hung over her mother's pillow, the false woman, as if toconfirm the assertion she had made, leaned forward and said, "Robintold you, I suppose? I sent him to do so. " Margaret nodded assent, while a deeper gloom fell upon the brow of Mr. Hamilton, who stood with folded arms watching the advance of the greatdestroyer. It came at last, and though no perceptible change heraldedits approach, there was one fearful spasm, one long-drawn sigh, astriving of the eye for one more glimpse of the loved ones gatherednear, and then Mrs. Hamilton was dead. On the bosom of Mrs. Carter herlife was breathed away, and when all was over that lady laid gentlydown her burden, carefully adjusted the tumbled covering, and thenstepping to the window, looked out, while the stricken group deploredtheir loss. Long and bitterly over their dead they wept, but not on one of thatweeping band fell the bolt so crushingly as upon Willie, the youngestof the flock, the child four summers old, who had ever lived in thelight of his mother's love. They had told him she would die, but heunderstood them not, for never before had he looked on death; and now, when to his childish words of love his mother made no answer, mostpiteously rang out the infantile cry, "Mother, oh, my mother, who'llbe my mother now?" Caressingly, a small, white hand was laid on Willie's yellow curls, but ere the words of love were spoken Margaret took the little fellowin her arms, and whispered through her tears, "I'll be your mother, darling. " Willie brushed the tear-drops from his sister's cheek and laying hisfair, round face upon her neck, said, "And who'll be Maggie's mother?Mrs. Carter?" "Never! never!" answered Mag, while to the glance of hatred anddefiance cast upon her she returned one equally scornful anddetermined. Soon from the village there came words of sympathy and offers ofassistance; but Mrs. Carter could do everything, and in her blandesttones she declined the services of the neighbors, refusing even toadmit them into the presence of Margaret and Carrie, who, she saidwere so much exhausted as to be unable to bear the fresh burst ofgrief which the sight of an old friend would surely produce. So theneighbors went home, and as the world will ever do, descanted upon theprobable result of Mrs. Carter's labors at the homestead. Thus, ereErnest Hamilton had been three days a widower, many in fancy hadwedded him to Mrs. Carter, saying that nowhere could he find so good amother for his children. And truly she did seem to be indispensable in that house of mourning. 'Twas she who saw that everything was done, quietly and in order;'twas she who so neatly arranged the muslin shroud; 'twas her armsthat supported the half-fainting Carrie when first her eye rested onher mother, coffined for the grave; 'twas she who whispered words ofcomfort to the desolate husband; and she, too, it was, who, on thenight when Walter was expected home, _kindly_ sat up until pastmidnight to receive him! She had read Mag's letter, and by being first to welcome the young manhome, she hoped to remove from his mind any prejudice which he mightfeel for her, and by her bland smiles and gentle words to lure himinto the belief that she was perfect, and Margaret uncharitable. Partially she succeeded, too, for when next morning Mag expressed adesire that Mrs. Carter would go home, he replied, "I think you judgeher wrongfully; she seems to be a most amiable, kind-hearted woman. " "_Et tu, Brute!_" Mag could have said, but 'twas neither the time northe place, and linking her arm within her brother's she led him intothe adjoining room, where stood their mother's coffin. CHAPTER IV. AFTER THE BURIAL. Across the bright waters of the silvery lake which lay not far fromGlenwood village, over the grassy hillside, and down the long, greenvalley, had floated the notes of the tolling bell. In the Hamiltonmansion sympathizing friends had gathered, and through the crowdedparlors a solemn hush had reigned, broken only by the voice of thewhite-haired man of God, who in trembling tones prayed for thebereaved ones. Over the costly coffin tear-wet faces had bent, and onthe marble features of her who slept within it had been pressed thepassionate kisses of a long, a last farewell. Through the shady garden and across the running brook, whose watersthis day murmured more sadly than 'twas their wont to do, the funeraltrain had passed; and in the dark, moist earth, by the side of manyother still, pale sleepers, who offered no remonstrance when amongthem another came, they had buried the departed. From the windows ofthe homestead lights were gleaming, and in the common sitting-room satErnest Hamilton, and by his side his four motherless children. In thestuffed armchair, sacred for the sake of one who had called it hers, reclined the black bombazine and linen collar of Widow Carter! She had, as she said, fully intended to return home immediately afterthe burial, but there were so many little things to be seen to, somuch to be done, which Margaret, of course, did not feel like doing, that she decided to stay until after supper, together with Lenora, whohad come to the funeral. When supper was over, and there was no longeran excuse for lingering, she found, very greatly to her surprise andchagrin, no doubt, that the clouds, which all day had looked dark andangry, were now pouring rain. "What shall I do?" she exclaimed in great apparent distress; thenstepping to the door of the sitting-room, she said, "Maggie, dear, canyou lend me an umbrella? It is raining very hard, and I do not wish togo home without one; I will send it back to-morrow. " "Certainly, " answered Margaret. "Umbrella and overshoes, too;" andrising, she left the room to procure them. "But you surely are not going out in this storm, " said Mr. Hamilton;while Carrie, who really liked Mrs. Carter, and felt that it would bemore lonely when she was gone, exclaimed eagerly, "Oh, don't leave usto-night, Mrs. Carter. Don't. " "Yes, I think I must, " was the answer, while Mr. Hamilton continued:"You had better stay; but if you insist upon going, I will order thecarriage, as you must not walk. " "Rather than put you to all that trouble, I will remain, " said Mrs. Carter; and when Mag returned with two umbrellas and two pairs ofovershoes, she found the widow comfortably seated in her mother'sarmchair, while on the stool at her side sat Lenora looking not unlikea little imp, with her wild, black face, and short, thick curls. Walter Hamilton had not had much opportunity for scanning the face ofMrs. Carter, but now, as she sat there with the firelight flickeringover her features, he fancied that he could trace marks of thetreacherous deceit of which Mag had warned him; and when the fullblack eyes rested upon Margaret he failed not to note the glance ofscorn which flashed from them, and which changed to a look ofaffectionate regard the moment she saw she was observed. "There issomething wrong about her, " thought he, "and the next time I am alonewith Mag I'll ask what it is she fears from this woman. " That night, in the solitude of their room, mother and child communedtogether as follows: "I do believe, mother, you are twin sister to theold one himself. Why, who would have thought, when first you made that_friendly_ visit, that in five weeks time both of us would be snuglyensconced in the best chamber of the homestead?" "If you think we are in the best chamber, you are greatly mistaken, "replied Mrs. Carter. "Margaret Hamilton has power enough yet to keepus out of that. Didn't she look crestfallen though, when she found Iwas going to stay, notwithstanding her very disinterested offer ofumbrellas and overshoes? But I'll pay it all back when I become--" "Mistress of the house, " added Lenora. "Why not speak out plainly? Orare you afraid the walls have ears, and that the devoted Mrs. Carter'sspeeches would not sound well repeated? Oh, how sanctimonious you didlook to-day when you were talking pious to Carrie! I actually had toforce a sneeze, to keep from laughing outright, though she, littlesimpleton, swallowed it all, and I dare say wonders where you keepyour wings! But really, mother, I hope you don't intend to pet her soalways, for 'twould be more than it's worth to see it. " "I guess I know how to manage, " returned Mrs. Carter. "There's nothingwill win a parent's affection so soon as to pet the children. " "And so I suppose you expect Mr. Hamilton to pet _this_ beautifulchild!" said Lenora, laughing loudly at the idea, and waltzing backand forth before the mirror. "Lenora! _behave!_ I will not see you conduct so, " said the widow; towhich the young lady replied, "Shut your eyes, and then you can't!" Meantime, an entirely different conversation was going on in anotherpart of the house, where sat Walter Hamilton, with his arm thrownaffectionately around, Mag, who briefly told of what she feared wouldresult from Mrs. Carter's intimacy at their house. "Impossible!" said the young man, starting to his feet. "Impossible!Our father has too much sense to marry again anyway, and much more, tomarry one so greatly inferior to our own dear mother. " "I hope it may prove so, " answered Mag; "but with all due respect forour father, _you_ know and I know that mother's was the stronger mind, the controlling spirit, and now that she is gone father will be moreeasily deceived. " Margaret told the truth; for her mother had possessed a strong, intelligent mind, and was greatly the superior of her father, who, aswe have before remarked, was rather weak and easily flattered. Alwayssincere himself in what he said, he could not believe that otherpeople were aught than what they seemed to be, and thus oftentimes hisconfidence had been betrayed by those in whom he trusted. As yet hehad, of course, entertained no thought of ever making Mrs. Carter hiswife; but her society was agreeable, her words and manner soothing, and when, on the day following the burial, she actually took herdeparture, bag, baggage, Lenora, and all, he felt how doubly lonelywas the old homestead, and wondered why she could not stay. There wasroom enough, and then Margaret was too young to assume the duties ofhousekeeper. Other men in similar circumstances had hiredhousekeepers, and why could not he? He would speak to Mag about itthat very night. But when evening came, Walter, Carrie, and Willie allwere present, and he found no opportunity of seeing Margaret alone;neither did any occur until after Walter had returned to college, which he did the week following his mother's death. That night the little parlor at the cottage where dwelt the WidowCarter looked unusually snug and cozy. It was autumn, and as theevenings were rather cool a cheerful wood fire was blazing on thehearth. Before it stood a tasteful little workstand, near which wereseated Lenora and her mother, the one industriously knitting, and theother occasionally touching the strings of her guitar, which wassuspended from her neck by a crimson ribbon. On the sideboard stood afruit dish loaded with red and golden apples, and near it a basketfilled with the rich purple grapes. That day in the street Lenora had met Mr. Hamilton, who asked if hermother would be at home that evening, saying he intended to call forthe purpose of settling the bill which he owed her for servicesrendered to his family in their late affliction. "When I once get him here, I will keep him as long as possible, " saidMrs. Carter; "and, Lenora, child, if he stays late, say till nineo'clock, you had better go quietly to bed. " "Or into the next room, and listen, " thought Lenora. Seven o'clock came, and on the graveled walk there was heard the soundof footsteps, and in a moment Ernest Hamilton stood in the room, shaking the warm hand of the widow, who was delighted to see him, but_so_ sorry to find him looking pale and thin! Rejecting a seat in thecomfortable rocking-chair, which Lenora pushed toward him, heproceeded at once to business, and taking from his purse fifteendollars, passed them toward Mrs. Carter, asking if that wouldremunerate her for the three weeks' services in his family. But Mrs. Carter thrust them aside, saying, "Sit down, Mr. Hamilton, sit down. I have a great deal to ask you about Maggie and dearCarrie's health. " "And sweet little Willie, " chimed in Lenora. Accordingly Mr. Hamilton sat down, and so fast did Mrs. Carter talkthat the clock was pointing to half past eight ere he got anotherchance to offer his bills. Then, with the look of a much-injuredwoman, Mrs. Carter declined the money, saying, "Is it possible, Mr. Hamilton, that you suppose my services can be bought! What I did foryour wife, I would do for any one who needed me, though for but fewcould I entertain the same feelings I did for her. Short as was ouracquaintance, she seemed to me like a beloved sister; and now that sheis gone I feel that we have lost an invaluable treasure--" Here Mrs. Carter broke down entirely, and was obliged to raise hercambric handkerchief to her eyes, while Lenora walked to the window toconceal her emotions, whatever they might have been! When theagitation of the company had somewhat subsided, Mr. Hamilton againinsisted, and again Mrs. Carter refused. At last, finding herperfectly inexorable, he proceeded to express his warmest thanks anddeepest gratitude for what she had done, saying he should ever feelindebted to her for her great kindness; then, as the clock strucknine, he arose to go, in spite of Mrs. Carter's zealous efforts todetain him longer. "Call again, " said she, as she lighted him to the door; "call againand we will talk over old times when we were young, and lived in NewHaven!" Mr. Hamilton started, and looking her full in the face, exclaimed, "Luella Blackburn! It is as I at first suspected; but who would havethought it!" "Yes--I am Luella, " said Mrs. Carter; "though greatly changed, Itrust, from the Luella you once knew, and of whom even I have no verypleasant reminiscences; but call again, and I will tell you of many ofyour old classmates. " Mr. Hamilton would have gone almost anywhere for the sake of hearingfrom his classmates, many of whom he greatly esteemed; and as in thiscase the "anywhere" was only at Widow Carter's, the idea was notaltogether distasteful to him, and when he bade her good night he wasunder a promise to call again soon. All hopes, however, of procuringher for his housekeeper were given up, for if she resented his offerof payment for what she had already done, she surely would be doublyindignant at his last proposed plan. After becoming convinced of thisfact, it is a little strange how suddenly he found that he did notneed a housekeeper--that Margaret, who before could not do at all, could now do very well--as well as anybody. And Margaret did do well, both as housekeeper and mother of little Willie, who seemed to havetransferred to her the affection he had borne for his mother. At intervals during the autumn Mrs. Carter called, always giving aworld of good advice, patting Carrie's pale cheek, kissing Willie, andthen going away. But as none of her calls were ever returned theygradually became less frequent, and as the winter advanced ceasedaltogether; while Margaret, hearing nothing, and seeing nothing, beganto forget her fears, and to laugh at them as having been groundless. CHAPTER V. KATE KIRBY. The little brooklet, which danced so merrily by the homesteadburial-place, and then flowed on in many graceful turns andevolutions, finally lost itself in a glossy mill-pond, whose waters, when the forest trees were stripped of their foliage, gleamed andtwinkled in the smoky autumn light, or lay cold and still beneath thebreath of winter. During this season of the year, from the upperwindows of the homestead the mill-pond was discernible, together witha small red building which stood upon its banks. For many years this house had been occupied by Mr. Kirby, who had beena schoolboy with Ernest Hamilton, and who, though naturallyintelligent, had never aspired to any higher employment than that ofbeing miller on the farm of his old friend. Three years before ourstory opens Mr. Kirby had died, and a stranger had been employed totake his place. Mrs. Kirby, however, was so much attached to herwoodland home and its forest scenery that she still continued tooccupy the low red house together with her daughter Kate, who sighedfor no better or more elegant home, although rumor whispered thatthere was in store for her a far more costly dwelling, than the"Homestead on the Hillside. " Currently was it reported that during Walter Hamilton's vacations thewinding footpath, which followed the course of the streamlet down tothe mill-pond, was trodden more frequently than usual. Thepostmaster's wife, too, had hinted strongly of certain ominous lettersfrom New Haven, which regularly came, directed to Kate, when Walterwas not at home; so, putting together these two facts, and adding tothem the high estimation in which Mrs. Kirby and her daughter wereknown to be held by the Hamiltons, it was generally conceded thatthere could be no shadow of doubt concerning the state of affairsbetween the heir apparent of the old homestead and the daughter of thepoor miller. Kate was a universal favorite, and by nearly all was it thought thatin everything save money she was fully the equal of Walter Hamilton. To a face and form of the most perfect beauty she added a degree ofintelligence and sparkling wit, which, in all the rides, parties, and_fêtes_ given by the young people of Glenwood, caused her society tobe chosen in preference to those whose fathers counted their money bythousands. A few there were who said that Kate's long intimacy with MargaretHamilton had made her proud; but in the rude dwellings and crazytenements which skirted the borders of Glenwood village was many ablind old woman, and many a hoary-headed man, who in their dailyprayers remembered the beautiful Kate, the "fair forest flower, " whocame so oft among them with her sweet young face and gentle words. ForKate both Margaret and Carrie Hamilton already felt a sisterlyaffection, while their father smiled graciously upon her, secretlyhoping, however, that his son would make a more brilliant match, butresolving not to interfere if at last his choice should fall upon her. One afternoon, early in April, as Margaret sat in her chamber, busyupon a piece of needlework, the door softly opened, and a mass ofbright chestnut curls became visible; next appeared the laughing blueeyes; and finally the whole of Kate Kirby bounded into the roomsaying, "Good afternoon, Maggie; are you very busy, and wish I hadn'tcome?" "I am never too busy to see you, " answered Margaret, at the same timepushing toward Kate the little ottoman on which she always sat when inthat room. Kate took the proffered seat, and throwing aside her bonnet, beganwith, "Maggie, I want to tell you something, though I don't know as itis quite right to do so; still you may as well hear it from me as anyone. " "Do pray tell, " answered Mag, "I am dying with curiosity. " So Kate smoothed down her black silk apron, twisted one of her curlsinto a horridly ugly shape, and commenced with, "What kind of a womanis that Mrs. Carter, down in the village?" Instantly Margaret's suspicions were aroused, and starting as if aserpent had stung her, she exclaimed, "Mrs. Carter! is it of her youwill tell me? She is a most dangerous woman--a woman whom your motherwould call a 'snake in the grass. '" "Precisely so, " answered Kate. "That is just what mother says of her, and yet nearly all the village are ready to fall down and worshipher. " "Let them, then, " said Mag; "I have no objections, provided they keeptheir molten calf to themselves. No one wants her here. But what is itabout her?--tell me. " Briefly then Kate told her how Mr. Hamilton was, and for a long timehad been, in the habit of spending one evening every week with Mrs. Carter; and that people, not without good cause, were already pointingher out as the future mistress of the homestead. "Never, never!" cried Mag vehemently. "Never shall she come here. Sheour mother indeed! It shall not be, if I can prevent it. " After a little further conversation, Kate departed, leaving Mag tomeditate upon the best means by which to avert the threatened evil. What Kate had told her was true. Mr. Hamilton had so many questions toask concerning his old classmates, and Mrs. Carter had so much totell, that, though they had worked industriously all winter, they werenot through yet; neither would they be until Mrs. Carter found herselfagain within the old homestead. The night following Kate's visit Mag determined to speak with herfather; but immediately after tea he went out, saying he should notreturn until nine o'clock. With a great effort Mag forced down theangry words which she felt rising within her, and then seating herselfat her work she resolved to await his return. Not a word on thesubject did she say to Carrie, who retired to her room at half-pasteight, as was her usual custom. Alone now Margaret waited. Nine, ten, eleven had been struck, and then into the sitting-room came Mr. Hamilton, greatly astonished at finding his daughter there. "Why, Margaret, " said he, "why are you sitting up so late?" "If it is late for me, it is late for you, " answered Margaret, who, now that the trial had come, felt the awkwardness of the task she hadundertaken. "But I had business, " answered Mr. Hamilton; and Margaret, looking himsteadily in the face, asked: "Is not your business of a nature which equally concerns us all?" A momentary flush passed over his features as he replied, "What do youmean? I do not comprehend. " Hurriedly, and in broken sentences, Margaret told him what she meant, and then tremblingly she waited for his answer. Frowning angrily, hespoke to his daughter the first harsh words which had ever passed hislips toward either of his children. "Go to your room, and don't presume to interfere with me again. Itrust I am competent to attend to my own matters!" Almost convulsively Margaret's arms closed round her father's neck, as she said, "Don't speak so to me, father. You never didbefore--never would now, but for _her_. Oh, father, promise me, by thememory of my angel mother, never to see her again. She is a base, designing woman. " Mr. Hamilton unwound his daughter's arms from his neck, and speakingmore gently, said, "What proof have you of that assertion? Give meproof, and I promise to do your bidding. " But Mag had no such proof at hand, and she could only reiterate hersuspicions, her belief, which, of course, failed to convince thebiased man, who, rising, said: "Your mother confided and trusted inher, so why should not you?" The next moment Margaret was alone. For a long time she wept, and itwas not until the eastern horizon began to grow gray in the morningtwilight that she laid her head upon her pillow, and forgot in sleephow unhappy she had been. Her words, however, were not without theireffect, for when the night came round on which her father wasaccustomed to pay his weekly visit, he stayed at home, spending thewhole evening with his daughters, and appearing really gratified atMargaret's efforts to entertain him. But, alas! the chain of the widowwas too firmly thrown around him for a daughter's hand alone to severthe fast-bound links. When the next Thursday evening came Mag was confined to her room by asick headache, from which she had been suffering all day. As nightapproached she frequently asked if her father were below. At last thefront door opened, and she heard his step upon the piazza. Startingup, she hurried to the window, while at the same moment Mr. Hamiltonpaused, and raising his eyes saw the white face of his daughterpressed against the window-pane as she looked imploringly after him;but there was not enough of power in a single look to deter him, and, wafting her a kiss, he turned away. Sadly Margaret watched him untilhe disappeared down the long hill; then, returning to her couch, shewept bitterly. Meantime Mrs. Carter, who had been greatly chagrined at thenon-appearance of Mr. Hamilton the week before, was now confidentlyexpecting him. He had not yet asked her to be his wife, and the delaysomewhat annoyed both herself and Lenora. "I declare, mother, " said Lenora, "I should suppose you might contriveup something to bring matters to a focus. I think it's perfectlyridiculous to see two old crones, who ought to be trotting theirgrandchildren, cooing and simpering away at each other, and all fornothing, too. " "Can't you be easy awhile longer?" asked Mrs. Carter "hasn't he saideverything he can say except 'will you marry me?'" "A very important question, too, " returned Lenora; "and I don't knowwhat business you have to expect anything from him until it is asked. " "Mr. Hamilton is proud, " answered Mrs. Carter--"is afraid of doinganything which might possibly lower him. Now, if by any means I couldmake him believe that I had received an offer from some one fully ifnot more than his equal, I think it would settle the matter, and I'vedecided upon the following plan. I'll write a proposal myself, signold Judge B----'s name to it, and next time Mr. Hamilton comes let himsurprise me in reading it. Then, as he is such a _dear_, long-triedfriend, it will be quite proper for me to confide in him, and ask hisadvice. " Lenora's eyes opened wider, as she exclaimed, "_My gracious_! who but_you_ would ever have thought of that. " Accordingly the letter was written, sealed, directed, broken open, laughed over, and laid away in the stand drawer. "Mr. Hamilton, mother, " said Lenora, as half an hour afterward sheushered that gentleman into the room. But so wholly absorbed was theblack bombazine and linen collar in the contents of an open letter, which she held in her hand, that the words were twice repeated--"Mr. Hamilton, mother"--ere she raised her eyes! Then coming forward withwell-feigned confusion, she apologized for not having observed himbefore, saying she was sure he would excuse her if he knew thecontents of her letter. Of course he wanted to know, and of course shedidn't want to tell. He was too polite to urge her, and theconversation soon took another channel. After a time Lenora left the room, and Mrs. Carter, again speaking ofthe letter, begged to make a confidant of Mr. Hamilton, and ask hisadvice. He heard the letter read through, and after a moment's silenceasked, "Do you like him, Mrs. Carter?" "Why--no--I don't think I do, " said she, "but then the widow's lot isso lonely. " "I know it is, " sighed he, while through the keyhole of the oppositedoor came something which sounded very much like a stifled laugh! Itwas the hour of Ernest Hamilton's temptation, and but for theremembrance of the sad, white face which had gazed so sorrowfully athim from the window he had fallen. But Maggie's presence seemed withhim--her voice whispered in his ear, "Don't do it, father, don't"--andhe calmly answered that it would be a good match. But he could not, nohe could not advise her to marry him; so he qualified what he had saidby asking her not to be in a hurry--to wait awhile. The laugh throughthe keyhole was changed to a hiss, which Mrs. Carter said must be thewind, although there was not enough stirring to move the rose busheswhich grew by the doorstep! So much was Mr. Hamilton held in thrall by the widow that on his wayhome he hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that he had notproposed. If Judge B---- would marry her she surely was good enoughfor him. Anon, too, he recalled her hesitation about confessing thatthe judge was indifferent to her. Jealousy crept in and completedwhat flattery and intrigue had commenced. One week from that nightErnest Hamilton and Luella Carter were engaged, but for appearance'ssake their marriage was not to take place until the ensuing autumn. CHAPTER VI. RAISING THE WIND. "Where are you going now?" asked Mrs. Carter of her daughter, as shesaw her preparing to go out one afternoon, a few weeks after theengagement. "Going to raise the wind, " was the answer. "Going to what?" exclaimed Mrs. Carter. "To raise the wind! Are you deaf?" yelled Lenora. "Raise the wind!" repeated Mrs. Carter; "what do you mean?" "Mean what I say, " said Lenora; and closing the door after her sheleft her mother to wonder "what fresh mischief the little torment wasat. " But she was only going to make a _friendly_ call on Margaret andCarrie, the latter of whom she had heard was sick. "Is Miss Hamilton at home?" asked she of the servant girl who answeredher ring, and whom she had never seen before. "Yes, ma'am; walk in the parlor. What name shall I give her if youplease?" "Miss Carter--Lenora Carter;" and the servant girl departed, repeatingto herself all the way up the stairs, "Miss Carther--Lenora Carther!" "Lenora Carter want to see me!" exclaimed Mag, who, together with KateKirby, was in her sister's room. "Yes, ma'am; an' sure 'twas Miss Hampleton she was wishin' to see, "said the Irish girl. "Well, I shall not go down, " answered Mag. "Tell her, Rachel, that Iam otherwise engaged. " "Oh, Maggie, " said Carrie, "why not see her? I would if I were you. " "Rachel can ask her up here if you wish it, " answered Mag, "but Ishall leave the room. " "Faith, an' what shall I do?" asked Rachel, who was fresh from "swateIreland" and felt puzzled to know why a "silk frock and smart bonnet"should not always be welcome. "Ask her up, " answered Kate. "I've neverseen her nearer than across the church and have some curiosity--" A moment after Rachel thrust her head in at the parlor door, saying, "If you please, ma'am, Miss Marget is engaged, and does not want tosee you, but Miss Carrie says you may come up there. " "Very well, " said Lenora; and tripping after the servant girl, she wassoon in Carrie's room. After retailing nearly all the gossip of which she was mistress, shesuddenly turned to Carrie, and said, "Did you know that your fatherwas going to be married?" "My father going to be married!" said Carrie, opening her blue eyes inastonishment. "My father going to be married! To whom pray?" "To a lady from the East--one whom he used to know and flirt with whenhe was in college!" was Lenora's grave reply. "What is her name?" asked Kate. "Her name? Let me see--Miss--Blackwell--Blackmer--_Blackheart_. Itsounds the most like Blackheart. " "What a queer name, " said Kate; "but tell us what opportunity has Mr. Hamilton had of renewing his early acquaintance with the lady. " "Don't you know he's been East this winter?" asked Lenora. "Yes, as far as Albany, " answered Carrie. "Well, " continued Lenora, "'twas during his Eastern trip that thematter was settled; but pray don't repeat it from me, except it be toMaggie, who I dare say, will feel glad to be relieved of her heavyresponsibilities--but as I live, Carrie, you are crying! What is thematter?" But Carrie made no answer, and for a time wept on in silence. Shecould not endure the thought that another would so soon take the placeof her lost mother in the household and in the affections of herfather. There was, besides, something exceedingly annoying in themanner of her who communicated the intelligence, and secretly Carriefelt glad that the dreaded "Miss Blackheart" had, of course, no Lenorato bring with her! "Do you know all this to be true?" asked Kate. "Perfectly true, " said Lenora. "We have friends living in the vicinityof the lady, and there can be no mistake, except, indeed, in the name, which I am not sure is right!" Then hastily kissing Carrie, the little hussy went away, very wellsatisfied with her afternoon's call. As soon as she was out of hearingMargaret entered her sister's room, and on noticing Carrie's flushedcheek and red eyes, inquired the cause. Immediately Kate told her whatLenora had said, but instead of weeping, as Carrie had done, shebetrayed no emotion whatever. "Why, Maggie, ain't you sorry?" asked Carrie. "No, I am glad, " returned Mag. "I've seen all along that sooner orlater father would make himself ridiculous, and I'd rather he'd marryforty women from the East, than one woman not far from here whom Iknow. " All that afternoon Mag tripped with unwonted gaiety about the house. Aweight was lifted from her heart, for in her estimation any one whomher father would marry was preferable to Mrs. Carter. * * * * * Oh, how the widow scolded the daughter, and how the daughter laughedat the widow, when she related the particulars of her call. "Lenora, what could have possessed you to tell such a lie?" said Mrs. Carter. "Not so fast, mother mine, " answered Lenora. "'Twasn't a lie. Mr. Hamilton _is_ engaged to a lady from the East. He _did_ flirt with herin his younger days; and, pray, didn't he have to come East when becalled to inquire after his beloved classmates, and ended by gettingcheckmated! Besides, I think you ought to thank me for turning thechannel of gossip in another direction, for now you will be saved fromall impertinent questions and remarks. " This mode of reasoning failed to convince the widow, who felt quitewilling that people should know of her flattering prospects; and whena few days after Mrs. Dr. Otis told her that Mrs. Kimball said thatPolly Larkins said that her hired girl told her that Mrs. Kirby'shired girl told her that she overheard Miss Kate telling her motherthat Lenora Carter said that Mr. Hamilton was going to be married toher mother's intimate friend, Mrs. Carter would have denied the wholeand probably divulged her own secret, had not Lenora, who chanced tobe present, declared, with the coolest effrontery, that 'twas alltrue--that her mother had promised to stand up with them, and so folkswould find it to be if they did not die of curiosity before autumn! "Lenora, child, how can you talk so?" asked the distressed lady, asthe door closed upon her visitor. Lenora went off into fits of explosive laughter, bounding up and downlike an india-rubber ball, and at last condescended to say, "I knowwhat I'm about. Do you want Mag Hamilton breaking up the match, as shesurely would do, between this and autumn, if she knew it?" "And what can she do?" asked Mrs. Carter. "Why, " returned Lenora, "can't she write to the place you came from, if, indeed, such a spot can be found?--for I believe you sometimesbook yourself from one town and sometimes from another. But dependupon it you had better take my advice and keep still, and in thedénouement which follows, I alone shall be blamed for a slight stretchof truth which you can easily excuse as 'one of _dear_ Lenora's silly, childish freaks!'" Upon second thoughts, Mrs. Carter concluded to follow her daughter'sadvice, and the next time Mr. Hamilton called, she laughingly told thestory which Lenora had set afloat, saying, by way of excuse, that thedear girl did not like to hear her mother joked on the subject ofmatrimony, and had turned the attention of people another way. Mr. Hamilton hardly relished this, and half wished, mayhap, as, indeed, gentlemen generally do in similar circumstances, that thelittle "objection" in the shape of Lenora had never had existence, orat least had never called the widow mother! CHAPTER VII. THE STEPMOTHER. Rapidly the summer was passing away, and as autumn drew near the wisegossips of Glenwood began to whisper that the lady from the East wasin danger of being supplanted in her rights by the widow, whose houseMr. Hamilton was known to visit two or three times each week. ButLenora had always some plausible story on hand. "Mother and the ladyhad been so intimate--in fact, more than once rocked in the samecradle--and 'twas no wonder Mr. Hamilton came often to a place wherehe could hear so much about her. " So when business again took Mr. Hamilton to Albany suspicion waswholly lulled, and Walter, on his return from college, was told by Magthat her fears concerning Mrs. Carter were groundless. During thespring Carrie had been confined to her bed, but now she seemed muchbetter, and after Walter had been at home awhile he proposed that heand his sisters should take a traveling excursion, going first toSaratoga, thence to Lake Champlain and Montreal, and returning home byway of Canada and the Falls, This plan Mr. Hamilton warmly seconded, and when Carrie asked if he would not feel lonely he answered, "Oh, no; Willie and I will do very well while you are gone. " "But who will stay with Willie evenings, when you are away?" askedMag, looking her father steadily in the face. Mr. Hamilton colored slightly, but after a moment replied: "I shallspend my evenings at home. " "'Twill be what he hasn't done for many a week, " thought Mag, as sheagain busied herself with her preparations. The morning came at last on which our travelers were to leave. KateKirby had been invited to accompany them, but her mother would notconsent. "It would give people too much chance for talk, " she said; soKate was obliged to content herself with going as far as the depot, and watching, until out of sight, the car which bore them away. Upon the piazza stood the little group, awaiting the arrival of thecarriage which was to convey them to the station. Mr. Hamilton seemedunusually gloomy, and with folded arms paced up and down the longpiazza, rarely speaking or noticing any one. "Are you sorry we are going, father?" asked Carrie, going up to him. "If you are I will gladly stay with you. " Mr. Hamilton paused, and pushing back the fair hair from hisdaughter's white brow, he kissed her tenderly, saying, "No, Carrie; Iwant you to go. The journey will do you good, for you are getting toomuch the look your poor mother used to wear. " Why thought he then of Carrie's mother? Was it because he knew thatere his child returned to him another would be in that mother's place?Anon, Margaret came near, and motioning Carrie away, Mr. Hamilton tookhis other daughter's hand, and led her to the end of the piazza, wherecould easily be seen the little graveyard and tall white monumentpointing toward the bright blue sky where dwelt the one whose gravethat costly marble marked. Pointing out the spot to Margaret, he said, "Tell me truly, Maggie, did you love your father or your mother best?" Mag looked wonderingly at him a moment, and then replied, "Whilemother lived I loved her more than you, but now that she is dead, Ithink of and love you as both father and mother. " "And will you always love me thus?" asked he. "Always, " was Mag's reply, as she looked curiously in her father'sface, and thinking that he had not said what he intended to when firsthe drew her there. Just then the carriage drove up, and after a few good-bys and partingwords Ernest Hamilton's children were gone, and he was left alone. "Why didn't I tell her, as I intended to?" thought he. "Is it becauseI fear her--fear my own child? No, it cannot be--and yet there is thatin her eye which sometimes makes me quail, and which, if necessary, would keep at bay a dozen stepmothers. But neither she, nor either oneof them, has aught to dread from Mrs. Carter, whose presence will, Ithink, be of great benefit to us all, and whose gentle manners, Itrust, will tend to soften Mag!" Meantime his children were discussing and wondering at the strangemood of their father. Walter, however, took no part in theconversation. He had lived longer than his sisters--had seen more ofhuman nature, and had his own suspicions with regard to what wouldtake place during their absence; but he could not spoil all Margaret'shappiness by telling her his thoughts, so he kept them to himself, secretly resolving to make the best of whatever might occur, and toadvise Mag to do the same. Now for a time we leave them, and take a look into the cottage ofWidow Carter, where, one September morning, about three weeks afterthe departure of the Hamiltons, preparations were making for somegreat event. In the kitchen a servant girl was busily at work, whilein the parlor Lenora was talking and the widow was listening. "Oh, mother, " said Lenora, "isn't it so nice that they went away justnow? But won't Mag look daggers at us when she comes home and finds usin quiet possession, and is told to call you _mother_!" "I never expect her to do that, " answered Mrs. Carter. "The most I canhope for is that she will call me Mrs. Hamilton. " "Now really, mother, if I were in Mag's place, I wouldn't please youenough to say Mrs. Hamilton; I'd always call you Mrs. Carter, " saidLenora. "How absurd!" was the reply; and Lenora continued: "I know it's absurd, but I'd do it; though if she does, I, as thedutiful child of a most worthy parent, shall feel compelled to resentthe insult by calling her father _Mr. Carter_!" By this time Mrs. Carter was needed in the kitchen; so, leavingLenora, who at once was the pest and torment of her mother's life, wewill go into the village and see what effect the approaching nuptialswas producing. It was now generally known that the "lady from theEast" who had been "rocked in Mrs. Carter's cradle, " was none otherthan Mrs. Carter herself, and many were the reproving looks which thepeople had cast toward Lenora for the trick she had put upon them. Thelittle hussy only laughed at them good-humoredly, telling them theywere angry because she had cheated them out of five months' gossip, and that if her mother could have had her way, she would have sent thenews to the _Herald_ and had it inserted under the head of "AwfulCatastrophe!" Thus Mrs. Carter was exonerated from all blame; but manya wise old lady shook her head, saying, "How strange that so fine awoman as Mrs. Carter should have such a reprobate of a daughter. " When, this remark came to Lenora's ears she cut numerous flourishes, which ended in the upsetting of a bowl of starch on her mother's newblack silk; then dancing before the highly indignant lady, she said, "Perhaps if they knew what a scapegrace you represent my father tohave been, and how you whipped me once to make me say I saw him strikeyou, when I never did, they would wonder at my being as good as I am. " Mrs. Carter was too furious to venture a verbal reply; so seizing thestarch bowl she hurled it with the remainder of the contents at thehead of the little vixen, who, with an elastic bound not entirelyunlike a somersault dodged the missile, which passed on and fell uponthe hearthrug. This is but one of a series of similar scenes which occurred betweenthe widow and her child before the happy day arrived when, in thepresence of a select few of the villagers, Luella Carter wastransformed into Luella Hamilton. The ceremony was scarcely over whenMr. Hamilton, who for a few days had been rather indisposed, complained of feeling sick. Immediately Lenora, with a sidelong glanceat her mother, exclaimed, "What, sick of your bargain so quick? It'ssooner even than _I_ thought 'twould be, and I'm sure I'm capable ofjudging. " "Dear Lenora, " said Mrs. Carter, turning toward one of her neighbors, "she has such a flow of spirits that I am afraid Mr. Hamilton willfind her troublesome. " "Don't be alarmed, mother; he'll never think of me when you arearound, " was Lenora's reply in which Mrs. Carter saw more than onemeaning. That evening the bridal party repaired to the homestead, where, at Mr. Hamilton's request, Mrs. Kirby was waiting to receive them. Willie hadbeen told by the servants that his mother was coming home that night, and, with the trusting faith of childhood, he had drawn a chair to thewindow from which he could see his mother's grave; and there for morethan an hour he watched for the first indications of her coming, saying occasionally, "Oh, I wish she'd come. Willie's so sorry here. " At last growing weary and discouraged, he turned away and said, "No, ma'll never come home again; Maggie said she wouldn't. " Upon the carriage road which wound from the street to the house therewas the sound of coming wheels, and Rachel, seizing Willie, bore himto the front door, exclaiming, "An' faith, Willie, don't you see her?That's your mother, honey, with the black gown. " But Willie saw only the wild eyes of Lenora, who caught him in herarms, overwhelming him with caresses. "Let me go, Leno, " said he, "Iwant to see my ma. Where is she?" A smile of scorn curled Lenora's lips as she released him, and leadinghim toward her mother, she said, "There she is; there's your ma. Nowhold up your head and make a bow. " Willie's lip quivered, his eyes filled with tears, and hiding his facein his apron, he sobbed, "I want my own ma--the one they shut up in abig black box. Where is she, Leno?" Mr. Hamilton took Willie on his knee, and tried to explain to him howthat now his own mother was dead, he had got a new one, who would lovehim and be kind to him. Then putting him down, he said, "Go, my son, and speak to her, won't you?" Willie advanced rather cautiously toward the black silk figure, whichreached out its hand, saying, "Dear Willie, you'll love me a little, won't you?" "Yes, if you are good to me, " was the answer, which made the newstepmother mentally exclaim, "A young rebel, I know, " while Lenora, bending between the two, whispered emphatically: "She _shall_ be good to you!" And soon, in due order, the servants were presented to their newmistress. Some were disposed to like her, others eyed her askance, andold Polly Pepper, the black cook, who had been in the family eversince Mr. Hamilton's first marriage, returned her salutation rathergruffly, and then, stalking back to the kitchen, muttered to, thosewho followed her, "I don't like her face nohow; she looks just likethe milk snakes, when they stick their heads in at the door. " "But you knew how she looked before, " said Lucy, the chambermaid. "I know it, " returned Polly; "but when she was here nussin' I nevernoticed _her_, more I would any on you; for who'd of thought that Mr. Hamilton would marry her, when he knows, or or'to know, that nussesain't fust cut, nohow; and you may depend on't, things ain't a-goin'to be here as they used to be. " Here Rachel started up, and related the circumstance of Margaret'srefusing to see "that little evil-eyed-lookin-varmint, with curlsalmost like Polly's. " Lucy, too, suddenly remembered something whichshe had seen, or heard, or made up--so that Mrs. Carter had not beenan hour in the coveted homestead ere there was mutiny against herafloat in the kitchen; "But, " said Aunt Polly, "I 'vises you all to becivil till she sasses you fust!" "My dear, what room can Lenora have for her own?" asked Mrs. Hamilton, as we must now call her, the morning following her marriage. "Why, really, I don't know, " answered the husband; "you must suityourselves with regard to that. " "Yes; but I'd rather you'd select, and then no one can blame me, " wasthe answer. "Choose any room you please, except the one which Mag and Carrie nowoccupy, and rest assured you shall not be blamed, " said Mr. Hamilton. The night before Lenora had appropriated to herself the best chamber, but the room was so large and so far distant from any one, and thewindows and fireboard rattled so, that she felt afraid, and did notcare to repeat her experiment. "I 'clar for't!" said Polly, when she heard of it. "Gone right intothe best bed, where even Miss Margaret never goes! What are we allcomin' to? Tell her, Luce, the story of the ghosts, and I'll be boundshe'll make herself scarce in them rooms!" "Tell her yourself, " said Lucy; and when, after breakfast, Lenora, anxious to spy out everything, appeared in the kitchen, Aunt Pollycalled out, "Did you hear anything last night, Miss Lenora?" "Why, yes--I heard the windows rattle, " was the answer; and AuntPolly, with an ominous shake of the head, continued: "There's more than windows rattle, I guess. Didn't you see nothin', all white and corpse-like, go a-whizzin, and rappin' by your bed?" "Why, no, " said Lenora; "what do you mean?" So Polly told her of the ghosts and goblins which nightly ranged thetwo chambers over the front and back parlors. Lenora said nothing, butshe secretly resolved not to venture again after dark into the hauntedportion of the house. But where should she sleep? That was now theimportant question. Adjoining the sitting-room was a pleasant, cozylittle place, which Margaret called her music-room. In it she kept herpiano, her music stand, books, and several fine plants, besidesnumerous other little conveniences. At the end of this room was alarge closet where, at different seasons of the year, Mag hung awaythe articles of clothing which she and her sister did not need. Toward this place Lenora turned her eyes; for, besides being unusuallypleasant, it was also very near her mother, whose sleeping-roomjoined, though it did not communicate with it. Accordingly, beforenoon the piano was removed to the parlor; the plants were placed, someon the piazza, and some in the sitting-room window, while Margaret andCarrie's dresses were removed to the closet of their room, whichchanced to be a trifle too small to hold them all conveniently; sothey were crowded one above the other, and left for "the girls to seeto when they came home!" In perfect horror Aunt Polly looked on, regretting for once the ghoststory which she had told. "Why don't you take the chamber jinin' the young ladies? that ain'thaunted, " said she, when they sent for her to help move the piano. "Miss Margaret won't thank you for scattern' her things. " "You've nothing to do with Lenora, " said Mrs. Hamilton; "you've onlyto attend to your own matters. " "Wonder then what I'm up here for a-h'istin this pianner, " mutteredPolly. "This ain't my matters, sartin'. " When Mr. Hamilton came in to dinner he was shown the little room withits single bed, tiny bureau, silken lounge and easy chair, of whichthe last two were Mag's especial property. "All very nice, " said he, "but where is Mag's piano?" "In the parlor, " answered his wife. "People often ask for music, andit is more convenient to have it there than to come across the halland through the sitting-room. " Mr. Hamilton said nothing, but he secretly wished Mag's rights had notbeen invaded quite so soon. His wife must have guessed as much; for, laying her hand on his, she, with the utmost deference, offered toundo all she had done, if it did not please him. "Certainly not--certainly not; it does please me, " said he; whilePolly, who stood on the cellar stairs listening, exclaimed, "What afool a woman can make of a man!" Three days after Mr. Hamilton's marriage he received a letter fromWalter, saying that they would be at home on the Thursday nightfollowing. Willie was in, ecstasies, for though as yet he liked hisnew mother tolerably well, he still loved Maggie better; and thethought of seeing her again made him wild with delight. All day longon Thursday he sat in the doorway, listening for the shrill cry of thetrain which was to bring her home. "Don't you love Maggie?" said he to Lenora, who chanced to pass him. "Don't I love Maggie? No, I don't; neither does she love me, " was theanswer. Willie was puzzled to know why any one should not like Mag; but hisconfidence in her was not at all shaken, and when, soon after sunset, Lenora cried, "There, they've come, " he rushed to the door, and wassoon in the arms of his sister-mother. Pressing his lips to hers, hesaid, "Did you 'know I'd got a new mother? Mrs. Carter and Leno--theyare in there, " pointing toward the parlor. Instantly Mag dropped him. It was the first intimation of her father'smarriage which she had received, and reeling backward, she would havefallen had not Walter supported her. Quickly rallying, she advancedtoward her father, who came to meet her, and whose hand trembled inher grasp. After greeting each of his children he turned to presentthem to _his wife_, wisely taking Carrie first. She was notprejudiced, like Mag, and returned her stepmother's salutation withsomething like affection, for which Lenora rewarded her by terming hera "little simpleton. " But Mag--she who had warned her father against that woman--she who onher knees had begged him not to marry her--she had no word of welcome, and when Mrs. Hamilton offered her hand she affected not to see it, though with the most frigid politeness she said, "Good evening, madam;this is, indeed, a surprise!" "And not a very pleasant one, either, I imagine, " whispered Lenora toCarrie. Walter came last, and though he took the lady's hand, there wassomething in his manner which plainly said she was not wanted there. Tea was now announced, and Mag bit her lip when, she saw heraccustomed seat occupied by another. Feigning to recollect herself, Mrs. Hamilton, in the blandest tones, said, "Perhaps, dear Maggie, you would prefer this seat?" "Of course not, " said Mag, while Lenora thought to herself: "And if she does, I wonder what good it will do?" That young lady, however, made no remarks, for Walter Hamilton'ssearching eyes were upon her and kept her silent. After tea, Waltersaid, "Come, Mag, I have not heard your piano in a long time. Give ussome music. " Mag arose to comply with his wishes, but ere she had reached the doorMrs. Hamilton gently detained her, saying, "Maggie, dear, Lenora hasalways slept near me, and as I knew you would not object, if you werehere, I took the liberty to remove your piano to the parlor, and tofit this up for Lenora's sleeping-room. See"--and she threw open thedoor, disclosing the metamorphose, while Willie, who began to get aninkling of matters, and who always called the piazza "outdoors, "chimed in, "And they throw'd your little trees outdoors, too!" Mag stood for a moment, mute with astonishment; then thinking shecould not "do the subject justice, " she turned silently away. Aroguish smile from Walter met her eye, but she did not laugh, until, with Carrie, she repaired to her own room, and tried to put somethingin the closet. Then coming upon the pile of extra clothes, sheexclaimed, "What in the world! Here's all our winter clothing, and, asI live, five dresses crammed upon one nail! We'll have to move to thebarn next!" This was too much, and sitting down, Mag cried and laughedalternately. CHAPTER VIII. DOMESTIC LIFE AT THE HOMESTEAD. For a few weeks after Margaret's return matters at the Homesteadglided on smoothly enough, but at the end of that time Mrs. Hamiltonbegan to reveal her real character. Carrie's journey had not been asbeneficial as her father had hoped it would be, and as the days grewcolder she complained of extreme languor and a severe pain in herside, and at last kept her room entirely, notwithstanding the numeroushints from her stepmother that it was no small trouble to carry somany dishes up and down stairs three times a day. Mrs. Hamilton was naturally very stirring and active, and in spite ofher remarkable skill in nursing, she felt exceedingly annoyed when anyof her own family were ill. She fancied, too, that Carrie was feigningall her bad feelings, and that she would be much better if she exertedherself more. Accordingly, one afternoon when Mag was gone, sherepaired to Carrie's room, giving vent to her opinion as follows:"Carrie, " said she (she now dropped the _dear_ when Mr. Hamilton wasnot by), "Carrie, I shouldn't suppose you'd ever expect to get well, so long as you stay moped up here all day. You ought to comedown-stairs, and stir around more. " "Oh, I should be so glad if I could, " answered Carrie. "Could!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton; "you could if you would. Now, it's myopinion that you complain altogether too much, and fancy you are agreat deal worse than you really are, when all you want is exercise. Ashort walk on the piazza, and a little fresh air each, morning, wouldsoon cure you. " "I know fresh air does me good, " said Carrie; "but walking makes myside ache so hard, and makes me cough so, that Maggie thinks I'dbetter not. " Mag, quoted as authority, exasperated Mrs. Hamilton who repliedrather sharply, "Fudge on Mag's old-maidish whims! I know that any onewho eats as much as you do can't be so very weak!" "I don't eat half you send me, " said poor Carrie, beginning to cry ather mother's unkind remarks; "Willie 'most always comes up here andeats with me. " "For mercy's sake, mother, let the child have what she wants to eat, for 'tisn't long she'll need it, " said Lenora, suddenly appearing inthe room. "Lenora, go right down; you are not wanted here, " said Mrs. Hamilton. "Neither are you, I fancy, " was Lenora's reply, as she coolly seatedherself on the foot of Carrie's bed, while her mother continued: "Really, Carrie, you must try and come down to your meals, for youhave no idea how much it hinders the work, to bring them up here. Polly isn't good for anything until she has conjured up somethingextra for your breakfast, and then they break so many dishes!" "I'll try to come down to-morrow, " said Carrie meekly; and as thedoor-bell just then rang Mrs. Hamilton departed, leaving her withLenora, whose first exclamation was: "If I were in your place, Carrie, I wouldn't eat anything, and diequick. " "I don't want to die, " said Carrie; and Lenora, clapping her handstogether, replied: "Why, you poor little innocent, who supposed you did? Nobody wants todie not even _I_, good as I am; but I should expect to, if I had theconsumption. " "Lenora, have I got the consumption?" asked Carrie, fixing her eyeswith mournful earnestness upon her companion, who thoughtlesslyreplied: "To be sure you have. They say one lung is entirely gone and the othernearly so. " Wearily the sick girl turned upon her side; and, resting her dimpledcheek upon her hand, she said softly, "Go away now, Lenora; I want tobe alone. " Lenora complied, and when Margaret returned from the village shefound her sister lying in the same position in which Lenora had lefther, with her fair hair falling over her face, which it hid from view. "Are you asleep, Carrie?" said Mag; but Carrie made no answer, andthere was something so still and motionless in her repose that Magwent up to her, and pushing back from her face the long silken hair, saw that she had fainted. The excitement of her stepmother's visit, added to the startling newswhich Lenora had told her, was too much for her weak nerves, and for atime she remained insensible. At length, rousing herself, she lookeddreamily around, saying, "Was it a dream, Maggie--- all a dream?" "Was what a dream, love?" said Margaret, supporting her sister's headupon her bosom. Suddenly Carrie remembered the whole, but she resolved not to tell ofher stepmother's visit, though she earnestly desired to know if whatLenora had told her were true. Raising herself, so that she could seeMargaret's face, she said, "Maggie, is there no hope for me; and dothe physicians say I must die?" "Why, what do you mean? I never knew that they said so, " answered Mag;and then with breathless indignation she listened, while Carrie toldher what Lenora had said. "I'll see that she doesn't get in hereagain, " said Margaret. "I know she made more than half of that up;for, though the physicians say you lungs are very much diseased, theyhave never saw that you could not recover. " The next morning, greatly to Mag's astonishment Carrie insisted upongoing down to breakfast. "Why, you must not do it; you are not able, " said Mag. But Carrie wasdetermined; and, wrapping herself in her thick shawl, she slowlydescended the stay though the cold air in the long hall made hershiver. "Carrie, dear, you are better this morning, and there is quite a rosyflush on your cheek, " said Mrs. Hamilton, rising to meet her. _(Mr. _Hamilton, be it remembered, was present. ) But Carrie shrankinstinctively from her stepmother's advances, and took her seat by theside of her father. After breakfast Mag remembered that she had anerrand in the village, and Carrie, who felt too weary to returnimmediately to her room, said she would wait below until her sisterreturned. Mag had been gone but a few moments when Mrs. Hamilton, opening the outer door, called to Lenora, saying, "Come and take a fewturns on the piazza with Carrie. The air is bracing this morning, andwill do her good. " Willie, who was present, cried out, "No--Carrie is sick; she can'twalk--Maggie said she couldn't, " and he grasped his sister's hand tohold her. With a not very gentle jerk Mrs. Hamilton pulled him off, while Lenora, who came bobbing and bounding into the room, tookCarrie's arm, saying. "Oh, yes, I'll walk with you; shall we have a hop, skip, or jump?" "Don't, don't!" said Carrie, holding back; "I can't walk fast, Lenora, " and actuated by some sudden impulse of kindness, Lenoraconformed her steps to those of the invalid. Twice they walked up anddown the piazza, and were about turning for the third time, whenCarrie, clasping her hand over her side, exclaimed, "No, no; I can'tgo again. " Little Willie, who fancied that his sister was being hurt, sprangtoward Lenora, saying, "Leno, you mustn't hurt Carrie. Let her go;she's sick. " And now to the scene of action came Dame Hamilton, and seizing heryoung stepson, she tore him away from Lenora, administering at thesame time a bit of a motherly shake. Willie's blood was up, and inreturn he dealt her a blow, for which she rewarded him by anothershake, and by tying him to the table. That Lenora was not all bad was shown by the unselfish affection sheever manifested for Willie, although her untimely interference betweenhim and her mother oftentimes made matters worse. Thus, on theoccasion of which we have been speaking, Mrs. Hamilton had scarcelyleft the room ere Lenora released Willie from his confinement, therebygiving him the impression that his mother alone was to blame. Fortunately, however, Margaret's judgment was better, and though shefelt justly indignant at the cruelty practised upon poor Carrie, shecould not uphold Willie in striking his mother. Calling him to herroom, she talked to him until he was wholly softened, and offered, ofhis own accord, to go and say he was sorry, provided Maggie wouldaccompany him as far as the door of the sitting-room, where his motherwould probably be found. Accordingly, Mag descended the stairs withhim, and meeting Lenora in the hall, said, "Is she in thesitting-room?" "Is _she_ in the sitting-room?" repeated Lenora; "and pray who may_she_ be?" then quick as thought she added, "Oh, yes, I know. She isin there telling HE!" Lenora was right in her conjecture, for Mrs. Hamilton, greatly enragedat Willie's presumption in striking her, and still more provoked athim for untying himself, as she supposed he had, was laying before herhusband quite an aggravated case of assault and battery. In the midst of her argument Willie entered the room, withtear-stained eyes, and without noticing the presence of his father, went directly to his mother, and burying his face in her lap, sobbedout, "Willie is sorry he struck you, and will never do so again, ifyou will forgive him. " In a much gentler tone than she would have assumed had not her husbandbeen present, Mrs. Hamilton replied, "I can forgive you for strikingme, Willie, but what have you to say about untying yourself?" "I didn't do it, " said Willie; "Leno did that. " "Be careful what you say, " returned Mrs. Hamilton. "I can't believeLenora would do so. " Ere Willie had time to repeat his assertion Lenora, who all the timehad been standing by the door, appeared, saying, "You may believe him, for he has never been whipped to make him lie. I did do it, and Iwould do it again. " "Lenora, " said Mr. Hamilton, rather sternly, "you should not interferein that manner. You will spoil the child. " It was the first time he had presumed to reprove his stepdaughter, andas there was nothing on earth which Mrs. Hamilton so much feared asLenora's tongue, she dreaded the disclosures which further remark fromher husband might call forth. So, assuming an air of great distress, she said, "Leave her to me, my dear. She is a strange girl, as Ialways told you, and no one can manage her as well as myself. " Thenkissing Willie in token of forgiveness, she left the room, drawingLenora after her and whispering fiercely in her ear, "How can you everexpect to succeed with the son, if you show off this way before thefather. " With a mocking laugh Lenora replied, "Pshaw! I gave that up the firsttime I ever saw him, for of course he thinks me a second edition ofMrs. Carter, minus any improvements. But he's mistaken; I'm not halfas bad as I seem. I'm only what you've made me. " Mrs. Hamilton turned away, thinking that if her daughter could soeasily give up Walter Hamilton, _she_ would not. She was resolved uponan alliance between him and Lenora. And who ever knew _her_ to fail inwhat she undertook? She had wrung from her husband the confession that "he believed therewas a sort of childish affection between Walter and Kate Kirby, though'twas doubtful whether it ever amounted to anything. " She had alsolearned that he was rather averse to the match, and though Lenora hadnot yet been named as a substitute for Kate, she strove in many waysto impress her husband with a sense of her daughter's superiorabilities, at the same time taking pains to mortify Margaret bysetting Lenora above her. For this, however, Margaret cared but little, and it was only whenher mother ill-treated Willie, which she frequently did, that herspirit was fully roused. At Mrs. Hamilton's first marriage she had been presented with ahandsome glass pitcher, which she of course greatly prized. One day itstood upon the stand in her room, where Willie was also playing withsome spools which Lenora had found and arranged for him. Malta, thepet kitten, was amusing herself by running after the spools, and whenat last Willie, becoming tired, laid them on the stand, she sprangtoward them, upsetting the pitcher, which was broken in a dozenpieces. On hearing the crash Mrs. Hamilton hastened toward the room, where the sight of her favorite pitcher in fragments greatly enragedher. Thinking, of course, that Willie had done it, she rudely seizedhim by the arm, administered a cuff or so, and then dragged him towardthe china closet. As soon as Willie could regain his breath he screamed, "Oh ma, don'tshut me up; I'll be good; I didn't do it, certain true; kittie knockedit off. " "None of your lies, " said Mrs. Hamilton. "It's likely kittie knockedit off!" Lenora, who had seen the whole, and knew that what Willie said wastrue, was about coming to the rescue, when looking up, she sawMargaret, with dilated nostrils and eyes flashing fire watching theproceedings of her stepmother. "He's safe, " thought Lenora; "I'll let Mag fire the first gun, andthen I'll bring up the rear. " Margaret had never known Willie to tell a lie, and had no reason forthinking he had done so in this instance. Besides, the blows hermother gave him exasperated her, and she stepped forward just as Mrs. Hamilton was about pushing him into the closet. So engrossed was thatlady that she heard not Margaret's approach until a firm hand was laidupon her shoulder while Willie was violently wrested from her grasp, and ere she could recover from her astonishment she herself waspushed into the closet, the door of which was closed and lockedagainst her. "Bravo, Margaret Hamilton, " cried Lenora, "I'm with you now, if Inever was before. It serves her right, for Willie told the truth. Iwas sitting by and saw it all. Keep her in there an hour, will you? Itwill pay her for the many times she has shut me up for nothing. " Mrs. Hamilton stamped and pushed against the door, while Lenora dancedand sang at the top of her voice: "My dear precious mother got wrathy one day And seized little Will by the hair; But when in the closet she'd stow him away, She herself was pushed headlong in there. " At length the bolt, yielding to the continued pressure of Mrs. Hamilton's body, broke, and out came the termagant, foaming with rage. She dared not molest Margaret, of whose physical powers she had justreceived such mortifying proof, so she aimed a box at the ears ofLenora. But the lithe little thing dodged it, and with one boundcleared the table which sat in the center of the room, landing safelyon the other side; and then, shaking her short, black curls at hermother, she said, "You didn't come it, that time, my darling. " Mr. Hamilton, who chanced to be absent for a few days, was, on hisreturn, regaled with an exaggerated account of the proceeding, hiswife ending her discourse by saying: "If you don't do something withyour upstart daughter I'll leave the house; yes, I will. " Mr. Hamilton was cowardly. He was afraid of his wife, and he wasafraid of Mag. So he tried to compromise the matter by promising theone that he surely would see to it, and by asking the other if shewere not ashamed. But old Polly didn't let the matter pass so easily. She was greatly shocked at having "such shameful carryin's on in adecent man's house. " "'Clare for't, " said she, "I'll give marster a piece of Polly Pepper'smind the fust time I get a lick at him. " In the course of a few days Mr. Hamilton had occasion to go forsomething into Aunt Polly's dominions. The old lady was ready for him. "Mr. Hampleton, " said she, "I've been waitin' to see you this longspell. " "To see me, Polly?" said he; "what do you want?" "What I wants is this, " answered Polly, dropping into a chair. "I wantto know what this house is a comin' to, with such bedivilment in it asthere's been since madam came here with that little black-headed, ugly-favored, ill-begotten, Satan-possessed, shoulder-unj'inted youngone of her'n. It's been nothin' but a rowdadow the whole time, and youhain't grit enough to stop it. Madam boxes Willie, and undertakes toshet him up for a lie he never told; Miss Margaret interferes jest asshe or'to, takes Willie away, and shets up madam; while thatill-marnered Lenora jumps and screeches loud enough to wake the dead. Madam busts the door down, and pitches into the varmint, who jumpsspang over a four-foot table, which Lord knows _I_ never could havedone in my spryest days. " "But how can I help all this?" asked Mr. Hamilton. "Help it?" returned Polly. "You needn't have got into the fire in thefust place. I hain't lived fifty-odd year for nothin', and though Ihain't no larnin', I know too much to heave myself away on the fustnussin' woman that comes along. " "Stop, Polly; you must not speak so of Mrs. Hamilton, " said Mr. Hamilton; while Polly continued: "And I wouldn't nuther, if she could hold a candle to the t'other one;but she can't. You'd no business to marry a second time, even if youdidn't marry a nuss; neither has any man who's got grow'd-up gals, anda faithful critter like Polly in the kitchen. Stepmothers don't oftendo well, particularly them as is sot up by marryin'. " Here Mr. Hamilton, who did not like to hear so much truth, left thekitchen, while Aunt Polly said to herself, "I've gin it to him good, this time. " Lenora, who always happened to be near when she was talked about, hadoverheard the whole, and repeated it to her mother. Accordingly, thatvery afternoon word came to the kitchen that Mrs. Hamilton wished tosee Polly. "Reckon she'll find this child ain't afeared on her, " said Polly, asshe wiped the flour from her face and repaired to Mrs. Hamilton'sroom. "Polly, " began that lady, with a very grave face, "Lenora tells methat you have been talking very disrespectfully to Mr. Hamilton. " "In the name of the Lord, can't he fight his own battles?" interruptedPolly. "I only tried to show him that he was henpecked--and he is. " "It isn't of him alone I would speak, " resumed Mrs. Hamilton, withstately gravity; "you spoke insultingly of me, and as I make it apractise never to keep a servant after they get insolent, I have----" "For the dear Lord's sake, " again interrupted Polly, "I 'spect we'sthe fust servants you ever had. " "Good!" said a voice from some quarter, and Mrs. Hamilton continued:"I have sent for you to give you twenty-four hours' warning to leavethis house. " "I shan't budge an inch until marster says so, " said Polly. "Wonderwho's the best title deed here? Warn't I here long afore you come anussin' t'other one?" And Polly went back to the kitchen, secretly fearing that Mr. Hamilton, who she knew was wholly ruled by his wife, would say thatshe must go. And he did say so, though much against his will. Lenoraran with the decision, to Aunt Polly, causing her to drop a loaf ofnew bread. But the old negress chased her from the cellar with theoven broom, and then stealing by a back staircase to Margaret's room, laid the case before her, acknowledging that she was sorry and askingher young mistress to intercede for her. Margaret stepped to the headof the stairs, and calling to her father, requested him to come for amoment to her room. This he was more ready to do, as he had nosuspicion why he was sent for, but on seeing old Polly, hehalf-resolved to turn back. Margaret, however, led him into the room, and then entreated him not to send away one who had served him so longand so faithfully. Polly, too, joined in with her tears and prayers, saying, "She was anold black fool anyway, and let her tongue get the better on her, though she didn't mean to say more than was true, and reckoned shehadn't. " In his heart Mr. Hamilton wished to revoke what he had said, but dreadof the explosive storm which he knew would surely follow made himirresolute, until Carrie said, "Father, the first person of whom Ihave any definite recollection is Aunt Polly, and I shall be solonesome if she goes away. For my sake let her stay, at least until Iam dead. " This decided the matter. "She _shall_ stay, " said Mr. Hamilton, andAunt Polly, highly elated, returned to the kitchen with the news. Lenora, who seemed to be everywhere at once, overheard it, and, benton mischief, ran with it to her mother. In the meantime Mr. Hamiltonwished, yet dreaded, to go down, and finally, mentally cursing himselffor his weakness, asked Margaret to accompany him. She was about tocomply with his request, when Mrs. Hamilton came up the stairs, furious at her husband, whom she called "a craven coward, led by thenose by all who chose to lead him. " Wishing to shut out her noise, Magclosed and bolted the door, and in the hall the modern Xantippeextended her wrath against her husband and his offspring, while poorMr. Hamilton laid his face in Carrie's lap and wept. Margaret wastrying to devise some means by which to rid herself of her stepmother, when Lenora was heard to exclaim: "Shall I pitch her over the stairs, Mag? I will if you say so. " Immediately Mrs. Hamilton's anger took another channel, and turningupon her daughter, she said, "What are you here for, you pratingparrot? Didn't you tell me what Aunt Polly said, and haven't you actedin the capacity of reporter ever since?" "To be sure I did, " said Lenora, poising herself on one foot, andwhirling around in circles; "but if you thought I did it because Iblamed Aunt Polly, you are mistaken. " "What did you do it for, then?" said Mrs. Hamilton; and Lenora, givingthe finishing touch to her circles by dropping upon the floor, answered, "I like to live in a hurricane--so I told you what I did. Now, if you think it will add at all to the excitement of the presentoccasion, I'll get an ax for you to split the door down. " "Oh, don't, Lenora, " screamed Carrie, from within, to which Lenoraresponded: "Poor little simple chick bird, I wouldn't harm a hair of your softhead for anything. But there is a _man_ in there, or one who passesfor a man, that I think would look far more respectable if he'd comeout and face the tornado. She's easy to manage when you know how. Atleast Mag and I find her so. " Here Mr. Hamilton ashamed of himself and emboldened, perhaps, byLenora's words, slipped back the bolt of the door, and walking out, confronted his wife. "Shall I order pistols and coffee for two?" asked Lenora, swingingherself entirely over the bannister, and dropping like a squirrel onthe stair below. "Is Polly going to stay in this house?" asked Mrs. Hamilton. "She is, " was the reply. "Then I leave to-night, " said Mrs. Hamilton. "Very well, you can go, " returned the husband, growing stronger inhimself each moment. Mrs. Hamilton turned away to her own room, where she remained untilsupper time, when Lenora asked "If she had got her chest packed, andwhere they should direct their letters!" Neither Margaret nor herfather could refrain from laughter. Mrs. Hamilton, too, who had no notion of leaving the comfortableHomestead, and who thought this as good a time to veer round as anyshe would have, also joined in the laugh, saying, "What a child youare, Lenora!" Gradually the state of affairs at the homestead was noised throughoutthe village, and numerous were the little tea parties where none daredspeak above a whisper to tell what they had heard, and where each andevery one were bound to the most profound secrecy, for fear thereports might not be true. At length, however, the story of the chinacloset got out, causing Sally Martin to spend one whole day inretailing the gossip from door to door. Many, too, suddenly rememberedcertain suspicious things which they had seen in Mrs. Hamilton, whowas unanimously voted to be a bad woman, and who, of course, began tobe slighted. The result of this was to increase the sourness of her disposition;and life at the Homestead would have been one continuous scene ofturmoil had not Margaret wisely concluded to treat whatever herstepmother did with silent contempt. Lenora, too, always seemed readyto fill up all vacant niches, until even Mag acknowledged that themother would be unendurable without the daughter. CHAPTER IX. LENORA AND CARRIE. Ever since the day on which Lenora had startled Carrie by informingher of her danger, she had been carefully kept from the room, orallowed only to enter it when Margaret was present. One afternoon, however, early in February, Mag had occasion to go to the village. Lenora, who saw her depart, hastily gathered up her work, and repairedto Carrie's room, saying, as she entered it, "Now, Carrie, we'll havea good time; Mag has gone to see old deaf Peggy, who asks a thousandquestions, and will keep her at least two hours, and I am going toentertain you to the best of my ability. " Carrie's cheek flushed, for she felt some misgivings with regard tothe nature of Lenora's entertainment; but she knew there was no helpfor it, so she tried to smile, and said, "I am willing you shouldstay, Lenora, but you mustn't talk bad things to me, for I can't bearit. " "Bad things!" repeated Lenora; "who ever heard me talk bad things!What do you mean?" "I mean, " said Carrie, "that you must not talk about your mother asyou sometimes do. It is wicked. " "Why, you dear little thing, " answered Lenora, "don't you know thatwhat would be wicked for you isn't wicked for me?" "No, I do not know so, " answered Carrie; "but I know I wouldn't talkabout my mother as you do about yours for anything. " "Bless your heart, " said Lenora, "haven't you sense enough to see thatthere is a great difference between Mrs. Hamilton first, and Mrs. Hamilton second? Now, I'm not naturally bad, and if I had been thedaughter of Mrs. Hamilton first instead of Widow Carter's young one, why, I should have been as good as you--no, not as good as _you_, foryou don't know enough to be bad--but as good as Mag, who, in myopinion, has the right kind of goodness, for all I used to hate herso. " "Hate Margaret!" said Carrie, opening her eyes to their utmost extent. "What did you hate Margaret for?" "Because I didn't know her, I suppose, " returned Lenora; "for now Ilike her well enough--not quite as well as I do you, perhaps; and yet, when I see you bear mother's abuse so meekly, I positively hate youfor a minute, and ache to box your ears; but when Mag squares up toher, shuts her in the china closet, and all that, I want to put myarms right round neck. " "Why, don't you like your mother?" asked Carrie, and Lenora replied: "Of course I do; but I know what she is and I know she isn't what shesometimes seems. Why, she'd be anything to suit the circumstances. Shewanted your father, and she assumed the character most likely tosecure him; for, between you and me, he isn't very smart. " "What did she marry him for, then?" asked Carrie. "Marry _him_! I hope you don't for a moment suppose she married_him_!" "Why, Lenora, _ain't they married?_ I thought they were. Oh, dreadful!" and Carrie started to her feet, while the perspirationstood thickly on her forehead. Lenora screamed with delight, saying, "You certainly have the softestbrain I ever saw. Of course the minister went through with theceremony; but it was not your father that mother wanted; it was hishouse--his money--his horses--his servants, and his name. Now, maybein your simplicity you have thought that mother came here out ofkindness to the motherless children; but I tell you she would bebetter satisfied if neither of you had ever been born. I suppose it iswicked in me to say so, but I think she makes me worse than I wouldotherwise be; for I am not naturally so bad, and I like people muchbetter than I pretend to. Anyway, I like you, and _love_ littleWillie, and always have, since the first time I saw him. Your motherlay in her coffin, and Willie stood by her, caressing her cold cheek, and saying, 'Wake up, mamma, it's Willie; don't you know Willie? Itook him in my arms, and vowed to love and shield him from the comingevil; for I knew then, as well as I do now, that what has happenedwould happen. Mag wasn't there; she didn't see me. If she had, shemight have liked me better; now she thinks there is no good in me; andif, when you die, I should feel like shedding tears, and perhaps Ishall, it would be just like her to wonder 'what business _I_ had tocry--it was none of my funeral!'" "You do wrong to talk so, Lenora, " said Carrie; "but tell me, did younever have any one to love except Willie?" "Yes, " said Lenora; "when I was a child, a little, innocent child, Ihad a grandmother--my father's mother--who taught me to pray, and toldme of God. " "Where is she now?" asked Carrie. "In heaven, " was the answer. "I know she is there, because when shedied there was the same look on her face that there was on yourmother's--the same that there will be on yours, when you are dead. " "Never mind, " gasped Carrie, who did not care to be so frequentlyreminded of her mortality, while Lenora continued: "Perhaps you don't know that my father was, as mother says, a bad man;though I always loved him dearly, and cried when he went away. Welived with grandmother, and sometimes now, in my dreams, I am a childagain, kneeling by grandma's side, in our dear old eastern home, wherethe sunshine fell so warmly, where the summer birds sang in the oldmaple trees, and where the long shadows, which I called spirits, cameand went over the bright green meadows. But there was a sadder day; anarrow coffin, a black hearse, and a tolling bell, which always wakesme from my sleep, and I find the dream all gone, and nothing left ofthe little child but the wicked Lenora Carter. " Here the dark girl buried her face in her hands and wept, while Carriegently smoothed her tangled curls. After a while, as if ashamed of heremotion, Lenora dried her tears, and Carrie said, "Tell me more ofyour early life. I like you when you act as you do now. " "There is nothing more to tell but wickedness, " answered Lenora. "Grandma died, and I had no one to teach me what was right. About ayear after her death mother wanted to get a divorce from father; andone day she told me that a lawyer was coming to inquire about myfather's treatment of her. 'Perhaps, ' said she, 'he will ask if youever saw him strike me, and you must say that you have a great manytimes. 'But never did, ' said I; and then she insisted upon my tellingthat falsehood, and I refused, until she whipped me, and made mepromise to say whatever she wished me to. In this way I was trained tobe what I am. Nobody loves me; nobody ever can love me; and sometimeswhen Mag speaks so kindly to you, and looks so affectionately uponyou, I think, what would I not give for some one to love me; and thenI go away to cry, and wish I had never been born. " Here Mrs. Hamilton called to her daughter, and gathering up her work, Lenora left the room just as Margaret entered it, on her return fromthe village. CHAPTER X. DARKNESS. As the spring opened and the days grew warmer Carrie's health seemedmuch improved; and, though she did not leave her room, she was able tosit up nearly all day, busying herself with some light work. Everhopeful, Margaret hugged to her bosom the delusion which whispered, "She will not die, " while even the physician was deceived, and spokeencouragingly of her recovery. For several months Margaret had thought of visiting her grandmother, who lived in Albany; and as Mr. Hamilton had occasion to visit thatcity, Carrie urged her to accompany him saying, she was perfectly ableto be left alone, and she wished her sister would go, for the tripwould do her good. For some time past Mrs. Hamilton had seemed exceedingly amiable andaffectionate, although her husband appeared greatly depressed, andacted, as Lenora said, "Just as though he had been stealing sheep. " This depression Mag had tried in vain to fathom, and at last, fancying that a change of place and scene might do him good, sheconsented to accompany him, on condition that Kate Kirby would staywith Carrie. At mention of Kate's name Mr. Hamilton's eyes instantlywent over to his wife, whose face wore the same stony expression asshe answered, "Yes, Maggie, can come. " Accordingly, on the morning when the travelers would start, Kate cameup to the homestead, receiving a thousand and one directions aboutwhat to do and when to do it, hearing not more than half theinjunctions, and promising to comply with every one. Long before thedoor the carriage waited, while Margaret, lingering in Carrie's room, kissed again and again her sister's pure brow, and gazed into her deepblue eyes, as if she knew that it was the last time. Even when halfway down the stairs she turned back again to say good-by, this timewhispering, "I have half a mind not to go, for something tells me Ishall never see you again. " "Oh, Mag, " said Carrie, "don't be superstitious. I am a great dealbetter, and when you come home you will find me in the parlor. " In the lower hall Mr. Hamilton caressed his little Willie, who beggedthat he, too, might go. "Don't leave, me, Maggie, don't, " said he, asMag came up to say good-by. Long years after the golden curls which Mag pushed back from Willie'sforehead were covered by the dark moist earth, did she remember herbaby-brother's childish farewell, and oft in bitterness of heart sheasked, "Why did I go--why leave my loved ones to die alone?" Just a week after Mag's departure news was received at the homesteadthat Walter was coming to Glenwood for a day or two, and on theafternoon of the same day Kate had occasion to go home. As she wasleaving the house Mrs. Hamilton detained her, while she said, "MissKirby, we are all greatly obliged to you for your kindness in stayingwith Carrie, although your services really are not needed. Iunderstand how matters stand between you and Walter, and as he is tobe here to-morrow; you of course will feel some delicacy aboutremaining, consequently I release you from all obligations to do so. " Of course there was no demurring to this. Kate's pride was touched;and though Carrie wept, and begged her not to go, she yielded only sofar as to stay until the next morning, when, with a promise to callfrequently, she left. Lonely and long seemed the hours to poor Carrie;for though Walter came, he stayed but two days, and spent a part ofthat time at the mill-pond cottage. The evening after he went away, as Carrie lay, half-dozing, thinkingof Mag, and counting the weary days which must pass ere her return, she was startled by the sound of Lenora's voice in the room opposite, the door of which was ajar. Lenora had been absent a few days, andCarrie was about calling to her, when some words spoken by herstepmother arrested her attention, and roused her curiosity. Theywere, "You think too little of yourself, Lenora. Now, I know there isnothing in the way of your winning Walter, if you choose. " "I should say there was everything in the way, " answered Lenora. "Inthe first place, there is Kate Kirby, and who, after seeing herhandsome face, would ever look at such a black, turned-up nose, bristle-headed thing as I am? But I perceive there is some weightysecret on your mind, so what is it? Have Walter and Kate quarreled, orhave you told him some falsehood about her?" "Neither, " said Mrs. Hamilton. "What I have to say concerns yourfather. " "My father!" interrupted Lenora; "my own father! Oh, is he living?" "No, I hope not, " was the answer; "it is Mr. Hamilton whom I mean. " Instantly Lenora's tone changed, and she replied, "If you please youneed not call that putty-headed man _my_ father. He acts too much likea whipped spaniel to suit me, and I really think Carrie ought to berespected for knowing what little she does, while I wonder whereWalter, Mag, and Willie got their good sense. But what is it? Whathave you made Mr. Hamilton do?--something ridiculous, of course. " "I've made him make his will, " was the answer; while Lenora continued: "Well, what then? What good will that do me?" "It may do you a great deal of good, " said Mrs. Hamilton; "that is, ifWalter likes the homestead as I think he does. But I tell you, it washard work, and I didn't know, one while, but I should have to give itup. However, I succeeded, and he has willed the homestead to Walter, provided he marries you. If not, Walter has nothing, and the homesteadcomes to _me_ and my heirs forever!" "Heartless old fool!" exclaimed Lenora, while Carrie, too, groaned insympathy. "And do you suppose he intends to let it go so! Of coursenot; he'll make another when you don't know it" "I'll watch him too closely for that, " said Mrs. Hamilton and after amoment Lenora asked: "What made you so anxious for a will? Have you received warning of hissudden demise?" "How foolish!" said Mrs. Hamilton. "Isn't it the easiest thing in theworld for me to let Walter know what's in the will, and I fancythat'll bring him to terms, for he likes money, no mistake aboutthat. " "Mr. Hamilton is a bigger fool, and you a worse woman, than Isupposed, " said Lenora. "Do you think I am mean enough to marry Walterunder such circumstances? Indeed, I'm not. But how is Carrie? I mustgo and see her. " She was about leaving the room, when she turned back, saying in awhisper, "Mother, mother, her door is wide open, as well as this one, and she must have heard every word!" "Oh, horror!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton; "go in and ascertain the fact, if possible. " It took but one glance to convince Lenora that Carrie was inpossession of the secret. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wet withtears; and when Lenora stooped to kiss her, she said. "I know it all, I heard it all. " "Then I hope you feel better, " said Mrs. Hamilton, coming forward. "Listeners never hear any good of themselves. " "Particularly if it's Widow Carter who is listened to, " suggestedLenora. Mrs. Hamilton did not reply to this, but continued speaking to Carrie. "If you have heard anything new you can keep it to yourself. No onehas interfered with you, or intends to. Your father has a right to dowhat he chooses with his own, and I shall see that he exercises thatright, too. " So saying she left the room, while Carrie, again bursting into tears, wept until perfectly exhausted. The next morning she was attacked withbleeding at the lungs, which in a short time reduced her so low thatthe physician spoke doubtfully of her recovery, should the hemorrhageagain return. In the course of two or three days she was againattacked; and now, when there was no longer hope of life, her thoughtsturned with earnest longings toward her absent father and sister, andonce, as the physician was preparing to leave her, she said, "Doctor, tell me truly, can I live twenty-four hours?" "I think you may, " was the answer. "Then I shall see them, for if you telegraph to-night they can come inthe morning train. Go yourself and have it done, will you?" The physician promised that he would, and then left the room. In thehall he met Mrs. Hamilton, who with the utmost anxiety depicted uponher countenance, said, "Dear Carrie is leaving us, isn't she? I havetelegraphed for her father, who will be here in the morning. 'Twasright to do so, was it not?" "Quite right, " answered the physician. "I promised to see to itmyself, and was just going to do so. " "Poor child, " returned Mrs. Hamilton, "she feels anxious, I suppose. But I have saved you the trouble. " The reader will not, perhaps, be greatly surprised to learn that whatMrs. Hamilton had said was false. She suspected that one reason whyCarrie so greatly desired to see her father was to tell him what shehad heard, and beg of him to undo what he had done; and as she fearedthe effect which the sight and words of his dying child might haveupon him, she resolved, if possible, to keep him away until Carrie'svoice was hushed in death. Overhearing what had been said by thedoctor, she resorted to the stratagem of which we have just spoken. The next morning, however, she ordered a telegram to be despatched, knowing full well that her husband could not reach home until the dayfollowing. Meantime, as the hour for the morning train drew near, Carrie, restingupon pillows, and whiter than the linen which covered them, strainedher ears to catch the first sound of the locomotive. At last, far offthrough an opening among the hills, was heard a rumbling noise, whichincreased each moment in loudness, until the puffing engine shot outinto the long, green valley, and then rolled rapidly up to the depot. Little Willie had seemed unwell for a few days, but since his sister'sillness he had stayed by her almost constantly, gazing half-curiously, half-timidly into her face, and asking if she was going to the homewhere his mamma lived. She had told him that Margaret was coming, andwhen the shrill whistle of the eastern train sounded through the roomhe ran to the window, whither Lenora had preceded him, and theretogether they watched for the coming of the omnibus. A sinister smilecurled the lips of Mrs. Hamilton who was present, and who, of course, affected to feel interested. At last Willie, clapping his hands, exclaimed, "There 'tis! They'recoming. That's Maggie's big trunk!" Then, noticing the glow which hisannouncement called up to Carrie's cheek, he said, "She'll make youwell, Carrie, Maggie will. Oh, I'm so glad, and so is Leno. " Nearer and nearer came the omnibus, brighter and deeper grew the flushon Carrie's face, while little Willie danced up and down with joy. "It isn't coming here, " said Mrs. Hamilton; "it has gone by, " andCarrie's feverish heat was succeeded by an icy chill. "Haven't they come, Lenora?" she said. Lenora shook her head, and Willie, running to his sister, wound hisarms around her neck, and for several minutes the two lone, motherlesschildren wept. "If Maggie knew how my head ached she'd come, " said Willie; but Carriethought not of _her_ aching head, nor of the faintness of death whichwas fast coming on. One idea alone engrossed her. Her brother--howwould he be saved from the threatened evil, and her father's name fromdishonor? At last Mrs. Hamilton left the room, and Carrie, speaking to Lenoraand one of the villagers who was present, asked if they, too, wouldnot leave her alone for a time with Willie. They complied with herrequest, and then asking her brother to bring her pencil and paper, she hurriedly wrote a few lines to her father telling him of what shehad heard, and entreating him, for her sake, and the sake of themother with whom she would be when those words met his eye, not to doWalter so great a wrong. "I shall give this to Willie's care, " shewrote, in conclusion, "and he will keep it carefully until you come. And now, I bid you a long farewell, my precious father--my nobleMag--my darling Walter. " The note was finished, and calling Willie to her, she said, "I amgoing to die. When Maggie returns I shall be dead and still, like ourown dear mother. " "Oh, Carrie, Carrie, " sobbed the child, "don't leave me till Maggiecomes. " There was a footstep on the stairs, and Carrie, without replying toher brother, said quickly, "Take this paper, Willie, and give it tofather when he comes; let no one see it--Lenora, mother, nor any one. " Willie promised compliance, and had but just time to conceal the notein his bosom ere Mrs. Hamilton entered the room, accompanied by thephysician, to whom she loudly expressed her regrets that her husbandhad not come, saying that she had that morning telegraphed again, although he could not now reach home until the morrow. "To-morrow I shall never see, " said Carrie, faintly. And she spoketruly, too, for even then death was freezing her life-blood with thetouch of his icy hand. To the last she seemed conscious of the tinyarms which so fondly encircled her neck; and when the soul had driftedfar out on the dark channel of death the childish words of "Carrie, Carrie, speak once more, " roused her, and folding her brother moreclosely to her bosom, she murmured, "Willie, darling Willie, ourmother is waiting for us both. " Mrs. Hamilton, who stood near, now bent down, and laying her hand onthe pale, damp brow said gently, "Carrie, dear, have you no word oflove for this mother?" There was a visible shudder, an attempt to speak, a low moan, in whichthe word "Walter" seemed struggling to be spoken; and then death, asif impatient of delay, bore away the spirit, leaving only the formwhich in life had been most beautiful. Softly Lenora closed over theblue eyes the long, fringed lids, and pushed back from the foreheadthe sunny tresses which clustered so thickly around it; then, kissingthe white lips and leaving on the face of the dead traces of hertears, she led Willie from the room, soothing him in her arms untilhe fell asleep. Elsewhere we have said that for a few days Willie had not seemed well;but so absorbed were all in Carrie's more alarming symptoms that noone had heeded him, although his cheeks were flushed with fever, andhis head was throbbing with pain. He was in the habit of sleeping inhis parents' room, and that night his loud breathings and uneasyturnings disturbed and annoyed his mother, who at last called out inharsh tones, "Willie, Willie, for mercy's sake stop that horrid noise!I shall never get asleep this way. I know there's no need of breathinglike that!" "It chokes me so, " sobbed little Willie, "but I'll try. " Then pressing his hands tightly over his mouth, he tried theexperiment of holding his breath as long as possible. Hearing no soundfrom his mother, he thought her asleep, but not venturing to breathenaturally until assured of the fact, he whispered, "Ma, ma, are youasleep?" "Asleep! no--and never shall be, as I see. What do you want?" "Oh, I want to breathe, " said Willie. "Well, breathe then; who hinders you?" was the reply; and ere theoffensive sound again greeted her ear, Mrs. Hamilton was too far gonein slumber to be disturbed. For two hours Willie lay awake, tossing from side to side, scorchedwith fever and longing for water to quench his burning thirst. By thistime Mrs. Hamilton was again awake; but to his earnest entreaties forwater--"Just one little drop of water, ma"--she answered: "William Hamilton, if you don't be still I'll move your crib into theroom where Carrie is, and leave you there alone!" Unlike many children, Willie had no fears of the cold white figurewhich lay so still and motionless upon the parlor sofa. To him it wasCarrie, his sister; and many times that day had he stolen in alone, and laying back the thin muslin which shaded her face, he had lookedlong upon her--had laid his hand on her icy cheek, wondering if sheknew how cold she was, and if the way which she had gone was so longand dark that he could never find it. To him there was naught to fearin that room of death, and to his mother's threat he answered eagerly, "Oh, ma, give me some water, just a little bit of water, and you maycarry me in there, I ain't afraid and my breathing won't wake Carrieup;" but before he had finished speaking his mother was again dozing. "Won't anybody bring me some water--Maggie, Carrie--Leno--nobody?"murmured poor Willie, as he Wet his pillow with tears. At last he could bear it no longer. He knew where the water-bucketstood, and stepping from his bed, he groped his way down the longstairs to the basement. The spring moon was low in the westernhorizon, and shining through the curtained window, dimly lighted upthe room. The pail was soon reached, and then in his eagerness todrink, he put his lips to the side. Lower, lower, lower it came, untilhe discovered, alas I that the pail was empty. "What shall I do? what shall I do?" said he, as he crouched upon thecold hearthstone. A new idea entered his mind. The well stood near the outer door; and, quickly pushing back the bolt, he went out, all flushed and feverishas he was, into the chill night air. There was ice upon the curbstone, but he did not mind it, although his little toes, as they trod uponit, looked red by the pale moonlight. Quickly a cup of the covetedwater was drained; then, with careful forethought, he filled it again, and taking it back to his room, crept shivering to bed. Nature wasexhausted, and whether he fainted or fell asleep is not known, fornever again to consciousness in this world awoke the little boy. The morning sunlight came softly in at the window, touching hisgolden curls with a still more golden hue. Sadly over him Lenora bent, saying, "Willie, Willie, wake up, Willie. Don't you know me?" Greatly Mrs. Hamilton marveled whence came the cup of water whichstood there, as if reproaching her for her cruelty. But the deliriouswords of the dreamer soon told her all. "Maggie, Maggie, " he said, "rub my feet; they feel like Carrie's face. The curbstone was cold, but the water was so good. Give me more, more; mother won't care, forI got it myself, and tried not to breathe, so she could sleep--andCarrie, too, is dead--dead. " Lenora fiercely grasped her mother's arm, and said, "How could yourefuse him water, and sleep while he got it himself?" But Mrs. Hamilton needed not that her daughter should accuse her. Willie had been her favorite, and the tears which she dropped upon hispillow were genuine. The physician who was called pronounced hisdisease to be scarlet fever, saying that its violence was greatlyincreased by a severe cold which he had taken. "You have killed him, mother; you have killed him!" said Lenora. Twenty-four hours had passed since, with straining ear, Carrie hadlistened for the morning train, and again down the valley floated thesmoke of the engine, and over the blue hills echoed the loud scream ofthe locomotive; but no sound could awaken the fair young sleeper, though Willie started, and throwing up his hands, one of which, theright one, was firmly clinched, murmured, "Maggie, Maggie. " Ten minutes more and Margaret was there, weeping in agony over theinanimate form of her sister, and almost shrieking as she saw Willie'swild eye, and heard his incoherent words. Terrible to Mr. Hamilton wasthis coming home. Like one who walks in sleep, he went from room toroom, kissing the burning brow of one child, and then, while the hotbreath was yet warm upon his lips, pressing them to the cold face ofthe other. All day Margaret sat by her dying brother, praying that he might bespared until Walter came. Her prayer was answered; for at nightfallWalter was with them. Half an hour after his return Willie died; butere his right hand dropped lifeless by his side he held it up to view, saying: "Father--give it to nobody but father. " After a moment Margaret, taking within hers the fast-stiffening hand, gently unclosed the fingers, and found the crumpled piece of paper onwhich Carrie had written to her father. CHAPTER XI. MARGARET AND HER FATHER. 'Twas midnight--midnight after the burial. In the library of the oldhomestead sat its owner, his arms resting upon the table, and his facereclining upon his arms. Sadly was he reviewing the dreary past, sincefirst among them death had been, bearing away his wife, the wife ofhis first only love. Now, by her grave there was another, on which thepale moonbeams and the chill night-dews were falling, but they couldnot disturb the rest of the two who, side by side in the same coffin, lay sleeping, and for whom the father's tears were falling fast, andthe father's heart was bleeding. "Desolate, desolate--all is desolate, " said the stricken man. "Wouldthat I, too, were asleep with my lost ones!" There was a rustling sound near him, a footfall, and an arm was thrownlovingly around his neck. Margaret's tears were on his cheek, andMargaret's voice whispered in his ear, "Dear father, we must love eachother better now. " Margaret had not retired, and on passing through the hall, haddiscovered the light gleaming through the crevice of the library door. Knowing that her father must be there, she had come in to comfort him. Long the father and child wept together, and then Margaret, drying hertears said: "It is right--all right; mother has two, and you have two, and thoughthe dead will never return to us, we, in God's good time, will returnto them. " "Yes, soon, very soon, shall I go, " said Mr. Hamilton. "I am weary, weary, Margaret; my life is one scene of bitterness. Oh, why, why was I left to do it?" Margaret knew well to what he referred, but she made no answer; andafter he had become somewhat composed, thinking this a goodopportunity for broaching the subject which had so troubled Carrie'sdying moments, she drew from her bosom the soiled piece of paper, andplacing it in his hands, watched him while he read. The moan ofanguish which came from his lips as he finished made her repent of heract, and, springing to his side, she exclaimed: "Forgive me, father; I ought not to have done it now. You have enoughto bear. " "It is right, my child, " said Mr. Hamilton; "for after the wound hadslightly healed I might have wavered. Not that I love Walter less;but, fool that I am, I fear her who has made me the cowardly wretchyou see!" "Rouse yourself, then, " answered Margaret. "Shake off her chain, andbe free. " "I cannot, I cannot, " said he. "But this I will do. I will makeanother will. I always intended to do so, and Walter shall not bewronged. " Then rising, he hurriedly paced the room saying, "Waltershall not be wronged, no, no--Walter shall not be wronged. " After a time he resumed his former seat, and taking his daughter'shand in his, he told her of all he had suffered, of the power whichhis wife held over him, and which he was too weak to shake off. Thislast he did not say, but Margaret knew it and it prevented her fromgiving him other consolation than that of assuring him of her ownunchanged, undying love. The morning twilight was streaming through the closed shutters ere theconference ended; and then Mr. Hamilton, kissing his daughter, dismissed her from the room, but as she was leaving him he called herback, saying: "Don't tell Walter; he would despise me; but he shan't be wronged--no, he shan't be wronged. " Six weeks from that night Margaret stood, with her brother, watchingher father as the light from his eyes went out, and the tones of hisvoice ceased forever. Grief for the loss of his children, and remorsefor the blight which he had brought upon his household, had underminedhis constitution, never strong; and when a prevailing fever settledupon him it found an easy prey. In ten days' time Margaret and Walteralone were left of the happy band who, two years before, had gatheredaround the fireside of the old homestead. Loudly Mrs. Hamilton deplored her loss, shutting herself up in herroom, and refusing to see any one, saying that she could not becomforted, and it was of no use trying! Lenora, however, managed tofind an opportunity of whispering to her that it would hardly beadvisable to commit suicide, since she had got the homestead left, andeverything else for which she had married Mr. Hamilton. "Lenora, how can you thus trifle with my feelings? Don't you see thatmy trouble is killing me?" said the greatly distressed lady. "I don't apprehend any such catastrophe as that, " answered Lenora. "You found the weeds of Widow Carter easy enough to wear, and those ofWidow Hamilton won't hurt you any worse, I imagine. " "Lenora, " groaned Mrs. Hamilton, "may you never know what it is to bethe unhappy mother of such a child!" "Amen!" was Lenora's fervent response, as she glided from the room. For three days the body of Mr. Hamilton lay upon the marble centertable in the darkened parlor. Up and down the long staircases, andthrough the silent rooms, the servants moved noiselessly. Down in thebasement Aunt Polly forgot her wonted skill in cooking, and in abroken rocking-chair swayed to and fro, brushing the big tears fromher dusky face, and lamenting the loss of one who seemed to her "justlike a brother, only a little nigher. " In the chamber above, where six weeks before Carrie had died, satMargaret--not weeping; she could not do that--her grief was too great, and the fountain of her tears seemed scorched and dried; but, withwhite, compressed lips, and hands tightly clasped, she thought of thepast and of the cheerless future. Occasionally through the doorwaythere came a small, dark figure; a pair of slender arms were thrownaround her neck, and a voice murmured in her ear: "Poor, poor Maggie. "The next moment the figure would be gone, and in the hall below Lenorawould be heard singing snatches of some song, either to provoke hermother, or to make the astonished servants believe that she was reallyheartless and hardened. What Walter suffered could not be expressed. Hour after hour, from thesun's rising till its going down, he sat by his father's coffin, unmindful of the many who came in to look at the dead, and then gazingpitifully upon the face of the living, walked away, whisperingmysteriously of insanity. Near _him_ Lenora dared not come, thoughthrough the open door she watched him, and oftentimes he met theglance of her wild, black eyes, fixed upon him with a mournfulinterest; then, as if moved by some spirit of evil, she would turnaway, and seeking her mother's room, would mock at that lady's grief, advising her not to make too much of an effort. At last there came a change. In the yard there was the sound of manyfeet, and in the house the hum of many voices, all low and subdued. Again in the village of Glenwood was heard the sound of the tollingbell; again through the garden and over the running water brook movedthe long procession to the graveyard; and soon Ernest Hamilton layquietly sleeping by the side of his wife and children. For some time after the funeral nothing was said concerning the will, and Margaret had almost forgotten the existence of one, when one dayas she was passing the library door her mother appeared, and asked herto enter. She did so, and found there her brother, whose face, besidesthe marks of recent sorrow which it wore, now seemed anxious andexpectant. "Maggie dear, " said the oily-tongued woman, "I have sent for you tohear read your beloved father's last will and testament. " A deep flush mounted to Margaret's face, as she repeated somewhatinquiringly, "Father's last will and testament?" "Yes, dear, " answered her mother, "his last will and testament. Hemade it several weeks ago, even before poor Carrie died; and as Walteris now the eldest and only son, I think it quite proper that he shouldread it. " So saying, she passed toward Walter a sealed package, which henervously opened, while Margaret, going to his side, looked over hisshoulder, as he read. It is impossible to describe the look of mingled surprise, anger, andmortification which Mrs. Hamilton's face assumed, as she heard thewill which her husband had made four weeks before his death, and inwhich Walter shared equally with his sister. Her first impulse was todestroy it; and springing forward, she attempted to snatch it fromWalter's hand, but was prevented by Margaret, who caught her arm andforcibly held her back. Angrily confronting her stepdaughter, Mrs. Hamilton demanded, "Whatdoes this mean?" to which Mag replied: "It means, madam, that for once you are foiled. You coaxed my fatherinto making a will, the thought of which ought to make you blush. Carrie overheard you telling Lenora, and when she found that she mustdie she wrote it on a piece of paper, and consigned it to Willie'scare!" Several times Mrs. Hamilton essayed to speak, but the words died awayin her throat, until at last, summoning all her boldness, she said, ina hoarse whisper, "But the homestead is mine--mine forever, and we'llsee how delightful I can make your home!" "I'll save you that trouble, madam, " said Walter, rising and advancingtoward the door. "Neither my sister nor myself will remain beneath thesame roof which shelters you. To-morrow we leave, knowing well thatvengeance belongeth to One higher than we. " All the remainder of that day Walter and Margaret spent in devisingsome plan for the future, deciding at last that Margaret should on themorrow go for a time to Mrs. Kirby's, while Walter returned to thecity. The next morning, however, Walter did not appear in thebreakfast parlor, and when Margaret, alarmed at his absence, repairedto his room, she found him unable to rise. The fever with which hisfather had died, and which, was still prevailing in the village, hadfastened upon him, and for many days was his life despaired of. Theablest physicians were called, but few of them gave any hope to thepale, weeping sister, who, with untiring love, kept her vigils by herbrother's bedside. When he was first taken ill he had manifested great uneasiness at hisstepmother's presence, and when at last he became delirious he nolonger concealed his feelings, and if she entered the room he wouldshriek "Take her away from me! Take her away! Chain her in thecellar--anywhere out of my sight. " Again he would speak of Kate, and entreat that she might come to him. "I have nothing left but her and Margaret, " he would say; "and whydoes she stay away?" Three different times had Margaret sent to her young friend, urgingher to come, and still she tarried, while Margaret marveled greatlyat the delay. She did not know that the girl whom she had told to gohad received different directions from Mrs. Hamilton, and that eachday beneath her mother's roof Kate Kirby wept and prayed that Waltermight not die. One night he seemed to be dying, and gathered in the room were manysympathizing friends and neighbors. Without, 'twas pitchy dark. Therain fell in torrents and the wind, which had increased in violencesince the setting of the sun, howled mournfully about the windows, asif waiting to bear the soul company in its upward flight. Many timeshad Walter attempted to speak. At last he succeeded, and the wordwhich fell from his lips was "Kate!" Lenora, who had that day accidentally learned of her mother's commandswith regard to Miss Kirby, now glided noiselessly from the room, andin a moment was alone in the fearful storm, which she did not heed. Lightly bounding over the swollen brook, she ran on until themill-pond cottage was reached. It was midnight, and its inmates wereasleep, but they awoke at the sound of Lenora's voice. "Walter is dying, " said she to Kate, "and would see you once more. Come quickly. " Hastily dressing herself, Kate went forth with the strange girl, whospoke not a word until Walter's room was reached. Feebly the sick manwound his arms around Kate's neck, exclaiming, "My own, my beautifulKate, I knew you would come. I am better now--I shall live!" and as ifthere was indeed something life-giving in her very presence and thesound of her voice, Walter from that hour grew better: and in threeweeks' time he, together with Margaret, left his childhood's home, once so dear, but now darkened by the presence of her who watchedtheir departure with joy, exulting in the thought that she wasmistress of all she surveyed. Walter, who was studying law in the city about twenty miles distant, resolved to return thither immediately, and after some consultationwith his sister it was determined that both she and Kate shouldaccompany him. Accordingly, a few mornings after they left thehomestead, there was a quiet bridal at the mill-pond cottage; afterwhich Walter Hamilton bore away to his city home his sister and hisbride, the beautiful Kate. CHAPTER XII. "CARRYING OUT DEAR MR. HAMILTON'S PLANS. " One morning about ten days after the departure of Walter the goodpeople of Glenwood were greatly surprised at the unusual confusionwhich seemed to pervade the homestead. The blinds were taken off, windows taken out, carpets taken up, and where so lately physicians, clergymen, and death had officiated, were now seen carpenters, masons, and other workmen. Many were the surmises as to the cause of all this;and one old lady, more curious than the rest, determined upon afriendly call, to ascertain, if possible, what was going on. She found Mrs. Hamilton with her sleeves rolled up, and her hairtucked under a black cap, consulting with a carpenter about enlargingher bedroom and adding to it a bathing-room. Being received but coldlyby the mistress of the house, she descended to the basement, where shewas told by Aunt Polly that "the blinds were going to be repainted, anaddition built, the house turned wrong-side out, and Cain raisedgenerally. " "It's a burning shame, " said Aunt Polly, warmed up by her subject andthe hot oven into which she was thrusting loaves of bread and pies. "It's a burning shame--a tearin' down and a goin' on this way, andmarster not cold in his grave. Miss Lenora, with all her badness, saysit's disgraceful, but he might ha' know'd it. _I_ did. I know'd it thefust time she came here a nussin'. I don't see what got into him tohave her. Polly Pepper, without any larnin', never would ha' done sucha thing, " continued she, as the door closed upon her visitor, who wasanxious to carry the gossip back to the village. It was even as Aunt Polly had said. Mrs. Hamilton, who possessed astrong propensity for pulling down and building up, and who would havemade an excellent carpenter, had long had an earnest desire forimproving the homestead; and now that there was no one to prevent her, she went to work with a right good will, saying to Lenora, whoremonstrated with her upon the impropriety of her conduct, that "shewas merely carrying out dear Mr. Hamilton's plans, " who had proposedmaking these changes before his death. "Dear Mr. Hamilton!" repeated Lenora, "very dear has he become to you, all at once. I think if you had always manifested a little moreaffection for him and his, they might not have been where they noware. " "Seems to me you take a different text from what you did some monthsago, " said Mrs. Hamilton; "but perhaps you don't remember the time?" "I remember it well, " answered Lenora, "and quite likely, with yourtraining, I should do the same again. We were poor, and I wished for amore elegant home. I fancied that Margaret Hamilton was proud and hadslighted me, and I longed for revenge; but when I knew her I liked herbetter, and when I saw that she was not to be trampled down by you orme, my hatred of her turned to admiration. The silly man who has paidthe penalty of his weakness, I always despised; but when I saw howfast the gray hairs thickened on his head; how careworn and bowed downhe grew, I pitied him, for I knew that his heart was breaking. WillieI truly, unselfishly loved; and I am charitable enough to think thateven _you_ loved _him_, but it was through your neglect that he died, and for his death you will answer. Carrie was gentle and trusting, butweak, like her father. I do not think you killed her, for she wasdying when we came here, but you put the crowning act of wickedness toyour life when you compelled a man, shattered in body and intellect, to write a will which disinherited his only son; but on that point youare baffled. To be sure, you've got the homestead, and for decency'ssake I think I'd wait a while longer ere I commenced tearing down andbuilding up. " Lenora's words had no effect whatever upon her mother, who still kepton with her plans, treating with silent contempt the remarks of theneighbors, or wishing, perhaps, that they would attend to their ownbusiness, just as she was attending to hers! Day after day the workwent on. Scaffoldings were raised--paper and plastering tornoff--boards were seasoning in the sun--shingles lying upon theground--ladders raised against the wall; and all this while the twonew graves showed not a blade of grass, and the earth looked black andfresh as it did when first it was placed there. When at last the blinds were hung, the house cleaned, and the carpetsnailed down, Mrs. Hamilton, who had designed it all the time, calledtogether the servants, whom she had disliked on account of theirpreference for Margaret, and told them to look for new places, astheir services were no longer needed there. "You can make out your bills, " said she, at the same time intimatingthey hadn't one of them more than earned their board, if they hadthat! Polly Pepper wasn't of material to stand by and hear suchlanguage from one whom she considered beneath her. "Hadn't she as good a right there as anybody? Yes, indeed, she had!Wasn't she there a full thirty year before any of your low-lived trashcame round a nussin'?" "Polly, " interposed Mrs. Hamilton, "leave the room instantly, youungrateful thing!" "Ungrateful for what?" said Polly. "Haven't I worked and slaved likean old nigger, as I am? and now you call me ungrateful, and say Ihain't arnt my bread. I'll sue you for slander;" and the enragedPolly left the room, muttering, "half arnt my board, indeed! I'll betI've made a hundred thousan' pies, to say nothin' of the puddings, _I_not arn my board!" When again safe in what for so many years had been her own peculiarprovince, she sat down to meditate. "I'd as good go without any fuss, "thought she, "but my curse on the madam who sends me away!" In the midst of her reverie, Lenora entered the kitchen, and to herthe old lady detailed her grievances, ending with, "Pears like shedon't know nothin' at all about etiquette, nor nothin' else. " "Etiquette!" repeated Lenora. "You are mistaken, Polly; mother wouldsit on a point of etiquette till she wore the back breadth of herdress out. But it isn't that which she lacks--it's decency. But, Polly, " said she, changing the subject, "where do you intend to go andhow?" "To my brother Sam's, " said Polly. "He lives three miles in thecountry, and I've sent Robin to the village for a horse and wagon tocarry my things. " Here Mrs. Hamilton entered the kitchen, followed by a strapping Irishgirl, nearly six feet in height. Her hair, flaming red, was twistedround a huge back comb; her faded calico dress came far above herankles; her brawny arms were folded one over the other; and there wasin her appearance something altogether disagreeable and defiant. Mrs. Hamilton introduced her as Ruth, her new cook, saying she hoped shewould know enough to keep her place better than her predecessor haddone. Aunt Polly surveyed her rival from head to foot, and then glancingaside to Lenora, muttered, "Low-lived, depend on't. " Robin now drove up with the wagon, and Mrs. Hamilton and Lenora leftthe room, while Polly went to prepare herself for her ride. Hersleeping apartment was in the basement and communicated with thekitchen. This was observed by the new cook, who had a strong dislikeof negroes, and who feared that she might be expected to occupy thesame bed. "An' faith, " said she, "is it where the like of ya have burrowed thatI am to turn in?" "I don't understand no such low-flung stuff, " answered Polly, "but ifyou mean you are to have this bedroom, I suppose you are. " Here Polly had occasion to go up-stairs for something, and on herreturn she found that Ruth, during her absence, had set fire to alarge linen rag, which she held on a shovel and was carrying about thebedroom, as if to purify it from every atom of negro atmosphere whichmight remain. Polly was quick-witted, and instantly comprehending thetruth, she struck the shovel from the hands of Ruth, exclaiming, "Youspalpeen, is it because my skin ain't a dingy yaller and all freckledlike yourn? Lord, look at your carrot-topped cocoanut, and then tellme if wool ain't a heap the most genteel. " In a moment a portion of the boasted wool was lying on the floor, orbeing shaken from the thick, red fingers of the cook, while Irishblood was flowing freely from the nose which Polly, in her vengefulwrath, had wrung. Further hostilities were prevented by Robin, whoscreamed that he couldn't wait any longer, and shaking her fistfiercely at the red-head, Polly departed. That day Lucy and Rachel also left, and their places were supplied bytwo raw hands, one of whom, before the close of the second day, tumbled up-stairs with the large soup tureen, breaking it in fragmentsand scalding the foot of Mrs. Hamilton, who was in the rear, and who, having waited an hour for dinner, had descended to the kitchen to knowwhy it was not forthcoming, saying that Polly had never been so behindthe time. The other one, on being asked if she understood chamber work, hadreplied, "Indade, and it's been my business all my life. " She wasaccordingly sent to make the beds and empty the slop. Thinking it aneasy way to dispose of the latter, she had thrown it from the window, deluging the head and shoulders of her mistress who was bending downto examine a rose bush which had been recently set out. Lenora was inecstasies, and when at noon her mother received a sprinkling of redhot soup, she gravely asked her "which she relished most, cold or warmbaths!" CHAPTER XIII. RETRIBUTION. Two years have passed away, and again we open the scene at thehomestead, which had not proved an altogether pleasant home to Mrs. Hamilton. There was around her everything to make her happy, but shewas far from being so. One by one her servants, with whom she was veryunpopular, had left her, until there now remained but one. Thevillagers, too, shunned her, and she was wholly dependent for societyupon Lenora, who, as usual, provoked and tormented her. One day Hester, the servant, came up from the basement, saying therewas a poor old man below, who asked for money. "Send him away; I've nothing for him, " said Mrs. Hamilton, whoseavaricious hand, larger far than her heart, grasped at and retainedeverything. "But, if you please, ma'am, he seems very poor, " said Hester. "Let him go to work, then. 'Twon't hurt him more than 'twill me, " wasthe reply. Lenora, whose eyes and ears were always open, no sooner heard thatthere was a beggar in the kitchen than she ran down to see him. He wasa miserable-looking object, and still there was something in hisappearance which denoted him to be above the common order of beggars. His eyes were large and intensely black, and his hair, short, thick, and curly, reminded Lenora of her own. The moment she appeared apeculiar expression passed for a moment over his face, and he halfstarted up; then resuming his seat he fixed his glittering eyes uponthe young lady, and seemed watching her closely. At last she began questioning him, but his answers were sounsatisfactory that she gave it up, and, thinking it the easiest wayto be rid of him, she took from her pocket a shilling and handed it tohim, saying, "It's all I can give you, unless it is a dinner. Are youhungry?" Hester, who had returned to the kitchen, was busy in a distant part ofthe room, and she did not notice the paleness which overspreadLenora's face at the words which the beggar uttered when, shepresented the money to him. She caught, however, the low murmur oftheir voices, as they spoke together for a moment, and as Lenoraaccompanied him to the door, she distinctly heard the words, "In thegarden. " "And maybe that's some of your kin; you look like him, " said she toLenora, after the stranger was gone. "That's my business, not yours, " answered Lenora, as she left thekitchen and repaired to her mother's room. "Lenora, what ails you?" said Mrs. Hamilton to her daughter at thetea-table that night, when, after putting salt in one cup of tea, andupsetting a second, she commenced spreading her biscuit with cheeseinstead of butter. "What ails you? What are you thinking about? Youdon't seem to know any more what you are doing than the dead. " Lenora made no direct reply to this, but soon after she said, "Mother, how long has father been dead--my own father I mean?" "Two or three years, I don't exactly know which, " returned her mother, and Lenora continued: "How did he look? I hardly remember him. " "You have asked me that fifty times, " answered her mother, "and fiftytimes I have told you that he looked like you, only worse, ifpossible. " "Let me see, where did you say he died?" said Lenora. "In New Orleans, with yellow fever, or black measles, or smallpox, orsomething, " Mrs. Hamilton replied, "but mercy's sake! can't you choosea better subject to talk about? What made you think of him? He's beenhaunting me all day, and I feel kind of nervous and want to look overmy shoulder whenever I am alone. " Lenora made no further remark until after tea, when she announced herintention of going to the village. "Come back early, for I don't feel like staying alone, " said hermother. The sun had set when Lenora left the village, and by the time shereached home it was wholly dark. As she entered the garden the outlineof a figure; sitting on a bench at its further extremity, made herstop for a moment, but thinking to herself, "I expected it, and whyshould I be afraid?" she walked on fearlessly, until the person, roused by the sound of her footsteps, started up, and turning towardher, said half-aloud: "Lenora, is it you?" Quickly she sprang forward, and soon one hand of the beggar wasclasped in hers, while the other rested upon her head, as he said, "Lenora, my child, my daughter, you do not hate me?" "Hate you, father?" she answered, "never, never. " "But, " he continued, "has not she--my--no, not my wife--thank Heavennot my wife now--but your mother, has not she taught you to despiseand hate me?" "No, " answered Lenora bitterly. "She has taught me enough of evil, butmy memories of you were too sweet, too pleasant, for me to despiseyou, though I do not think you always did right, more than mother. " The stranger groaned, and murmured: "It's true, all true;" whileLenora continued: "But where have you been all these years, and how came we to hear ofyour death?" "I have been in St. Louis most of the time, and the report of my deathresulted from the fact that a man bearing my name, and who was alsofrom Connecticut, died of yellow fever in New Orleans about two yearsand a half ago. A friend of mine, observing a notice of his death, andsupposing it to refer to me, forwarded the paper to your mother, who, though then free from me, undoubtedly felt glad, for she never lovedme, but married me because she thought I had money. " "But how have you lived?" asked Lenora. "Lived!" he repeated, "I have not lived. I have merely existed. Gambling and drinking, drinking and gambling, have been the businessof my life, and have reduced me to the miserable wretch whom you see. " "Oh, father, father, " cried Lenora, "reform. It is not too late, andyou can yet be saved. Do it for my sake, for, in spite of all yourfaults, I love you, and you are my father. " The first words of affection which had greeted his ear for many longyears made the wretched man weep, as he answered: "Lenora, I havesworn to reform, and I will keep my vow. During one of my drunkenrevels, in St. Louis, a dream of home came over me, and when I becamesober I started for Connecticut. There I heard where and what yourmother was. I had no wish ever to meet her again, for though I greatlyerred in my conduct toward her, I think she was always the most toblame. You I remembered with love, and I longed to see you once more, to hear again the word 'father, ' and know that I was not forgotten. Icame as far as the city, and there fell into temptation. For the lasttwo months I have been there, gambling and drinking, until I lost all, even the clothes which I wore, and was compelled to assume these rags. I am now without home or money, and have no place to lay my head. " "I can give you money, " said Lenora. "Meet me here to-morrow night, and you shall have all you want. But what do you purpose doing? Wherewill you stay?" "In the village, for the sake of being near you, " said he, at the sametime bidding his daughter return to the house, as the night air wasdamp and chilly. Within a week from that time a middle-aged man, calling himself JohnRobinson, appeared in the village, hiring himself out as a porter atone of the hotels. There was a very striking resemblance between himand Lenora Carter, which was noticed by the villagers, and mentionedto Mrs. Hamilton, who, however, could never obtain a full view of thestranger's face, for without any apparent design, he always avoidedmeeting her. He had not been long in town before it was whisperedabout that between him and Lenora Carter a strange intimacy existed, and rumors soon reached Mrs. Hamilton that her daughter was in thehabit of frequently stealing out after sunset, to meet the old porter, and that once, when watched, she had been seen to put her arms aroundhis neck. Highly indignant, Mrs. Hamilton questioned Lenora on thesubject, and was astonished beyond measure when she replied: "It is all true. I have met Mr. Robinson often, and I have put my armsaround his neck, and shall probably do it again. " "Oh my child, my child, " groaned Mrs. Hamilton, really distressed ather daughter's conduct. "How can you do so? You will bring my grayhairs with sorrow to the grave. " "Not if you pull out as many of them as you now do, and use TwiggsPreparation besides, " said Lenora. Mrs. Hamilton did not answer, but covering her face with her handswept, really wept, thinking for the first time, perhaps, that as shehad sowed so was she reaping. For some time past her health had beenfailing, and as the summer days grew warmer and more oppressive shefelt a degree of lassitude and physical weakness which she had neverbefore experienced; and one day unable longer to sit up, she took herbed, where she lay for many days. Now that her mother was really sick, Lenora seemed suddenly changed, and with unwearied care watched over her as kindly and faithfully asif no words save those of affection had ever passed between them. Warmer and more sultry grew the days, and more fiercely raged thefever in Mrs. Hamilton's veins, until at last the crisis was reachedand passed, and she was in a fair way for recovery, when she wasattacked by chills, which again reduced her to a state ofhelplessness. One day, about this time, a ragged little boy, whosebusiness seemed to be lounging around the hotel, brought to Lenora asoiled and crumpled note, on which was traced with an unsteady hand, "Dear Lenora, I am sick, all alone in the little attic; come to me, quick; come!" Lenora was in a state of great perplexity. Her mother, when awake, needed all her care; and as she seldom slept during the day thereseemed but little chance of getting away. The night before, however, she had been unusually restless and wakeful, and about noon she seemeddrowsy, and finally fell into a deep sleep. "Now is my time, " thought Lenora; and calling Hester, she bade herwatch by her mother until she returned, saying, "If she wakes tell herI have gone to the village, and will soon be back. " Hester promised compliance, and was for a time faithful to her trust;but suddenly recollecting something which she wished to tell the girlwho lived at the next neighbor's she stole away, leaving her mistressalone. For five minutes Mrs. Hamilton slept on, and then with a startawoke from a troubled dream, in which she had seemed dying of thirst, while little Willie, standing by a hogshead of water, refused her adrop. A part of her dream was true, for she was suffering from themost intolerable thirst, and called loudly for Lenora; but Lenora wasnot there. Hester next was called, but she, too, was gone. Then, seizing the bell which stood upon the table, she rang it with all herforce, and still there came no one to her relief. Again Willie stood by her, offering her a goblet overflowing withwater; but when she attempted to take it, Willie changed into Lenora, who laughed mockingly at her distress, telling her there was water inthe well and ice on the curbstone. Once more the phantom faded away, and the old porter was there, wading through a limpid stream andoffering her to drink a cup of molten lead. "Merciful Heaven!" shrieked the sick woman, as she writhed from sideto side on her bed, which seemed changed to burning coals; "will noone bring me water, water, water!" An interval of calmness succeeded, during which she revolved in hermind the possibility of going herself to the kitchen, where she knewthe water-pail was standing. No sooner had she decided upon this thanthe room appeared full of little demons, who laughed, and chattered, and shouted in her ears: "Go--do it! Willie did, when the night was dark and chilly; but now itis warm--nice and warm--try it, do!" Tremblingly Mrs. Hamilton stepped upon the floor, and finding herselftoo weak to walk, crouched down, and crept slowly down the stairs tothe kitchen door, where she stopped to rest. Across the room by thewindow stood the pail, and as her eye fell upon it the mirth of thelittle winged demons appeared in her disordered fancy to increase; andwhen the spot was reached, the tumbler seized and thrust into thepail, they darted hither and thither, shouting gleefully: "Lower, lower down; just as Willie did. You'll find it, oh, you'llfind it!" With a bitter cry Mrs. Hamilton dashed the tumbler upon the floor, forthe bucket was empty! "Willie, Willie, you are avenged, " she said; but the goblins answered: "Not yet; no, not yet. " There was no pump in the well, and Mrs. Hamilton knew she had notstrength to raise the bucket by means of the windlass. Her exertionshad increased her thirst tenfold, and now for one cup of cooling watershe would have given all her possessions. Across the yard, at thedistance of twenty rods, there was a gushing spring, and thither inher despair she determined to go. Accordingly, she went forth into thefierce noontide blaze, and with almost superhuman efforts crawled tothe place. But what! was it a film upon her eyes? Had blindness comeupon her, or was the spring really dried up by the fervid summer heat? "Willie's avenged! Willie's avenged!" yelled the imps as the wretchedwoman fainted and fell backward upon the bank, where she lay with herwhite, thin face upturned, and blistering beneath the August sun! Along the dusty highway came a handsome traveling carriage, in which, besides the driver, were seated two individuals, the one a young andelegantly-dressed lady, and the other a gentleman, who appealed to beon the most intimate terms with his companion; for whenever he woulddirect her attention to any passing object, he laid his hand on hers, frequently retaining it, and calling her "Maggie. " The carriage was nearly opposite the homestead, when the ladyexclaimed, "Oh, Richard, I must stop at my old home once more. Onlysee how beautiful it is looking!" In a moment the carriage was standing before the gate, and thegentleman, who was Margaret Hamilton's husband--a Mr. Elwyn, from thecity--assisted his young wife to alight, and then followed her to thehouse. No answer was given to their loud ring, and as the doors andwindows were all open, Margaret proposed that they should enter. Theydid so; and, going first into Mrs. Hamilton's sick-room, the sight ofthe little table full of vials, and the tumbled, empty bed, excitedtheir wonder and curiosity, and induced them to go on. At last, descending to the kitchen, they saw the fragments of the tumblerlying upon the floor. "Strange, isn't it?" said Margaret to her husband, who was standing inthe outer door, and who had at that moment discovered Mrs. Hamiltonlying near the spring. Instantly they were at her side, and Margaret involuntarily shudderedas she recognized her stepmother, and guessed why she was there. Taking her in his arms, Mr. Elwyn bore her back to the house, andMargaret, filling a pitcher with water, bathed her face, moistened herlips, and applied other restoratives, until she revived enough to say: "More water, Willie. Give me more water!" Eagerly she drained the goblet which Margaret held to her lips, andwas about drinking the second, when her eyes for the first time soughtMargaret's face. With a cry between a groan and a scream she lay backupon her pillows, saying, "Margaret Hamilton, how came you here? Whathave you to do with me, and why do you give me water? Didn't I refuseit to Willie, when he begged so earnestly for it in the nighttime? ButI've been paid--a thousand times paid--left by my own child to diealone!" Margaret was about asking for Lenora, when the young lady herselfappeared. She seemed for a moment greatly surprised at the sight ofMargaret, and then bounding to her side, greeted her with muchaffection; while Mrs. Hamilton jealously looked on, muttering toherself. "Loves everybody better than she does me, her own mother, whohas done so much for her. " Lenora made no reply to this, although she manifested much concernwhen Margaret told her in what state they had found her mother. "I went for a few moments to visit a sick friend, " said she, "but toldHester to stay with mother until I returned; and I wonder much thatshe should leave her. " "Lenora, " said Mrs. Hamilton, "Lenora, was that sick friend the oldporter?" Lenora answered in the affirmative; and then her mother, turning toMargaret, said: "You don't know what a pest and torment this child has always been tome, and now when I am dying she deserts me for a low-lived fellow, oldenough to be her father. " Lenora's eyes flashed scornfully upon her mother, but she made noanswer, and as Mr. Elwyn was in haste to proceed on his journey, Margaret arose to go. Lenora urged them to remain longer, but theydeclined; and as she accompanied them to the door, Margaret said: "Lenora, if your mother should die, and it would afford you anysatisfaction to have me come, I will do so, for I suppose you have nonear friends. " Lenora hesitated a moment, and then whispering to Margaret of therelationship existing between herself and the old porter, she said, "He is sick and poor, but he is my own father, and I love him dearly. " The tears came to Margaret's eyes, for she thought of her own father, called home while his brown hair was scarcely touched with the frostsof time. Wistfully Lenora watched the carriage as it disappeared fromsight, and then half-reluctantly entered the sick-room, where, for theremainder of the afternoon, she endured her mother's reproaches forhaving left her alone, and where once, when her patience was whollyexhausted, she said: "It served you right, for now you know how little Willie felt. " The next day Mrs. Hamilton was much worse, and Lenora, who had watchedand who understood her symptoms, felt confident that she would die, and loudly her conscience upbraided her for her undutiful conduct. Shelonged, too, to tell her that her father was still living, and oneevening when for an hour or two her mother seemed better, she arose, and bending over her pillow, said, "Mother, did it ever occur to youthat father might not be dead?" "Not be dead, Lenora! What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Hamilton, startingup from her pillow. Cautiously then Lenora commenced her story by referring her motherback to the old beggar, who some months before had been in thekitchen. Then she spoke of the old porter, and the resemblance whichwas said to exist between him and herself; and finally, as she saw hermother could bear it, she told the whole story of her father's life. Slowly the sick woman's eyes closed, and Lenora saw that her eyelidswere wet with, tears, but as she made no reply, Lenora ere longwhispered, "Would you like to see him, mother?" "No, no; not now, " was the answer. For a time there was silence, and then Lenora, again speaking, said, "Mother, I have often been very wicked and disrespectful to you, andif you should die, I should feel much happier knowing that you forgaveme. Will you do it, mother--say?" Mrs. Hamilton comprehended only the words, "if you should die, " so shesaid: "Die, die! who says that I must die? I shan't--I can't; for whatcould I tell her about her children, and how could I live endless ageswithout water? I tried it once, and I can't do it. No, I can't. Iwon't!" In this way she talked all night; and though in the morning she wasmore rational, she turned away from the clergyman, who at Lenora'srequest had been sent for, saying: "It's of no use, no use, I know all you would say, but it's too late, too late!" Thus she continued for three days, and at the close of the third itbecame evident to all that she was dying, and Hester was immediatelysent to the hotel, with a request that the old porter would comequickly. Half an hour after Lenora bent over her mother's pillow, andwhispered in her ear, "Mother, can you hear me?" A pressure of the hand was the reply, and Lenora continued: "You havenot said that you forgave me, and now before you die, will you nottell me so?" There was another pressure of the hand, and Lenora again spoke:"Mother, would you like to see him--my father? He is in the nextroom. " This roused the dying woman, and starting up, she exclaimed, "See JohnCarter! No, child, no! He'd only curse me. Let him wait until I amdead, and then I shall not hear it. " In ten minutes more Lenora was sadly gazing upon the fixed, stonyfeatures of the dead. A gray-haired man was at her side, and his lipquivered, as he placed his hand upon the white, wrinkled brow of herwho had once been his wife. "She is fearfully changed, " were his onlywords, as he turned away from the bed of death. True to her promise, Margaret came to attend her stepmother's funeral. Walter accompanied her, and shuddered as he looked on the face of onewho had so darkened his home, and embittered his life. Kate was notthere, and when, after the burial, Lenora asked Margaret for her, shewas told of a little "Carrie Lenora, " who with pardonable pride"Walter thought was the only baby of any consequence in the world. Margaret was going on with a glowing description of the babe's manybeauties, when she was interrupted by Lenora, who laid her face in herlap and burst into tears. "Why, Lenora, what is the matter?" asked Margaret. As soon as Lenora became calm, she answered, "_That name_, Maggie. Youhave given my name to Walter Hamilton's child, and if you had hated meyou would never have done it. " "Hated you!" repeated Margaret; "we do not hate you; now that weunderstand you, we like you very much, and one of Kate's lastinjunctions to Walter was that he should again offer you a home withhim. " Once more Lenora was weeping. She had not shed a tear when theycarried from sight her mother, but words of kindness touched herheart, and the fountain was opened. At last, drying her eyes, shesaid, "I prefer to go with father. Walter will, of course, come backto the homestead, while father and I shall return to our old home inConnecticut, where, by being kind to him, I hope to atone, in ameasure, for my great unkindness to mother. " CHAPTER XIV. FINALE. Through the open casement of a small, white cottage in the village ofP----, the rays of the September moon are stealing, disclosing to viewa gray-haired man, whose placid face still shows marks of long yearsof dissipation. Affectionately he caresses the black, curly head whichis resting on his knee, and softly he says, "Lenora, my daughter, there are, I trust, years of happiness in store for us both. " "I hope it may be so, " was the answer, "but there is no promise ofmany days to any save those who honor their father and mother. Thislast I have never done, though many, many times have I repented of it, and I begin to be assured that we may be happy yet. " * * * * * Away to the westward, over many miles of woodland, valley, and hill, the same September moon shines upon the white walls of the"homestead, " where sits the owner, Walter Hamilton, gazing first uponhis wife and then upon the tiny treasure which lies sleeping upon herlap. "We are very happy, Katy darling, " he says, and the affection whichlooks from her large blue eyes as she lifts them to his face is asufficient answer. Margaret, too, is there, and though but an hourago her tears were falling upon the grass-grown graves where slept herfather and mother, the gentle Carrie, and golden-haired Willie, theyare all gone now, and she responds to her brother's words, "Yes, Walter, we are very happy. " * * * * * In the basement below the candle is burned to its socket, and as thelast ray flickers up, illuminating for a moment the room, and thenleaving it in darkness, Aunt Polly Pepper starts from her evening nap, and as if continuing her dream mutters "Yes this is pleasant andsomething like living. " * * * * * And so with the moonlight and starlight falling upon the oldhomestead, and the sunlight of love falling upon the hearts of itsinmates, we bid them adieu. RICE CORNER CHAPTER I. RICE CORNER. Yes, Rice Corner! Do you think it a queer name? Well, Rice Corner wasa queer place, and deserved a queer name. Now whether it is celebratedfor anything in particular, I really can't at this moment think, unless, indeed, it is famed for having been my birthplace! Whetherthis of itself is sufficient to immortalize a place future generationsmay, perhaps, tell, but I have some misgivings whether the presentwill. This idea may be the result of my having recently receivedsundry knocks over the knuckles in the shape of criticisms. But I know one thing--on the bark of that old chestnut tree whichstands near Rice Corner schoolhouse, my name is cut higher than someof my more bulky contemporary quill--or rather steel--pen-wieldersever dared to climb. To be sure, I tore my dress, scratched my face, and committed numerous other little rompish _miss_-demeanors, whichprocured for me a motherly scolding. That, however, was of minorconsideration when compared with having my name up--in the chestnuttree, at least, if it couldn't be up in the world. But pardon myegotism, and I will proceed with my story about Rice Corner. Does any one wish to know whereabout on this rolling sphere RiceCorner is situated? I don't believe you can find it on the map, unless your eyes are bluer and bigger than mine, which last they can'tvery well be. But I can tell you to a dot where Rice Corner should be. Just take your atlas--not the last one published, but Olney's, that'sthe one _I_ studied--and right in one of those little towns inWorcester County is Rice Corner snugly nestled among the gray rocksand blue hills of New England. Yes, Rice Corner was a great place, and so you would have thoughtcould you have seen it in all its phases, with its brown, red, green, yellow, and white houses, each of which had the usual quantity ofrose-bushes, lilacs, hollyhocks, and sunflowers. You should have seenmy home, my New England home, where once, not many years ago, a happygroup of children played. Alas! alas! some of those who gave thesunlight to that spot have left us now forever, and on the brightshores of the eternal river they wait and watch our coming. I do notexpect a stranger to love our old homestead as I loved it, for in eachheart is a fresh, green spot--the memory of its own early home--wherethe sunshine was brighter, the well waters cooler, and the song-bird'scarol sweeter than elsewhere they are found. I trust I shall be forgiven if in this chapter I pause awhile to speakof my home--aye, and of myself, too, when, a light-hearted child, Ibounded through the meadows and orchards which lay around the oldbrown house on my father's farm. 'Twas a large, square, two-storiedbuilding, that old brown farmhouse, containing rooms, cupboards, andclosets innumerable, and what was better than all, a large airygarret, where on all rainy days and days when it looked as if it wouldrain, Bill, Joe, Lizzie, and I assembled to hold our noisy revels. Never, since the days of our great-grandmothers, did little spinningwheel buzz round faster than did the one which, in the darkest cornerof that garret, had been safely stowed away, where they guessed "theyoung ones wouldn't find it. " "Wouldn't find it!" I should like to know what there was in that oldgarret that we didn't find, and appropriate, too! Even the old oakenchest which contained our grandmother's once fashionable attire wasnot sacred from the touch of our lawless hands. Into its deep recesseswe plunged, and brought out such curiosities--the queerest-looking, high-crowned, broad-frilled caps, narrow-gored skirts, and what wasfunnier than all, a strange-looking thing which we thought must be aside saddle--anyway, it fitted Joe's rocking horse admirably, althoughwe wondered why so much whalebone was necessary! One day, in the midst of our gambols, in walked the identical owner ofthe chest, and seeing the side-saddle, she said somewhat angrily, "Why, children, where upon airth did you find my old stays?" We neverwondered again what made grandma's back keep its place so much betterthan ours, and Bill had serious thoughts of trying the effect of thestays upon himself. In the rear of our house, and sloping toward the setting sun, was along, winding lane, leading far down into a widespreading tract offlowery woods, shady hillside, and grassy pasture land, each in theirturn highly suggestive of brown nuts, delicious strawberries, andvenomous snakes. These last were generally more the creatures ofimagination than of reality, for in all my wanderings over thosefields, and they were many, I never but once trod upon a green snake, and only once was I chased by a white-ringed blacksnake; so I think Iam safe in saying that the snakes were not so numerous as were thenuts and berries, which grew there in great profusion. A little to the right of the woods, where, in winter, Bill, Joe, Lizzie, and I dragged our sleds and boards for the purpose of ridingdown-hill, was a merry, frolicking stream of water, over which, intimes long gone, a sawmill had been erected; but owing to theinefficiency of its former owner, or something else, the mill hadfallen into disuse, and gradually gone to decay. The water of thebrook, relieved from the necessity of turning the spluttering wheel, now went gayly dancing down, down, into the depths of the dim oldwoods, and far away, I never knew exactly where; but having heardrumors of a jumping-off place, I had a vague impression that at thatspot the waters of the mill-dam put up! Near the sawmill, and partially hidden by the scraggy pine trees andthick bushes which drooped over its entrance, was a long, darkpassage, leading underground, not so large, probably, as Mammoth Cave, but in my estimation rivaling it in interest. This was an old mine, where, years before, men had dug for gold. Strange stories were toldof those who, with blazing torches, and blazing noses, most likely, there toiled for the yellow dust. The "Ancient Henry" himself, it wassaid, sometimes left his affairs at home, and joined the nightlyrevels in that mine, where cards and wine played a conspicuous part. Be that as it may, the old mine was surrounded by a halo of fear whichwe youngsters never cared to penetrate. On a fine afternoon an older sister would occasionally wander thatway, together with a young M. D. , whose principal patient seemed to beat our house, for his little black pony very frequently found shelterin our stable by the side of "old sorrel. " From the north garretwindow I would watch them, wondering how they dared venture so nearthe old mine, and wishing, mayhap, that the time would come when I, with some daring doctor, would risk everything. The time _has come_, but alas! instead of being a doctor, he is only a lawyer, who nevereven saw the old mine in Rice Corner. Though I never ventured close to the old mine, there was not far fromit one pleasant spot where I loved dearly to go. It was on thehillside, where, 'neath the shadow of a gracefully twining grapevine, lay a large, flat rock. Thither would I often repair, and sit forhours, listening to the hum of the running water brook, or the songof the summer birds, who, like me, seemed to love that place. Oftenwould I gaze far off at the distant, misty horizon, wondering if Ishould ever know what was beyond it. Wild fancies then filled mychildish brain. Strange voices whispered to me thoughts and ideaswhich, if written down and carried out, would, I am sure, have placedmy name higher than it was carved on the old chestnut tree. "But they came and went like shadows, Those blessed dreams of youth, " I was a strange child, I know. Everybody told me so, and _I_ knew itwell enough without being told. The wise old men at Rice Corner, andtheir still wiser old wives, looked at me askance, as 'neath thethorn-apple tree I built my playhouse and baked my little loaves ofmud bread. But when, forgetful of others, I talked aloud to myriads oflittle folks, unseen 'tis true, but still real to me, they shook theirgray heads ominously, and whispering to my mother said, "Mark ourwords, that girl will one day be crazy. In ten years more she will bean inmate of the madhouse!" And then I wondered what a madhouse was, and if the people there allacted as our school-teacher did when Bill and the big girl said he wasmad! The ten years have passed, and I'm not in a madhouse yet, unless, indeed, it is one of my own getting up! One thing more about Rice Corner, and then, honor bright, I'll finishthe preface and go on with the story. I must tell you about the oldschoolhouse, and the road which led to it. This last wound around along hill, and was skirted on either side with tall trees, floweringdogwood, blackberry bushes, and frost grapevines. Half-way down thehill, and under one of the tallest walnut trees, was a little hollow, where dwelt the goblin with which nurses, housemaids, hired men, andolder sisters were wont to frighten refractory children intoquietness. It was the grave of an old negro. Alas! that to his lastresting-place the curse should follow him! Had it been a white personwho rested there, not half so fearful would have been the spot; now, however, it was "the old nigger hole"--a place to run by if byaccident you were caught out after dark--a place to be threatened withif you cried in the night and wanted the candle lighted--a landmarkwhere to stop when going part way home with the little girl who hadbeen to visit you, and who, on leaving you, ran no less swiftly thanyou yourself did, half-fearing that the dusky form in the holly wouldrise and try his skill at running. Verily, my heart has beat faster atthe thoughts of that dead negro than it ever has since at the sight ofa hundred live specimens, "'way down south on the old plantation. " The old schoolhouse, too, had its advantages and its disadvantages; ofthe latter, one was that there, both summer and winter, but moreespecially during the last-mentioned season, all the rude boys in theplace thought they had a perfect right to congregate and annoy thegirls in every possible way. But never mind, not a few wry faces wemade at them, and not a few "blockheads" we pinned to their backs! Oh!I've had rare times in that old house and have seen rare sights, too, to say nothing of the fights which occasionally occurred. In theselast brother Joe generally took the lead of one party, while Jim Browncommanded the other. Dire was the confusion which reigned at suchtimes. Books were hurled from side to side. Then followed in quicksuccession shovel, tongs, poker, water cup, water pail, water and all;and to cap the climax, Jim Brown once seized the large iron pan, whichstood upon the stove, half-filled with hot water, and hurled it in themidst of the enemy. Luckily nobody was killed, and but few wounded. Years in their rapid flight have rolled away since then, and he, mybrother, is sleeping alone on the wild shore of California. "For scarcely had the sad tones died Which echoed the farewell, When o'er the western prairies There came a funeral knell; It said that he who went from us, While yet upon his brow The dew of youth was glistening, Had passed to heaven now. " James Brown, too, is resting in the churchyard, near his own home, and'neath his own native sky. CHAPTER II. THE BELLE OF RICE CORNER. Yes, Rice Corner had a belle, but it was not I. Oh, no, nobody evermistook _me_ for a belle, or much of anything else, in fact; _I_ wassimply "Mary Jane, " or, if that was not concise enough, "Crazy Jane"set the matter all right. The belle of which I speak was a _bona fide_one--fine complexion, handsome features, beautiful eyes, curling hair, and all. And yet in her composition there was something wanting, something very essential, too; for she lacked soul, and would at anytime have sold her best friend for a flattering compliment. Still Carrie Howard was generally a favorite. The old people liked herbecause her sparkling eye and merry laugh brought back to them a gleamof youth; the young people liked her, because to dislike her wouldseem like envy; and I, who was nothing, liked her because she waspretty, and I greatly admired beauty, though I am not certain that Ishould not have liked a handsome rosebud quite as well as I did CarrieHoward's beautiful face, for beautiful she was. Her mother, good, plain Mrs. Howard, was entirely unlike her daughter. She was simply "Mrs. Captain Howard, " or, in other words, "AuntEunice, " whose benevolent smile and kindly beaming eye carriedcontentment wherever she went. Really, I don't know how Rice Cornercould have existed one day without the presence of Aunt Eunice. Wasthere a cut foot or hand in the neighborhood, hers was the salve whichhealed it, almost as soon as applied. Was there a pale, fretful baby, Aunt Eunice's large bundle of catnip was sure to soothe it, and did asick person need watchers, Aunt Eunice was the one who, three nightsout of the seven, trod softly and quietly about the sick-room, anticipating each want before you yourself knew what it was, andsmoothing your tumbled pillow so gently that you almost felt it aluxury to be sick, for the sake of being nursed by Aunt Eunice. Thevery dogs and cats winked more composedly when she appeared; and eventhe chickens learned her voice almost as soon as they did the cluck oftheir "maternal ancestor. " But we must stop, or we shall make Aunt Eunice out to be the belle, instead of Carrie, who, instead of imitating her mother in her acts ofkindness, sat all day in the large old parlor, thumping away on arickety piano, or trying to transfer to broadcloth a poor littlekitty, whose face was sufficiently indicative of surprise at findingits limbs so frightfully distorted. When Carrie was fifteen years of age her father, concluding that sheknew all which could possibly be learned in the little brown housewhere Joe and Jim once fought so fiercely, sent her for three years toAlbany. It was currently reported that the uncle with whom she boardedreceived his pay in butter, cheese, potatoes, apples, and othercommodities, which were the product of Captain Howard's farm. Whetherthis was true or not I am not prepared to say, but I suppose it was, for it was told by those who had no ostensible business except toattend to other people's affairs, and I am sure they ought to haveknown all about it, and probably did. I cannot help thinking that Captain Howard made a mistake in sendingCarrie away; for when at the end of three years she had "finished hereducation, " and returned home, she was not half so good a scholar assome of those who had pored patiently over their books in the oldbrown house. Even _I_ could beat her in spelling, for soon after shecame home the boys teased for a spelling school. I rather think theywere quite as anxious for a chance to go home with the girls as theywere to have their knowledge of Webster tested. Be that as it may, Carrie was there, and was, of course, chosen first; but _I_, "littlecrazy Jane, " spelled the the whole school down! I thought Carrie wasnot quite so handsome as she might be, when with an angry frown shedropped into her seat, hissed by a big, cross-eyed, red-haired boy, inthe corner, because she _happened_ to spell pumpkin, "_p-u-n pun k-i-nkin, punkin_. " I do not think she ever quite forgave me for the pert, loud way in which I spelled the word correctly, for she never gave anymore calicos or silks, and instead of calling me "Mollie, " as she hadbefore done, she now addressed me as "Miss Mary. " Carrie possessed one accomplishment which the other girls did not. Shecould play the piano most skilfully, although as yet she had noinstrument. Three weeks, however, after her return a rich man, wholived in the village which was known as "Over the River, " failed, andall his furniture was sold at auction. Many were the surmises of mygrandmother, on the morning of the sale, as to what "Cap'n Howardcould be going to buy at the _vandue_ and put in the big lumberwagon, " which he drove past our house. As the day drew to a close I was posted at the window to telegraph assoon as "Cap'n Howard's" white horses appeared over the hill. Theycame at last, but the long box in his wagon told no secret. Father, however, explained all, by saying that he had bid off Mr. Talbott'sold piano for seventy dollars! Grandma shook her head mournfully atthe degeneracy of the age, while sister Anna spoke sneeringly of Mr. Talbott's cracked piano. Next day, arrayed in my Sunday red merino andwhite apron--a present from some cousin out West--I went to seeCarrie; and truly, the music she drew from that old piano charmed memore than the finest performances since have done. Carrie and herpiano were now the theme of every tongue, and many wondered howCaptain Howard could afford to pay for three years' music lessons; butthis was a mystery yet to be solved. CHAPTER III. MONSIEUR PENOYER. When Carrie had been at home about three months all Rice Corner oneday flew to the doors and windows to look at a stranger, a gentlemanwith fierce mustaches, who seemed not at all certain of his latitude, and evidently wanted to know where he was going. At least, if _he_didn't, they who watched him did. Grandma, whose longevity had not impaired her guessing faculties, first suggested that "most likely it was Caroline Howard's beau. " Thiswas altogether too probable to be doubted, and as grandmother had longcontemplated a visit to Aunt Eunice, she now determined to go thatvery afternoon, as she "could judge for herself what kind of a matchCar'line had made. " Mother tried to dissuade her from going that day, but the old lady was incorrigible, and directly after dinner, dressedin her bombazine, black silk apron, work bag, knitting and all shedeparted for Captain Howard's. They wouldn't confess it, but I knew well enough that Juliet and Annawere impatient for her return, and when the shadows of twilight beganto fall I was twice sent into the road to see if she was coming. Thelast time I was successful, and in a few moments grandmother was amongus; but whatever she knew she kept to herself until the lamps werelighted in the sitting-room, and she, in her stuffed rocking-chair, was toeing off the stocking only that morning commenced. Then, at ahint from Anna, she cast toward Lizzie and me a rueful glance, saying:"There are too many _pitchers_ here!" I knew then just as well as Idid five minutes after that Lizzie and I must go to bed. There was nohelp for it, and we complied with a tolerably good grace. Lizzieproposed that we should listen, but somehow I couldn't do that, and upto this time I don't exactly know what grandmother told them. The next day, however, I heard enough to know that his name wasPenoyer; that grandma didn't like him; that he had as much hair on hisface as on his head; that Aunt Eunice would oppose the match, and thathe would stay over Sunday. With this last I was delighted, for Ishould see him at church. I saw him before that, however; for it wasunaccountable what a fancy Carrie suddenly took for traversing thewoods and riding on horseback, for which purpose grandfather'sside-saddle (not the one with which Joe saddled his pony!) wasborrowed, and then, with her long curls and blue riding-skirt floatingin the wind, Carrie galloped over hills and through valleys, accompanied by Penoyer, who was a fierce-looking fellow, with blackeyes, black hair, black whiskers, and black face. I couldn't help fancying that the negro who lay beneath the walnuttree had resembled him, and I cried for fear Carrie might marry sougly a man, thinking it would not be altogether unlike, "Beauty andthe Beast. " Sally, our housemaid, said that "most likely he'd prove tobe some poor, mean scamp. Anyway, seein' it was plantin' time, he'dbetter be _to hum_ tendin' to his own business, if he had any. " Sally was a shrewd, sharp-sighted girl, and already had her preferencein favor of Michael Welsh, father's hired man. Walking, riding onhorseback, and wasting time generally, Sally held in great abhorrence. "All she wished to say to Mike on week days, she could tell himmilking time. " On Sundays, however, it was different, and regularlyeach Sunday night found Mike and Sally snugly ensconced in the "greatroom, " while under the windows occasionally might have been seen, three or four curly heads, eager to hear something about which totease Sally during the week. But to return to Monsieur Penoyer, as Carrie called him. His stay wasprolonged beyond the Sabbath, and on Tuesday I was sent to CaptainHoward's on an errand. I found Aunt Eunice in the kitchen, her round, rosy face, always suggestive of seed cake and plum pudding, flushedwith exertion, her sleeves tucked up and her arms buried in a largewooden bowl of dough, which she said was going to be made into loavesof 'lection cake, as Carrie was to have a party to-morrow, and I hadcome just in time to carry invitations to my sisters. Carrie was in the parlor, and attracted by the sound of music, I drewnear the door, when Aunt Eunice kindly bade me enter. I did so, andwas presented to Monsieur Penoyer. At first I was shy of him, for Iremembered that Sally had said, "he don't know nothin', " and this inmy estimation was the worst crime of which he could be guilty. Gradually my timidity gave way, and when, at Carrie's request, heplayed and sang for me, I was perfectly delighted, although Iunderstood not a word he said. When he finished Carrie told him I was a little poet, and thenrepeated some foolish lines I had once written about her eyes. It wasa very handsome set of teeth which he showed, as he said, "_Magnifique! Tree bien!_ She be another grand _Dr. Wattts!_" I knew not who Dr. Watts was, but on one point my mind was madeup--Monsieur Penoyer knew a great deal! Ere I left Carrie commissionedme to invite my sisters to her party on the morrow, and as I wasleaving the room Mr. Penoyer said, "_Ma chère, _ Carrie, why vous noinvite a petite girl!" Accordingly I was invited, with no earthly prospect, however, ofmother's letting me go. And she didn't either; so next day, afterJuliet and Anna were gone, I went out behind the smokehouse and crieduntil I got sleepy, and a headache too; then, wishing to make motherthink I had _run away_, I crept carefully up-stairs to Bill's room, where I slept until Sally's sharp eyes ferreted me out, saying, "theywere all scared to death about me, and had looked for me high andlow, " up in the garret and down in the well, I supposed. Concludingthey were plagued enough, I condescended to go down-stairs, and havemy head bathed in camphor and my feet parboiled in hot water; then Iwent to bed and dreamed of white teeth, curling mustaches and "_Parlezvous Français_. " Of what occurred at the party I will tell you as was told to me. Allthe _élite_ of Rice Corner were there, of course, and as each newarrival entered the parlor, M. Penoyer eyed them coolly through anopera glass. Sister Anna returned his inspection with the worst faceshe could well make up, for which I half-blamed her and half didn't, as I felt sure I should have done the same under like circumstances. When all the invited guests had arrived except myself (alas, no oneasked why I tarried), there ensued an awkward silence, broken only bythe parrot-like chatter of M. Penoyer, who seemed determined to talknothing but French, although Carrie understood him but little betterthan did the rest. At last he was posted up to the piano. "_Mon Dieu_, it be von horrid tone, " said he; then off he dashed intoa galloping waltz, keeping time with his head, mouth, and eyes, whichthreatened to leave their sockets and pounce upon the instrument. Rattlety-bang went the piano--like lightning went monsieur's fingers, first here, then there, right or wrong, hit or miss, and oftener missthan hit--now alighting among the keys promiscuously, then with atremendous thump making all bound again--and finishing up with aflourish, which snapped two strings and made all the rest groan insympathy, as did the astonished listeners. For a time all was still, and then a little modest girl, Lily Gordon, her face blushing crimson, said: "I beg your pardon, monsieur, but haven't you taught music?" The veins in his forehead swelled, as, darting a wrathful look at poorLily, he exclaimed, "_Le Diabel!_ vat vous take me for? Von demmusique teacher, eh?" Poor Lily tried to stammer her apologies, while Carrie sought tosoothe the enraged Frenchman by saying, that "Miss Gordon was merelycomplimenting his skill in music. " At this point the carriage which carried persons to and from the depotdrove up, and from it alighted a very small, genteel-looking lady, whorapped at the door and asked, "if Captain Howard lived there. " In a moment Carrie was half-stifling her with kisses, exclaiming, "Dear Agnes, this is a pleasant surprise. I did not expect you sosoon. " The lady called Agnes was introduced as Miss Hovey, a schoolmate ofCarrie's. She seemed very much disposed to make herself at home, for, throwing her hat in one place and her shawl in another, she seatedherself at the piano, hastily running over a few notes; then with agesture of impatience, she said, "Oh, horrid! a few more such soundswould give me the vapors for a month; why don't you have it tuned?" Ere Carrie could reply Agnes' eyes lighted upon Penoyer, who, eitherwith or without design, had drawn himself as closely into a corner ashe well could. Springing up, she brought her little hands togetherwith energy, exclaiming, "Now, Heaven defend me, what fresh gamebrought you here?" Then casting on Carrie an angry glance, she said, in a low tone, "What does it mean? Why didn't you tell me?" Carrie drew nearer, and said coaxingly, "I didn't expect you so soon;but never mind, he leaves to-morrow. For my sake treat him decently. " The pressure which Agnes gave Carrie's hand seemed to say, "For yoursake I will, but for no other. " Then turning to Penoyer, who had risento his feet, she said, respectfully, "I hardly expected to meet youhere, sir. " Her tone and manner had changed. Penoyer knew it, and with thecoolest effrontery imaginable he came forward, bowing and scraping, and saying, "_Comment vous portez-vous, mademoiselle. Je suisperfaitement_ delighted to see you, " at the same time offering her hishand. All saw with what hauteur she declined it, but only one, and that wasAnna, heard her as she said, "Keep off, Penoyer; don't make a donkeyof yourself. " It was strange, Anna said, "how far into his bootsPenoyer tried to draw himself, " while at each fresh flash of Agnes'keen black eyes, he winced, either from fear or sympathy. The restraint which had surrounded the little company gave way beneaththe lively sallies and sparkling wit of Agnes, who, instead of seemingamazed at the country girls, was apparently as much at ease as thoughshe had been entertaining a drawing-room full of polished city belles. When at last the party broke up, each and every one was in love withthe little Albany lady, although all noticed that Carrie seemedtroubled, watching Agnes narrowly; and whenever she saw her_tête-à-tête_ with either of her companions she would instantly drawnear, and seemed greatly relieved on finding that Penoyer was not thesubject of conversation. "I told you so, " was grandmother's reply, when informed of all this. "I told you so. I knew Car'line warn't going to make out no great. " Juliet and Anna thought so too, but this did not prevent them fromrunning to the windows next morning to see Penoyer as he passed on hisway to the cars. I, who with Lizzie was tugging away at a big boardwith which we thought to make a "see-saw, " was honored with a gracefulwave of monsieur's hands, and the words, "_Au revoir, ma chèreMarie_. " That day Phoebe, Aunt Eunice's hired girl, came to our house. Immediately Juliet and Anna assailed her a multitude of questions. Theamount of knowledge obtained was that "Miss Hovey was a lady, and nomistake, for she had sights of silks and jewelry, and she that morningwent with Phoebe to see her milk, although she didn't dare ventureinside the yard. But, " added Phoebe, "for all she was up so early shedid not come out to breakfast until that gentleman was gone. " This was fresh proof that Penoyer was not _comme il faut_, and Annaexpressed her determination to find out all about him ere Agnes wenthome. _I_ remembered "_Dr. Watts_" and the invitation to the party, and secretly hoped she would find out nothing bad. CHAPTER IV. COUSIN EMMA. Agnes had been in town about two weeks, when my home was one morningthrown into a state of unusual excitement by the arrival of a letterfrom Boston, containing the intelligence that Cousin Emma Rushton, whohad been an invalid for more than a year, was about to try the effectof country life and country air. This piece of news operated differently upon different members of ourfamily. Juliet exclaimed, "Good, good; Carrie Howard won't hold herhead quite so high now, for we shall have a city lady, too. " Anna wasdelighted, because she would thus have an opportunity of acquiringcity manners and city fashions. Sally said snappishly, "There's enoughto wait on now, without having a stuck-up city flirt, faintin' at thesight of a worm, and screechin' if a fly comes toward her. " Mother hadsome misgivings on the subject. She was perfectly willing Emma shouldcome, but she doubted our ability to entertain her, knowing that thechange would be great from a fashionable city home to a countryfarmhouse. Grandmother, who loved to talk of "my daughter in thecity, " was pleased, and to console mother, said: "Never you mind, Fanny, leave her to me; you find victuals and drink, and I'll do the entertaining. " Among so many opinions it was hard for me to arrive at a conclusion. On the whole, however, I was glad, until told that during CousinEmma's stay our garret gambols must be given up, and that I must notlaugh loud, or scarcely speak above a whisper, for she was sick, andit would hurt her head. Then I wished Cousin Emma and Cousin Emma'shead would stay where they belonged. The letter was received on Monday, but Emma would not come untilThursday; so there was ample time for "fixing up. " The parlor-chamberwas repapered, the carpet taken up and shaken, red and white curtainshung at the windows, a fresh ball of Castile soap bought for thewashstand, and on Thursday morning our pretty flower beds were shornof their finest ornaments with which to make bouquets for the parlorand parlor-chamber. Besides that, Sally had filled the pantry withcakes, pies, gingerbread, and Dutch cheese, to the last of which Ifancied Emma's city taste would not take kindly. Then there was in thecellar a barrel of fresh beer; so everything was done which could beexpected. When I went home for my dinner that day I teased hard to be allowed tostay out of school for one afternoon, but mother said "No, " althoughshe suffered me to wear my pink gingham, with sundry injunctions "notto burst the hooks and eyes all off before night. " This, by the way, was my besetting sin; I never could climb a tree, no matter what thesize might be without invariably coming down minus at least six hooksand eyes; but I seriously thought I should get over it when I gotolder and joined the church. That afternoon seemed of interminable length, but at last I sawfather's carriage coming, and quick as thought I threw my grammar outof the window; after which I demurely asked "to go out and get a bookwhich I had dropped. " Permission was granted and I was out just intime to courtesy straight down, as father pointing to me, said:"There, that's our little crazy Mollie, " and then I got a glimpse of aremarkably sweet face, which made the tears come in my eyes, it was sopale. Perhaps I wronged our school-teacher; I think I did, for she has sincedied; but really I fancied she kept us longer that night on purpose. At least, it was nearly five before we were dismissed. Then, with mybonnet in hand, I ran for home, falling down once and bursting off thelower hook! I entered the house with a bound, but was quieted bygrandmother, who said Emma was lying down, and I mustn't disturb her. After waiting some time for her to make her appearance, I stole softlyup the stairs and looked in where she was. She saw me, and instantlyrising, said with a smile that went to my heart: "And this must be Mary, the little crazy girl; come and kiss yourCousin Emma. " Twining my arms around her neck, I think I must have cried, for sherepeatedly asked me what was the matter, and as I could think of nobetter answer, I at last told her "I didn't like to have folks call me_crazy_. I couldn't help acting like _Sal Furbush_, the old crazywoman, who threatened to toss us up in the umbrella. " "Forgive me, darling, " said Emma coaxingly; "I will not do it again;"then stooping down, she looked intently into my eyes, soliloquizing, "Yes, it is wrong to tell her so. " In a few moments I concluded Emma was the most beautiful creature inthe world; I would not even except Carrie Howard. Emma's features wereperfectly regular, and her complexion white and pure as alabaster. Herhair, which was a rich auburn, lay around her forehead in thick waves, but her great beauty consisted in her lustrous blue eyes, which werevery large and dark. When she was pleased they laughed, and when shewas sad they were sad too. Her dress was a white muslin wrapper, confined at the waist by a light blue ribbon, while one of the samehue encircled her neck, and was fastened by a small gold pin, which, with the exception of the costly diamond ring on her finger, was theonly ornament she wore. When supper was ready I proudly led her to the dining-room, casting alook of triumph at Juliet and Anna, and feeling, it may be, a _trifle_above grandmother, who said, "Don't be troublesome, child. " How grateful I was when Emma answered for me, "She doesn't trouble mein the least; I am very fond of children. " Indeed, she seemed to be very fond of everybody and everything--allexcept Sally's Dutch cheese, which, as I expected, she hardlyrelished. In less than three days she was beloved by all thehousehold, Billy whispering to me confidentially that "never beforehad he seen any one except _mother_, whom he would like to marry. " Saturday afternoon Carrie and Agnes called on Emma, and as I saw themtogether I fancied I had never looked on three more charming faces. They appeared mutually pleased with each other, too, although for somereason there seemed to be more affinity between Emma and Agnes. Carrieappeared thoughtful and absent-minded, which made Anna joke her abouther "lover, Penoyer. " As she was about leaving the room she made noreply, but after she was gone Agnes looked searchingly at Anna andsaid: "Is it possible, Miss Anna, that you are so mistaken?" "How--why?" asked Emma. "Is Penoyer a bad man? What is hisoccupation?" "His occupation is well enough, " returned Agnes. "I would not thinkless of him for that, were he right in other respects. However, he wasCarrie's and my own music teacher. " "Impossible, " said Anna, but at that moment Carrie reentered the room, and, together with Agnes, soon took her leave. "Penoyer a music teacher, after all his anger at Lily Gordon forsuggesting such an idea!" This was now the theme of Juliet and Anna, although they wondered what there was so _bad_ about him--something, evidently, from Agnes' manner, and for many days they puzzled theirbrains in vain to solve the mystery. CHAPTER V. RICHARD EVELYN AND HARLEY ASHMORE. Emma had not long been with us ere her fame reached the little"village over the river, " and drew from thence many calls, both fromgentlemen and ladies. Among these was a Mr. Richard Evelyn and hissister, both of whom had the honor of standing on the topmost round ofthe aristocratic ladder in the village. Mr. Evelyn, who was nearlythirty years of age, was a wealthy lawyer, and what is a littleremarkable for that craft (I speak from experience), to an unusualdegree of intelligence and polish of manners, he added many social and_religious_ qualities. Many kind hearted mothers, who had on theirhands good-for-nothing daughters, wondered how he managed to livewithout a wife, but he seemed to think it the easiest thing in nature, for, since the death of his parents, his sister Susan had acted in thecapacity of his housekeeper. I have an idea that grandmother, whose disposition was slightly spicedwith a love for match-making, bethought herself how admirably Mr. Evelyn and Emma were suited for each other; for after his calls becamefrequent I heard her many times slyly hint of the possibility of ourbeing able to keep Emma in town always. _She_ probably did not thinkso; for each time after being teased, she repaired to her room andread for the twentieth time some ominous-looking letters which she hadreceived since being with as. It was now three weeks since she came, and each day she had gained inhealth and strength. Twice had she walked to the woods, accompanied byMr. Evelyn, once to the schoolhouse, while every day she swung underthe old maple. About this time Agnes began to think of returninghome, so Juliet and Anna determined on a party in honor of her andEmma. It was a bright summer afternoon; and for a wonder I wassuffered to remain from school, although I received numerous chargesto keep my tongue still, and was again reminded of that excellent oldproverb (the composition of some old maid, I know), "_Children_ shouldbe seen and not heard;" so, seated in a corner, my hand pressedclosely over my mouth, the better to guard against contingencies, Ilooked on and thought, with ineffable satisfaction, how much handsomerCousin Emma was than any one else, although I could not helpacknowledging that Carrie never looked more beautiful than she didthat afternoon in a neatly-fitting white muslin, with a few rosebudsnestling in her long, glossy curls. Matters were going on swimmingly, and I had three times ventured aremark, when Anna, who was sitting near the window, exclaimed, "Lookhere, girls, did you ever see a finer-looking gentleman?" at the sametime calling their attention to a stranger in the street. Emma looked, too, and the bright flush which suffused her cheek made me associatethe gentleman with the letters she had received, and I was notsurprised when he entered our yard and knocked at our door. Julietarose to answer his summons, but Emma prevented her, saying; "Suffer me to go, will you?" She was gone some time, and when she returned was accompanied by thestranger, whom she introduced as Mr. Ashmore. I surveyed him withchildish curiosity, and drew two very satisfactory breaths when I sawthat he was wholly unlike Monsieur Penoyer. He was a very fine-lookingman, but I did not exactly like the expression of his face. It washardly open enough to suit me, and I noticed that he never looked youdirectly in the eye. In five minutes I had come to the conclusion thathe was not half so good a man as Mr. Evelyn. I was in great danger, however, of changing my mind, when I saw how fondly his dark eyerested on Emma, and how delighted he seemed to be at her improvedhealth; and when he, without any apparent exertion, kept the wholecompany entertained, I was charmed, and did not blame Emma for likinghim. Anna's doctor was nothing to him, and I even fancied that hewould dare to go _all alone_ to the old mine! Suddenly he faced about, and espying me in the corner, he said, "Hereis a little lady I've not seen. Will some one introduce me?" With the utmost gravity Anna said, "It is my sister, little crazyJane. " I glanced quickly at him to see how he would receive the intelligence, and when, looking inquiringly first at me and then at Emma, he said, "Is it really so? what a pity!" the die was cast--I never liked himagain. That night in my little low bed, long after Lizzie was asleep, I wept bitterly, wondering what made Anna so unkind, and why peoplecalled me crazy. I knew I looked like other children, and I thought Iacted like them, too; unless, indeed, I climbed more trees, tore moredresses, and burst off more hooks. But to return to the party. After a time I thought that Mr. Ashmore'seyes went over admiringly to Carrie more frequently than wasnecessary, and for once I regretted that she was so pretty. Ere long, Mr. Ashmore, too, went over, and immediately there ensued betweenhimself and Carrie a lively conversation, in which she adroitlymanaged to let him know that she had been three years at school inAlbany. The next thing that I saw was that he took from her curls arosebud and appropriated it to his buttonhole. I glanced at Emma tosee how she was affected, but her face was perfectly calm, and worethe old sweet smile. When the young ladies were about leaving, I wasgreatly shocked to see Mr. Ashmore offer to accompany Carrie and Agneshome. After they were gone grandmother said, "Emma, if I's you, I'd put astop to that chap's flirtin' so with Car'line Howard. " Emma laughed gaily as she replied, "Oh, grandma, I can trust Harley;I have been sick so long that he has the privilege of walking orriding with anybody he pleases. " Grandmother shook her head, saying, "It wasn't so with her and ourpoor grandfather;" then I fell into a fit of musing as to whethergrandma was ever young, and if she ever fixed her hair before theglass, as Anna did when she expected the doctor! In the midst of myreverie Mr. Ashmore returned, and for the remainder of the eveningdevoted himself so entirely to Emma that I forgave him for going homewith Carrie. Next day, however, he found the walk to Captain Howard'sa very convenient one, staying a long time, too. The next day it wasthe same, and the next, and the next, until I fancied that even Emmabegan to be anxious. Grandma was highly indignant, and Sally declared, "that, as true asshe lived and breathed, if Mike should serve her so, he'd catch it. "About this time Agnes went home. The evening before she left she spentat our house with Emma, of whom she seemed to be very fond. Carrie andAshmore were, as usual, out riding or walking, and the conversationnaturally turned upon them. At last, Anna, whose curiosity was stillon the alert to know something of Penoyer, asked Agnes of him. I willrepeat, in substance, what Agnes said. It seems that for many years Penoyer had been a teacher of music inAlbany. Agnes was one of his pupils, and while teaching her music hethought proper to fall overwhelmingly in love with her. This for atime she did not notice; but when his attentions became so pointed asto become a subject of remark, she very coolly tried to make himunderstand his position. He persevered, however, until he becameexceedingly impudent and annoying. About this time there came well-authenticated stories of his being notonly a professed gambler, but also very dissipated in his habits. Tothis last charge Agnes could testify, as his breath had frequentlybetrayed him. He was accordingly dismissed. Still he perseveringlypursued her, always managing, if possible, to get near her in allpublic places, and troubling her in various ways. At last Agnes heard that he was showing among her acquaintances twonotes bearing her signature. The contents of these notes he coveredwith his hand, exposing to view only her name. She had twice written, requesting him to purchase some new piece of music, and it was thesemessages which he was now showing, insinuating that Agnes thoughtfavorably of him, but was opposed by her father. The consequence ofthis was, that the next time Agnes' brother met Penoyer in the street, he gave him a sound caning, ordering him, under pain of a worseflogging, never again to mention his sister's name. This he wasprobably more willing to do, as he had already conceived a greatliking for Carrie, who was silly enough to be pleased with and sufferhis attentions. "I wonder, though, that Carrie allowed him to visit her, " said Agnes;"but then I believe she is under some obligations to him, and dare notrefuse when he asked permission to come. " If Agnes knew what these obligations were she did not tell, andgrandmother, who, during the narration had knit with unwonted speed, making her needles rattle again, said, "It's plain to me that Carolinelet him come to make folks think she had got a city beau. " "Quite likely, " returned Agnes; "Carrie is a sad flirt, but I think, at least, that she should not interfere with other people's rights. " Here my eye followed hers to Emma, who, I thought, was looking alittle paler. Just then Carrie and Ashmore came in, and the latterthrowing himself upon the sofa by the side of Emma, took her handcaressingly, saying, "How are you to-night, my dear?" "Quite well, " was her quiet reply, and soon after, under pretense ofmoving from the window, she took a seat across the room. That nightMr. Ashmore accompanied Carrie and Agnes home, and it was at a muchlater hour than usual that old Rover first growled and then whined ashe recognized our visitor. The next morning Emma was suffering from a severe headache, whichprevented her from appearing at breakfast. Mr. Ashmore seemed somewhatdisturbed, and made many anxious inquiries about her. At dinner-timeshe was well enough to come, and the extreme kindness of Mr. Ashmore'smanner called a deep glow to her cheek. After dinner, however, hedeparted for a walk, taking his accustomed road toward CaptainHoward's. When I returned from school he was still absent, and as Emma was quitewell, she asked me to accompany her to my favorite resort, the oldrock beneath the grapevine. We were soon there, and for a long time wesat watching the shadows as they came and went upon the bright greengrass, and listening to the music of the brook, which seemed to me tosing more sadly than it was wont to do. Suddenly our ears were arrested by the sound of voices, which we knewbelonged to Mr. Ashmore and Carrie. They were standing near us, justbehind a clump of alders, and Carrie, in reply to something Mr. Ashmore had said, answered, "Oh, you can't be in earnest, for you haveonly known me ten days, and beside that, what have you done with yourpale, sick lady?" Instantly I started up, clinching my fist in imitation of brotherBilly when he was angry, but Cousin Emma's arm was thrown convulsivelyaround me, as drawing me closely to her side she whispered, "Keepquiet. " I did keep quiet, and listened while Mr. Ashmore replied, "I entertainfor Miss Rushton the highest esteem, for I know she possesses manyexcellent qualities. Once I thought I loved her (how tightly Emma heldme), but she has been sick a long time, and somehow I cannot marry aninvalid. Whether she ever gets well is doubtful, and even if shedoes, after having seen you, she can be nothing to me. And yet I likeher, and when I am alone with her I almost fancy I love her, but onelook at your sparkling, healthy face drives her from my mind--" The rest of what he said I could not hear, neither did I understandCarrie's answer, but his next words were distinct, "My dear Carrieforever. " I know the brook stopped running, or at least I did not hear it. Thesun went down; the birds went to rest; Mr. Ashmore and Carrie wenthome; and still I sat there by the side of Emma, who had lain her headin my lap, and was so still and motionless that the dread fear cameover me that she might be dead. I attempted to lift her up, saying, "Cousin Emma, speak to me, won't you?" but she made me no answer, andanother ten minutes went by. By this time the stars had come out andwere looking quietly down upon us. The waters of the mill-dam chantedmournfully, and in my disordered imagination, fantastic images dancedbefore the entrance of the old mine. Half-crying with fear, I againlaid my hand on Emma's head. Her hair was wet with the heavy nightdews, and my eyes were wet with something else, as I said, "Oh, Emma, speak to me, for I am afraid and want to go home. " This roused her, and lifting up her head I caught a glimpse of a faceof so startling whiteness that, throwing my arms around her neck, Icried, "Oh, Emma, dear Emma, don't look so. I love you a great dealbetter than I do Carrie Howard, and so I am sure does Mr. Evelyn. " I don't know how I chanced to think of Mr. Evelyn, but he recurred tome naturally enough. All thoughts of him, however, were soon drivenfrom my mind by the sound of Emma's voice as she said, "Mollie, darling, can you keep a secret?" I didn't think I could, as I never had been intrusted with one, so Iadvised her to give it to Anna, who was very fond of them. But shesaid, "I am sure you can do it, Mollie. Promise me that you will nottell them at home what you have seen or heard. " I promised, and then in my joy at owning a secret, I forgot the littlefigures which waltzed back and forth before the old mine, I forgot thewoods through which we passed, nor was the silence broken until wereached the lane. Then I said, "What shall we tell the folks when theyask where we have been?" "Leave that to me, " answered Emma. As we drew near the house we met grandmother, Juliet, Anna and Sally, all armed and equipped for a general hunt. We were immediatelyassailed with a score of questions as to what had kept us so long. Ilooked to Emma for the answer, at the same time keeping my handtightly over my mouth for fear I should tell. "We found more things of interest than we expected, " said Emma, "consequently tarried longer than we should otherwise have done. " "Why, how hoarse you be, " said grandmother, while Sally continued, "Starlight is a mighty queer time to see things in. " "Some things look better by starlight, " answered Emma; "but we stayedlonger than we ought to, for I have got a severe headache and must goimmediately to bed. " "Have some tea first, " said grandmother. "And some strawberries and cream, " repeated Sally; but Emma declinedboth and went at once to her room. Mr. Ashmore did not come home until late that night, for I was awakeand heard him stumbling up-stairs in the dark. I remember, too, ofhaving experienced the very benevolent wish that he would break hisneck! As I expected, Emma did not make her appearance at the breakfasttable, but about ten she came down to the parlor and asked to see Mr. Ashmore alone. Of what occurred during that interval I never knew, except that at its close cousin looked very white, and Mr. Ashmorevery black, notwithstanding which he soon took his accustomed walk toCaptain Howard's. He was gone about three hours, and on his returnannounced his intention of going to Boston in the afternoon train. Noone opposed him, for all were glad to have him go. Just before he left, grandmother, who knew all was not right, said tohim: "Young man, I wish you well; but mind what I say, you'll get yourpay yet for the capers you've cut here. " "I beg your pardon, madam, " he returned, with much more emphasis on_madam_ than was at all necessary, "I beg your pardon, but I think shehas cut the capers; at least she dismissed me of her own accord. " I thought of what I had heard, but 'twas a secret, so I kept itsafely, although I almost bit my tongue off in my zealous efforts. After Ashmore was gone, Emma, who had taken a violent cold the eveningbefore, took her bed, and was slightly ill for nearly a week. Almostevery day Mr. Evelyn called to see how she was, always bringing her afresh bouquet of flowers. On Thursday, Carrie called, bringing Emmasome ice-cream which Aunt Eunice had made. She did not ask to see her, but before she left she asked Anna if she did not wish to buy her oldpiano. "What will you do without it?" asked Anna. "Oh, " said Carrie, "I cannot use two. I have got a new one. " The stocking dropped from grandmother's hand as she exclaimed: "Whatis the world a-comin' to! Got two pianners! Where'd you get 'em?" "My new one was a present, and came from Boston, " answered Carrie, with the utmost _sang froid_. "You don't say Ashmore sent it to you! How much did it cost?" askedgrandma. "Mr. Ashmore wrote that it cost three hundred and fifty dollars, " wasCarrie's reply. Grandmother was perfectly horror-stricken; but desirous of makingCarrie feel as comfortable as possible, she said, "S'posin somebodyshould tell him about Penoyer?" For an instant Carrie turned pale, as she said quickly, "What does anyone know about him to tell?" "A great deal--more than you think they do--yes, a great deal, " wasgrandma's answer. After that Carrie came _very_ frequently to see us, always bringingsomething nice for Emma _or grandma_! Meanwhile Mr. Evelyn's visits continued, and when at last Emma couldsee him I was sure that she received him more kindly than she ever hadbefore. "That'll go yet, " was grandma's prediction. But her schemingwas cut short by a letter from Emma's father, requesting her immediatereturn. Mr. Evelyn, who found he had business which required hispresence in Worcester, was to accompany her thus far. It was a sad daywhen she left us, for she was a universal favorite. Sally cried, Icried, and Bill either cried or made believe, for he veryindustriously wiped his eyes and nasal organ on his shirt sleeves:besides that, things went on wrong side up generally. Grandma wascross--Sally was cross--and the school-teacher was cross; the bucketfell into the well, and the cows got into the corn. I got called up atschool and set with some hateful boys, one of whom amused himself bypricking me with a pin, and when, in self-defense, I gave him a goodpinch, he actually yelled out: "She keeps a-pinchin' me!" On thewhole, 'twas a dreadful day, and when at night I threw myselfexhausted upon my little bed I cried myself to sleep, thinking ofCousin Emma and wishing she would come back. CHAPTER VI. MIKE AND SALLY. I have spoken of Sally, but have said nothing of Mike, whom, of all myfather's hired men, I liked the best. He it was who made the bestcornstalk fiddles, and whittled out the shrillest whistles with whichto drive grandma "ravin' distracted. " He, too, it was who, on coldwinter mornings, carried Lizzie to school in his arms, making meforget how my fingers ached, by telling some exploit of _his_schooldays. I do not wonder that Sally liked him, and I always had an idea howthat liking would end, but did not think it would be so soon. Consequently I suspected nothing when Sally's white dress was bleachedon the grass in the clothesyard for nearly a week. One day Billy cameto me with a face full of wonder, saying he had just overheard Miketell one of the men that he and Sally were going to be married in afew weeks. I knew now what all that bleaching was for, and why Sally bought somuch cotton lace of pedlers. I was in ecstasies, too, for I had neverseen anyone married, but regretted the circumstance, whatever it mighthave been, which prevented me from being present at mother's marriage. Like many other children I have been deceived into the belief that themarriage ceremony consisted mainly in leaping the broomstick, and bymyself I had frequently tried the experiment, delighted to find that Icould jump it at almost any distance from the ground; but I had somemisgivings as to Sally's ability to clear the stick, for she wasrather clumsy; however, I should see the fun, for they were to bemarried at our house. A week before the time appointed mother was taken very ill, whichmade it necessary that the wedding should be postponed, or take placesomewhere else. To the first Mike would not hear, and as good oldParson S----, whose sermons were never more than two hours long, cameregularly every Sunday night to preach in the schoolhouse, Mikeproposed that they be married there. Sally did not like this exactly, but grandmother, who now ruled the household, said it was just thething, and accordingly it took place there. The house was filled full, and those who could not obtain seats tooktheir station near the windows. Our party was early, but I was threetimes compelled to relinquish my seat in favor of more distinguishedpersons, and I began to think that if any one was obliged to go homefor want of room, it would be me; but I resolutely determined not togo. I'd climb the chestnut tree first! At last I was squeezed on ahigh desk between two old ladies, wearing two old black bonnets, theirbreath sufficiently tinctured with tobacco smoke to be verydisagreeable to me, whose olfactories chanced to be ratheraristocratic than otherwise. To my horror Father S---- concluded to give us the sermon before hedid the bride. He was afraid some of his audience would leave. Accordingly there ensued a prayer half an hour long, after which eightverses of a long meter psalm were sung to the tune of Windham. By thistime I gave a slight sign to the two old ladies that I would like tomove, but they merely shook their two black bonnets at me, telling me, in fierce whispers, that "I mustn't stir in meetin'. " Mustn't stir! Iwonder how I could stir, squeezed in as I was, unless they chose tolet me. So I sat bolt upright, looking straight ahead at a point wherethe tips of my red shoes were visible, for my feet were stickingstraight out. All at once my attention was drawn to a spider on the wall, who waslaying a net for a fly, and in watching his maneuvers I forgot thelapse of time, until Father S---- had passed his sixthly andseventhly, and was driving furiously away at the eighthly. By thistime the spider had caught the fly, whose cries sounded to me likethe waters of the sawmill; the tips of my red shoes looked like thered berries which grew near the mine; the two old ladies at my sidewere transformed into two tall black walnut trees, while I seemed tobe sliding down-hill. At this juncture, one of the old ladies moved away from me a foot atleast (she could have done so before had she chosen to), and I wasprecipitated off from the bench, striking my head on the sharp cornerof a seat below. It was a dreadful blow which I received, making theblood gush from my nostrils. My loud screams brought matters to afocus, and the sermon to an end. My grandmother and one of the oldladies took me and the water pail outdoors, where I was literallydeluged; at the same time they called me "Poor girl! Poor Mollie!Little dear, " etc. But while they were attending to my bumped head Mike and Sally weremarried, and I didn't see it after all! 'Twas too bad! CHAPTER VII. THE BRIDE. After Sally's marriage there occurred at our house an interval ofquiet, enlivened occasionally by letters from Cousin Emma, whosehealth was not as much improved by her visit to the country as she hadat first hoped it would be; consequently she proposed spending thewinter south. Meantime, from Boston letters came frequently to CarrieHoward, and as the autumn advanced, things within and about herfather's house foretold some unusual event. Two dressmakers were hiredfrom the village, and it was stated, on good authority, that amongCarrie's wardrobe was a white satin and an elegantly embroideredmerino traveling-dress. Numerous were the surmises of Juliet and Anna as to who and how manywould be invited to the wedding. All misgivings concerning themselveswere happily brought to an end a week before the time, for there cameto our house handsome cards of invitation for Juliet and Anna, and--Icould scarcely believe my eyes--there was one for me too. For this Iwas indebted to Aunt Eunice, who had heard of and commiserated mymisfortunes at Sally's wedding. I was sorry that my invitation came so soon, for I had but little hopethat the time would ever come. It did, however, and so did Mr. Ashmoreand Agnes. As soon as dinner was over I commenced my toilet, althoughthe wedding was not to take place until eight that evening; but then Ibelieved, as I do now, in being ready in season. Oh, how slowly thehours passed, and at last in perfect despair I watched my opportunityto set the clock forward when no one saw me. For this purpose I putthe footstool in a chair, and mounting, was about to move the longhand, when-- But I always was the most unfortunate of mortals, so it was no wonderthat at this point the chair slipped, the stool slipped, and Islipped. I caught at the clock to save myself; consequently both clockand I came to the floor with a terrible crash. My first thought wasfor the hooks and eyes, which undoubtedly were scattered with thefragments of the clock, but fortunately every hook was in its place, and only one eye was straightened. I draw a veil over the scoldingwhich I got, and the numerous threats that I should stay at home. As the clock was broken we had no means for judging of the time, andthus we were among the first who arrived at Captain Howard's. Thisgave Juliet and Anna an opportunity of telling Agnes of my mishap. Shelaughed heartily, and then immediately changing the subject sheinquired after Cousin Emma, and when we had heard from her. Afterreplying to these questions Anna asked Agnes about Penoyer, and whenshe had seen him. "Don't mention it, " said Agnes, "but I have a suspicion that hestopped yesterday at the depot when I did. I may have been mistaken, for I was looking after my baggage and only caught a glimpse of him. If it were he his presence bodes no good. " "Have you told Carrie?" asked Juliet. "No, I have not. She seems so nervous whenever he is mentioned, " wasAgnes' reply. I thought of the obligations once referred to by Agnes, and felt thatI should breathe more freely when Carrie really was married. Otherguests now began to arrive, and we who had fixed long enough beforethe looking-glass repaired to the parlor below. Bill, who saw Sallymarried, had convinced me that the story of the broomstick was afalsehood, so I was prepared for its absence, but I wondered then, notmore than I do now, why grown-up people shouldn't be whipped fortelling untruths to children as well as children for telling untruthsto grown-up people. The parlor was now rapidly filling, and I was in great danger of beingthrust into the corner, where I could see nothing, when Aunt Eunicevery benevolently drew me near her, saying I should see if no one elsedid. At last Mr. Ashmore and Carrie came. Anna can tell you exactlywhat she wore, but I cannot. I only know that she looked mostbeautifully, though I have a vague recollection of fancying that inthe making of her dress the sleeves were forgotten entirely, and theneck nearly so. The marriage ceremony commenced, and I listened breathlessly, but thisdid not prevent me from hearing some one enter the house by thekitchen door. Aunt Eunice heard it, too, and when the minister beganto say something about Mrs. Ashmore she arose and went out. Somethinghad just commenced, I think they called them congratulations, when thecrowd around the door began to huddle together in order to make roomfor some person to enter. I looked up and saw Penoyer, his glitteringteeth now partially disclosed, looking a very little fiendish, Ithought. Carrie saw him, too, and instantly turned as white as thesatin dress she wore, while Agnes, who seemed to have some suspicionof his errand, exclaimed, "Impudent scoundrel!" At the same timeadvancing forward, she laid her hand upon his arm. He shook it off lightly, saying, "_Pardonnez moi, ma chère_; I've nocome to trouble you. " Then turning to Ashmore he said, pointing toCarrie, "She be your wife, I take it?" "Yes, sir, " replied Ashmore haughtily. "Have you any objections? If sothey have come too late. " "Not von, not in the least, no sar, " said the Frenchman, bowing nearlyto the floor. "It give me one grand plaisir; so now you will pleasesettle von leetle bill I have against her;" at the same time he drewfrom his pocket a sheet of half-worn paper. Carrie, who was leaning heavily against Mr. Ashmore instantly sprangforward and endeavored to snatch the paper, saying half-imploringly, "Don't, Penoyer, you know my father will pay it. " But Penoyer passed it to Mr. Ashmore, while Captain Howard, comingforward, said, "Pay what? What is all this about?" "Only a trifle, " said Penoyer; "just a bill for giving your daughtermusique lessons three years in Albany. " "You give my daughter music lessons?" demanded Captain Howard. "_Oui_, monsieur, I do that same thing, " answered Penoyer. "Oh, Carrie, Carrie, " said Captain Howard, in his surprise forgettingthe time and place, "why did you tell me that your knowledge of musicyou acquired yourself, with the assistance of your cousin, and alittle help from her music teacher; and why, when this man was here afew months ago, did you not tell me he was your music teacher and hadnot been paid?" Bursting into tears Carrie answered, "Forgive me, father, but he saidhe had no bill against me; he made no charge. " "But she gave me von big, large mitten, " said the Frenchman, "when shesee this man, who has more l'argent; but no difference, no difference, sar, this gentleman, " bowing toward Ashmore, "parfaitement delightedto pay it. " Whether he were delighted or not, he did pay it, for drawing from hispocket his purse, while his large black eyes emitted gleams of fire, he counted out the required amount, one hundred and twenty-fivedollars; then confronting Penoyer, he said fiercely, "Give me areceipt for this instantly, after which I will take it upon me to showyou the door. " "Certainement, certainement, all I want is my l'argent, " said Penoyer. The money was paid, the receipt given, and then, as Penoyer hesitateda moment, Ashmore said, "Are you waiting to be helped out, sir?" "No, monsieur, si vous plait, I have tree letters from madam, whichwill give you one grande satisfaction to read. " Then tossing towardAshmore the letters, with a malicious smile he left the house. Poor Carrie! When sure that he was gone she fainted away and wascarried from the room. At supper, however, she made her appearance, and after that was over the guests, unopposed, left _en masse_. What effect Penoyer's disclosures had on Ashmore we never exactlyknew, but when, a few days before the young couple left home, theycalled at our house, we all fancied that Carrie was looking morethoughtful than usual, while a cloud seemed to be resting on Ashmore'sbrow. The week following their marriage they left for New York, wherethey were going to reside. During the winter Carrie wrote homefrequently, giving accounts of the many gay and fashionable partieswhich she attended, and once in a letter to Anna she wrote, "Theflattering attentions which I receive have more than, once madeAshmore jealous. " Two years from the time they were married Mrs. Ashmore was broughtback to her home a pale, faded invalid, worn out by constantdissipation and the care of a sickly baby, so poor and blue that evenI couldn't bear to touch it. Three days after their arrival Mr. Evelynbrought to us his bride, Cousin Emma, blooming with health and beauty. I could scarcely believe that the exceedingly beautiful Mrs. Evelynwas the same white-faced girl who, two years before, had sat with mebeneath the old grapevine. The day after she came I went with her to visit Carrie, who, thephysicians said, was in a decline. I had not seen her before since herreturn, and on entering the sick-room, I was as much surprised at herhaggard face, sunken eyes, and sallow skin, as was Mr. Ashmore at theappearance of Emma. "Is it possible, " said he, coming forward, "is itpossible, Emma--Mrs. Evelyn, that you have entirely recovered?" I remembered what he had once said about "invalid wives, " and I fearedthat the comparison he was evidently making would not be veryfavorable toward Carrie. We afterward learned, however, that he wasthe kindest of husbands, frequently walking half the night with hiscrying baby, and at other times trying to soothe his nervous wife, whowas sometimes very irritable. Before we left Carrie drew Emma closely to her and said, "They tell meI probably shall never get well, and now, while I have time, I wish toask your forgiveness for the great wrong I once did you. " "How? When?" asked Emma quickly, and Carrie contined: "When first I saw him who is my husband, I determined to leave nomeans untried to secure him for myself; I knew you were engaged, but Ifancied that your ill-health annoyed him, and played my part well. Youknow how I succeeded, but I am sure you forgive me, for you love Mr. Evelyn quite as well, perhaps better. " "Yes, far better, " was Emma's reply, as she kissed Carrie's wan cheek;then bidding her good-by she promised to call frequently during herstay in town. She kept her word, and was often accompanied by Mr. Evelyn, who strove faithfully and successfully, too, to lead into thepath of peace her whose days were well-nigh ended. 'Twas on one of those bright days in the Indian summer time thatCarrie at last slept the sleep that knows no awakening. The eveningafter the burial I went in at Captain Howard's, and all the animosityI had cherished for Mr. Ashmore vanished when I saw the large teardrops as they fell on the face of his motherless babe, whose wailingcries he endeavored in vain to hush. When the first snowflakes camethey fell on a little mound, where by the side of her mother Mr. Ashmore had laid his baby, Emma. Side by side they are sleeping, In the grave's dark, dreamless bed; While the willow boughs seem weeping, As they bend above the dead. And now, dear reader, after telling you that, yielding to theimportunities of Emma's parents, Mr. Evelyn at last moved to the city, where, if I mistake not, he is still living, my story is finished. Butdo not, I pray you, think that these few pages contain all that I knowof the olden time: Oh no, far down in memory's well Exhaustless stores remain, From which, perchance, some future day I'll weave a tale again. THE GILBERTS; OR, RICE CORNER NUMBER TWO. CHAPTER I. THE GILBERTS. The spring following Carrie Howard's death Rice Corner was thrown intoa commotion by the astounding fact that Captain Howard was going outWest, and had sold his farm to a gentleman from the city, whose wife"kept six servants, wore silk all the time, never went inside of thekitchen, never saw a churn, breakfasted at ten, dined at three, andhad supper the next day!" Such was the story which Mercy Jenkins detailed to us early one Mondaymorning, and then, eager to communicate so desirable a piece of newsto others of her acquaintance, she started off, stopping for a momentas she passed the wash-room to see if Sally's clothes "wan't kinderdingy and yaller. " As soon as she was gone the astonishment of ourhousehold broke forth, grandma wondering why Captain Howard wanted togo to the ends of the earth, as she designated Chicago, their place ofdestination, and what she should do without Aunt Eunice, who, havingbeen born on grandma's wedding day, was very dear to her, and then herage was so easy to keep. But the best of friends must part, and whenat Mrs. Howard's last tea-drinking with us I saw how badly they allfelt, and how many tears were shed, I firmly resolved never to likeanybody but my own folks, unless, indeed, I made an exception in favorof Tom Jenkins, who so often drew me to school on his sled, and whomade such comical-looking jack-o'-lanterns out of the big yellowpumpkins. In reply to the numerous questions concerning Mr. Gilbert, thepurchaser of their farm, Mrs. Howard could only reply that he was verywealthy and had got tired of living in the city; adding, further, thathe wore a "monstrous pair of musquitoes, " had an evil-looking eye, four children, smoked cigars, and was a lawyer by profession. Thislast was all grandma wanted to know about him--"that told the wholestory, " for there never was but _one_ decent lawyer, and that was Mr. Evelyn, Cousin Emma's husband. Dear old lady! when, a few years ago, she heard that I, her favorite grandchild, was to marry one of thecraft, she made another exception in his favor, saying that "if hewasn't all straight, Mary would soon make him so!" Within a short time after Aunt Eunice's visit she left Rice Corner, and on the same day wagon-load after wagon-load of Mr. Gilbert'sfurniture passed our house, until Sally declared "there was enough tokeep a tavern, and she didn't see nothin' where they's goin to putit, " at the same time announcing her intention of "running down thereafter dinner, to see what was going on. " It will be remembered that Sally was now a married woman--"Mrs. Michael Welsh;" consequently, mother, who lived with her instead ofher living with mother, did not presume to interfere with her much, though she hinted pretty strongly that she "always liked to see peoplemind their own affairs. " But Sally was incorrigible. The dinner disheswere washed with a whew, I was coaxed into sweeping the backroom--which I did, leaving the dirt under the broom behind thedoor--while Mrs. Welsh, donning a pink calico, blue shawl, and bonnettrimmed with dark green, started off on her prying excursion, stopping by the roadside where Mike was making fence, and keeping him, as grandma said, "full half an hour by the clock from his work. " Not long after Sally's departure a handsome carriage, drawn by twofine bay horses, passed our house; and as the windows were down wecould plainly discern a pale, delicate-looking lady, wrapped inshawls, a tall, stylish-looking girl, another one about my own age andtwo beautiful little boys. "That's the Gilberts, I know, " said Anna. "Oh I'm so glad Sally'sgone, for now we shall have the full particulars;" and again we waitedas impatiently for Sally's return as we had once done before forgrandma. At last, to our great relief, the green ribbons and blue shawl weredescried in the distance, and ere long Sally was with us, ejaculating, "Oh, my--mercy me!" etc. , thus giving us an inkling of what was tofollow. "Of all the sights that ever I have seen, " said she, foldingup the blue shawl, and smoothing down the pink calico. "There'scarpeting enough to cover every crack and crevice--all pure bristles, too!" Here I tittered, whereupon Sally angrily retorted, that "she guessedshe knew how to talk proper, if she hadn't studied grarmar. " "Never mind, " said Anna, "go on; brussels carpeting and what else?" "Mercy knows what else, " answered Sally. "I can't begin to guess thenames of half the things. There's mahogany, rosewood, and marblefixin's--and in Miss Gilbert's room there's lace curtains and silkdamson ones--" A look from Anna restrained me this time, and Sally continued. "Mercy Jenkins is there, helpin', and she says Mr. Gilbert told 'em, his wife never et a piece of salt pork in her life, and knew no morehow bread was made than a child two years old. " "What a simple critter she must be, " said grandma, while Anna askedif she saw Mrs. Gilbert, and if that tall girl was her daughter. "Yes, I seen her, " answered Sally, "and I guess she's weakly, for theminit she got into the house she lay down on the sofa, which Mr. Gilbert says cost seventy-five dollars. That tall, proud-lookin' thingthey call Miss Adaline, but I'll warrant you don't catch me puttin' onthe miss. I called her Adaline, and you had orto seen how her big eyeslooked at me. Says she, at last, 'Are you one of pa's new servants?" "'Servants!' says I, 'no indeed; I'm Mrs. Michael Welsh, one of yournighest neighbors. ' "Then I told her that there were two nice girls lived in the housewith me, and she'd better get acquainted with 'em right away; and thenwith the hatefulest of all hateful laughs, she asked if 'they woreglass beads and went barefoot. '" I fancied that neither Juliet nor Anna were greatly pleased at beingintroduced by Sally, the housemaid, to the elegant Adaline Gilbert, who had come to the country with anything but a favorable impressionof its inhabitants. The second daughter, the one about my own age, Sally said they called Nellie; "and a nice, clever creature she is, too--not a bit stuck up like t'other one. Why, I do believe she'dwalked every big beam in the barn before she'd been there half anhour, and the last I saw of her she was coaxing a cow to lie stillwhile she got upon her back!" How my heart warmed toward the romping Nellie, and how I wondered ifafter that beam-walking exploit her hooks and eyes were all in theirplaces! The two little boys, Sally said, were twins, Edward andEgbert, or, as they were familiarly called, Bert and Eddie. This wasnearly all she had learned, if we except the fact that the family atewith silver forks, and drank wine after dinner. This last, motherpronounced heterodox, while I, who dearly loved the juice of the grapeand sometimes left finger marks on the top shelf, whither I hadclimbed for a sip from grandma's decanter, secretly hoped I shouldsome day dine with Nellie Gilbert, and drink all the wine I wanted, thinking how many times I'd rinse my mouth so mother shouldn't smellmy breath! In the course of a few weeks the affairs of the Gilbert family werepretty generally canvassed in Rice Corner, Mercy Jenkins giving it asher opinion that "Miss Gilbert was much the likeliest of the two, andthat Mr. Gilbert was cross, overbearing, and big feeling. " CHAPTER II. NELLIE. As yet I had only seen Nellie in the distance, and was aboutdespairing of making her acquaintance when accident threw her in myway. Directly opposite our house, and just across along green meadow, was a piece of woods which belonged to Mr. Gilbert, and there, oneafternoon early in May, I saw Nellie. I had seen her there before, butnever dared approach her; and now I divided my time between watchingher and a dense black cloud which had appeared in the west, and wasfast approaching the zenith. I was just thinking how nice it would beif the rain should drive her to our house for shelter, when patter, patter came the large drops in my face; thicker and faster they fell, until it seemed like a perfect deluge; and through the almost blindingsheet of rain I descried Nellie coming toward me at a furious rate. With the agility of a fawn she bounded over the gate, and with theexclamation of, "Ain't I wetter than a drownded rat?" we wereperfectly well acquainted. It took but a short time to divest her of her dripping garments, andarray her in some of mine, which Sally said "fitted her to a T, "though I fancied she looked sadly out of place in my linen pantaletsand long-sleeved dress. She was a great lover of fun and frolic, andin less than half an hour had "ridden to Boston" on Joe'srocking-horse, turned the little wheel faster than even I dared toturn it, tried on grandma's stays, and then, as a crowning feat, triedthe rather dangerous experiment of riding down the garret stairs on aboard! The clatter brought up grandma, and I felt some doubts abouther relishing a kind of play which savored so much of what she called"a racket, " but the soft brown eyes which looked at her so pleadinglywere too full of love, gentleness, and mischief to be resisted, andpermission for "one more ride" was given, "provided she'd promise notto break her neck. " Oh, what fun we had that afternoon! What a big rent she tore in mygingham frock, and what a "dear, delightful old haunted castle of athing" she pronounced our house to be. Darling, darling Nellie! I shutmy eyes and she comes before me again, the same bright beautifulcreature she was when I saw her first, as she was when I saw her forthe last, last time. It rained until dark, and Nellie, who confidently expected to stay allnight, had whispered to me her intention of "tying our toes together, "when there came a tremendous rap upon the door, and without waiting tobe bidden in walked Mr. Gilbert, puffing and swelling, and makinghimself perfectly at home, in a kind of offhand manner, which had init so much of condescension that I was disgusted, and when sure Nelliewould not see me I made at him a wry face, thereby feeling greatlyrelieved! After managing to let mother know how expensive his family was, howmuch he paid yearly for wines and cigars, and how much Adaline'seducation and piano had cost, he arose to go, saying to his daughter, "Come, puss, take off those--ahem--those habiliments, and let's beoff!" Nellie obeyed, and just before she was ready to start she asked, whenI would come and spend the day with her. I looked at mother, mother looked at Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert lookedat me, and after surveying me from head to foot said, spitting betweenevery other word, "Ye-es ye-es, we've come to live in the country, andI suppose" (here he spit three successive times), "and I suppose wemay as well be on friendly terms as any other; so, madam" (turning tomother), "I am willing to have your little daughter visit usocasionally. " Then adding that "he would extend the same invitation toher were it not that his wife was an invalid and saw no company, " hedeparted. One morning, several days afterward, a servant brought to our house aneat little note from Mrs. Gilbert, asking mother to let me spend theday with Nellie. After some consultation between mother and grandma, it was decided that I might go, and in less than an hour I was dressedand on the road, my hair braided so tightly in my neck that the littlered bumps of flesh set up here and there, like currants on a brownearthen platter. Nellie did not wait to receive me formally, but came running down theroad, telling me that Robin had made a swing in the barn, and that wewould play there most all day, as her mother was sick, and Adaline, who occupied two-thirds of the house, wouldn't let us come near her. This Adaline was to me a very formidable personage. Hitherto I hadonly caught glimpses of her, as with long skirts and waving plumes shesometimes dashed past our house on horseback, and it was with greattrepidation that I now followed Nellie into the parlor, where she toldme her sister was. "Adaline, this is my little friend, " said she; and Adaline replied: "How do you do, little friend?" My cheeks tingled, and for the first time raising my eyes I foundmyself face to face with the haughty belle. She was very tall andqueenlike in her figure, and though she could hardly be calledhandsome, there was about her an air of elegance and refinement whichpartially compensated for the absence of beauty. That she was proudone could see from the glance of her large black eyes and the curl ofher lip. Coolly surveying me for a moment, as she would any othercurious specimen, she resumed her book, never speaking to me again, except to ask, when she saw me gazing wonderingly around thesplendidly-furnished room, "if I supposed I could remember everyarticle of furniture, and give a faithful report. " I thought I was insulted when she called me "little friend, " and now, feeling sure of it, I tartly replied that "if I couldn't she perhapsmight lend me paper and pencil, with which to write them down. " "Orginally, truly, " said she, again poring over her book. Nellie, who had left me for a moment, now returned, bidding me comeand see her mother, and passing through the long hall, I was soon inMrs. Gilbert's room, which was as tastefully, though perhaps not quiteso richly, furnished as the parlor. Mrs. Gilbert was lying upon asofa, and the moment I looked upon her the love which I had so freelygiven the daughter was shared with the mother, in whose pale sweetface, and soft brown eyes, I saw a strong resemblance to Nellie. Shewas attired in a rose-colored morning-gown, which flowed open infront, disclosing to view a larger quantity of rich French embroiderythan I had ever before seen. Many times during the day, and many times since, have I wondered whatmade her marry, and if she really loved the bearish-looking man whooccasionally stalked into the room, smoking cigars and talking veryloudly, when he knew how her head was throbbing with pain. I had eaten but little breakfast that morning, and verily I thought Ishould famish before their dinner hour arrived; and when at last itcame, and I saw the table glittering with silver, I felt manymisgivings as to my ability to acquit myself creditably. But by dintof watching Nellie, doing just what she did, and refusing just whatshe refused, I managed to get through with it tolerably well. Foronce, too, in my life I drank all the wine I wanted; the result ofwhich was that long before sunset I went home, crying and vomitingwith the sick headache, which Sally said "served me right;" at thesame time hinting her belief that I was slightly intoxicated! CHAPTER III. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Down our long, green lane, and at the further extremity of the narrowfootpath which led to the "old mine, " was another path or wagon roadwhich wound along among the fern bushes, under the chestnut trees, across the hemlock swamp, and up, to a grassy ridge which overlooked asmall pond, said, of course, to have no bottom. Fully crediting thisstory, and knowing, moreover, that China was opposite to us, I haveoften taken down my atlas and hunted through that ancient empire, inhopes of finding a corresponding sheet of water. Failing to do so Ihad made one with my pencil, writing against it, "Cranberry Pond, "that being the name of its American brother. Just above the pond on the grassy ridge stood an old, dilapidatedbuilding which had long borne the name of the "haunted house. " I neverknew whether this title was given it on account of its proximity tothe "old mine, " or because it stood near the very spot where, yearsand years ago, the "bloody Indians" pushed those cart-loads of burninghemp against the doors "of the only remaining house in Quaboag"--forwhich see Goodrich's Child's History, page--, somewhere toward thecommencement. I only know that 'twas called the "haunted house, " andthat for a long time no one would live there, on account of therapping, dancing, and cutting up generally which was said to prevail, there particularly in the west room, the one overhung with ivy andgrapevines. Three or four years before our story opens a widow lady, Mrs. Hudson, with her only daughter, Mabel, appeared in our neighborhood, hiringthe "haunted house, " and, in spite of the neighbors' predictions tothe contrary, living there quietly and peaceably, unharmed by ghost orgoblin. At first Mrs. Hudson was looked upon with distrust, and even aleague with a certain old fellow was hinted at; but as she seemed tobe well disposed, kind, and affable toward all, this feeling graduallywore away, and now she was universally liked, while Mabel, herdaughter, was a general favorite. For two years past, Mabel had workedin the Fiskdale factory a portion of the time, going to school theremainder of the year. She was fitting herself for a teacher, and asthe school in our district was small, the trustees had this summerkindly offered it to her. This arrangement delighted me; for, next toNellie Gilbert, I loved Mabel Hudson best of anybody; and I fancied, too, that they looked alike, but of course it was all fancy. Mrs. Hudson was a tailoress, and the day following my visit to Mr. Gilbert's I was sent by mother to take her some work. I found her inthe little porch, her white cap-border falling over her placid face, and her wide checked apron coming nearly to the bottom of her dress. Mabel was there, too, and as she arose to receive me something abouther reminded me of Adaline Gilbert. I could not tell what it was, forMabel was very beautiful, and beside her Adaline would be plain; stillthere was a resemblance, either in voice or manner, and this it was, perhaps, which made me so soon mention the Gilberts and my visit tothem the day previous. Instantly Mrs. Hudson and Mabel exchanged glances, and I thought theface of the former grew a shade paler; still I may have been mistaken, for in her usual tone of voice she began to ask me numberlessquestions concerning the family, which seemed singular, as she was notremarkable for curiosity. But it suited me. I loved to talk then notless than I do now, and in a few minutes I had told all I knew--andmore, too, most likely. At last Mrs. Hudson asked about Mr. Gilbert, and how I liked him. "Not a bit, " said I. "He's the hatefulest, crossest, big-feelingestman I ever saw, and Adaline is just like him!" Had I been a little older I might, perhaps, have wondered at thecrimson flush which my hasty words brought to Mrs. Hudson's cheek, butI did not notice it then, and thinking she was, of course, highlyentertained, I continued to talk about Mr. Gilbert and Adaline, in thelast of whom Mabel seemed the most interested. Of Nellie I spoke withthe utmost affection, and when Mrs. Hudson expressed a wish to seeher, I promised, if possible, to bring her there; then as I hadalready outstayed the time for which permission had been given, I tiedon my sunbonnet and started for home, revolving the ways and means bywhich I should keep my promise. This proved to be a very easy matter; for within a few days Nelliecame to return my visit, and as mother had other company she the morereadily gave us permission to go where we pleased. Nellie had aperfect passion for ghost and witch stories, saying though that "shenever liked to have them explained--she'd rather they'd be left insolemn mystery;" so when I told her of the "old mine" and the "hauntedhouse" she immediately expressed a desire to see them. Hiding ourbonnets under our aprons the better to conceal our intentions fromsister Lizzie, who, we fancied, had serious thoughts of _tagging_, wesent her up-stairs in quest of something which we knew was not there, and then away we scampered down the green lane and across the pasture, dropping once into some alders as Lizzie's yellow hair became visibleon the fence at the foot of the lane. Our consciences smote us alittle, but we kept still until she returned to the house; then, continuing our way, we soon came in sight of the mine, which Nelliedetermined to explore. It was in vain that I tried to dissuade her from the attempt. She wasresolved, and stationing myself at a safe distance I waited while shescrambled over stones, sticks, logs, and bushes, until she finallydisappeared in the cave. Ere long, however, she returned with soiledpantalets, torn apron, and scratched face, saying that "the mine wasnothing in the world but a hole in the ground, and a mighty little oneat that. " After this I didn't know but I would sometime venture in, but for fear of what might happen I concluded to choose a time when Ihadn't run away from Liz! When I presented Nellie to Mrs. Hudson she took both her hands inhers, and, greatly to my surprise, kissed her on both cheeks. Then shewalked hastily into the next room, but not until I saw something fallfrom her eyes, which I am sure were tears. "Funny, isn't it?" said Nellie, looking wonderingly at me. "I don'tknow whether to laugh or what. " Mabel now came in, and though she manifested no particular emotion, she was exceedingly kind to Nellie, asking her many questions, andsometimes smoothing her brown curls. When Mrs. Hudson again appearedshe was very calm, but I noticed that her eyes constantly rested uponNellie, who, with Mabel's gray kitten in her lap, was seated upon thedoorstep, the very image of childish innocence and beauty. Mrs. Hudsonurged us to stay to tea but I declined, knowing that there was companyat home, with three kinds of cake, besides cookies, for supper. Sobidding her good-by, and promising to come again, we started homeward, where we found the ladies discussing their green tea and making largeinroads upon the three kinds of cake. One of them, a Mrs. Thompson, was gifted with the art offortune-telling, by means of tea-grounds, and when Nellie and I tookour seats at the table she kindly offered to see what was in store forus. She had frequently told my fortune, each time managing to fish upa freckle-faced boy so nearly resembling her grandson, my particularaversion, that I didn't care to hear it again. But with Nellie 'twasall new, and after a great whirling of tea-grounds and staining ofmother's best table-cloth, she passed her cup to Mrs. Thompson, confidently whispering to me that she guessed she'd tell her somethingabout Willie Raymond, who lived in the city, and who gave her thelittle cornelian ring which she wore. With the utmost gravity Mrs. Thompson read off the past and present, and then peering far into thefuture she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, my! there's a gulf, or something, before you, and you are going to tumble into it headlong; don't ask meanything more. " I never did and never shall believe in fortune-telling, much less inGranny Thompson's "turned-up cups, " but years after I thought of herprediction with regard to Nellie. Poor, poor Nellie! CHAPTER IV. JEALOUSY. On the first Monday in June our school commenced, and long beforebreakfast Lizzie and I were dressed and had turned inside out thelittle cupboard over the fireplace where our books were kept duringvacation. Breakfast being over we deposited in our dinner-basket thewhole of a custard pie, and were about starting off when mother said"we shouldn't go a step until half-past eight, " adding further, that"we must put that pie back, for 'twas one she'd saved for their owndinner. " Lizzie pouted, while I cried, and taking my bonnet I repaired to the"great rock, " where the sassafras, blackberries, and blacksnakes grew. Here I sat for a long time, thinking if I ever did grow up and getmarried (I was sure of the latter), I'd have all the custard pie Icould eat for once! In the midst of my reverie a footstep soundednear, and looking up I saw before me Nellie Gilbert, with her satchelof books on her arm, and her sunbonnet hanging down her back, afterthe fashion in which I usually wore mine. In reply to my look ofinquiry she said her father had concluded to let her go to thedistrict school, though he didn't expect her to learn anything but"slang terms and ill manners. " By this time it was half-past eight, and together with Lizzie werepaired to the schoolhouse, where we found assembled a dozen girlsand as many boys, among whom was Tom Jenkins. Tom was a great admirerof beauty, and hence I could never account for the preference he hadhitherto shown for me, who my brothers called "bung-eyed" and Sally"raw-boned. " He, however, didn't think so. My eyes, he said, were nonetoo large, and many a night had he carried home my books for me, andmany a morning had he brought me nuts and raisins, to say nothing ofthe time when I found in my desk a little note, which said--Buteverybody who's been to school, knows what it said! Taking it all round we were as good as engaged; so you can judge whatmy feelings were when, before the night of Nellie's first day atschool, I saw Tom Jenkins giving her an orange which I had everyreason to think was originally intended for me! I knew very well thatNellie's brown curls and eyes had done the mischief; and though I didnot love her the less, I blamed him the more for his fickleness, foronly a week before he had praised my eyes, calling them a "beautifulindigo blue, " and all that. I was highly incensed, and when on our wayfrom school he tried to speak good-humoredly, I said, "I'd thank youto let me alone! I don't like you, and never did!" He looked sorry for a minute, but soon forgot it all in talking toNellie, who after he had left us said "he was a cleverish kind of boy, though he couldn't begin with William Raymond. " After that I was verycool toward Tom, who attached himself more and more to Nellie, saying"she had the handsomest eyes he ever saw;" and, indeed, I think itchiefly owing to those soft, brown, dreamy eyes that I am not now"Mrs. Tom Jenkins of Jenkinsville, " a place way out West, whither Tomand his mother have migrated. One day Nellie was later at school than usual, giving as a reason thattheir folks had company--a Mr. Sherwood and his mother, from Hartford;and adding that if I'd never tell anybody as long as I lived andbreathed she'd tell me something. Of course I promised, and Nellie told me how she guessed that Mr. Sherwood, who was rich and handsome, liked Adaline. "Anyway, Adalinelikes him, " said she, "and oh, she's so nice and good when he'saround. I ain't 'Nell, you hateful thing' then, but I'm 'SisterNellie. ' They are going to ride this morning, and perhaps they'll goby here. There they are, now!" and looking toward the road I saw Mr. Sherwood and Adaline Gilbert on horseback, riding leisurely past theschoolhouse. She was nodding to Nellie, but he was looking intently atMabel, who was sitting near the window. I know he asked Adalinesomething about her, for I distinctly heard a part of her reply--"apoor factory girl, " and Adaline's head tossed scornfully, as if thatwere a sufficient reason why Mabel should be despised. Mr. Sherwood evidently did not think so, for the next day he walked byalone--and the next day he did the same, this time bringing with him abook, and seating himself in the shadow of a chestnut tree not farfrom the schoolhouse. The moment school was out, he arose and cameforward, inquiring for Nellie, who, of course, introduced him toMabel. The three then walked on together, while Tom Jenkins stayed inthe rear with me, wondering what I wanted to act so for; "couldn't afeller like more than one girl if he wanted to?" "Yes, I s'posed a feller could, though I didn't know, nor care!" Tom made no reply, but whittled away upon a bit of shingle, whichfinally assumed the shape of a heart, and which I afterward found inhis desk with the letter "N" written upon it, and then scratched out. When at last we reached our house Mr. Sherwood asked Nellie "wherethat old mine and sawmill were, of which she had told him so much. " "Right on Miss Hudson's way home, " said Nellie. "Let's walk along withher;" and the next moment Mr. Sherwood, Mabel, and Nellie were in thelong, green lane which led down to the sawmill. Oh, how Adaline stormed when she heard of it, and how sneeringly shespoke to Mr. Sherwood of the "factory girl, " insinuating that thebloom on her cheek was paint, and the lily on her brow powder! But heprobably did not believe it, for almost every day he passed theschoolhouse, generally managing to speak with Mabel; and once he wentall the way home with her, staying ever so long, too, for I watcheduntil 'twas pitch dark, and he hadn't got back yet! In a day or two he went home, and I thought no more about him, untilTom, who had been to the post-office, brought Mabel a letter, whichmade her turn red and white alternately, until at last she cried. Shewas very absent-minded the remainder of that day, letting us do as wepleased, and never in my life did I have a better time "carrying on"than I did that afternoon when Mabel received her first letter fromMr. Sherwood. CHAPTER V. NEW RELATIONS. About six weeks after the close of Mabel's school we were one daystartled with the intelligence that she was going to be married, andto Mr. Sherwood, too. He had become tired of the fashionable ladies ofhis acquaintance, and when he saw how pure and artless Mabel was, heimmediately became interested in her; and at last, overcoming allfeelings of pride, he had offered her his hand, and had been accepted. At first we could hardly credit the story; but when Mrs. Hudsonherself confirmed it we gave it up, and again I wondered if I shouldbe invited. All the nicest and best chestnuts which I could find, tosay nothing of the apples and butternuts, I carried to her, notwithout my reward either, for when invitations came to us I wasincluded with the rest. Our family were the only invited guests, and Ifelt no fears this time of being hidden by the crowd. Just before the ceremony commenced there was the sound of a heavyfootstep upon the outer porch, a loud knock at the door, and then intothe room came Mr. Gilbert! He seemed slightly agitated, but notone-half so much as Mrs. Hudson, who exclaimed, "William, my son, whyare you here?" "I came to witness my sister's bridal, " was the answer; and turningtoward the clergyman, he said, somewhat authoritatively, "Do not delayfor me, sir. Go on. " There was a movement in the next room, and then the bridal partyentered, both starting with surprise as they saw Mr. Gilbert. Verybeautiful did Mabel look as she stood up to take upon herself themarriage vow, not a syllable of which did one of us hear. We werethinking of Mr. Gilbert, and the strange words, "my son" and "mysister. " When it was over, and Mabel was Mrs. Sherwood, Mr. Gilbert approachedMrs. Hudson, saying, "Come, mother, let me lead you to the bride. " With an impatient gesture she waved him off, and going alone to herdaughter, threw her arms around her neck, sobbing convulsively. Therewas an awkward silence, and then Mr. Gilbert, thinking he was calledupon for an explanation, arose, and addressing himself mostly to Mr. Sherwood, said, "I suppose what has transpired here to-night seemsrather strange, and will undoubtedly furnish the neighborhood withgossip for more than a week, but they are welcome to canvass, whateverI do. I can't help it if I was born with an unusual degree of pride, neither can I help feeling mortified, as I many times did, at myfamily, particularly after she, " glancing at his mother, "married theman whose name she bears. " Here Mrs. Hudson lifted up her head, and coming to Mr. Gilbert's side, stood proudly erect, while he continued: "She would tell you he was agood man, but I hated him, and swore never to enter the house while helived. I went away, took care of myself, grew rich, married into oneof the first families in Hartford, and--and--" Here he paused, and his mother, continuing the sentence, added, "andgrew ashamed of your own mother, who many a time went without thecomforts of life that you might be educated. You were always a proud, wayward boy, William, but never did I think you would do as you havedone. You have treated me with utter neglect, never allowing your wifeto see me, and when I once proposed visiting you in Hartford you askedyour brother, now dead, to dissuade me from it, if possible, for youcould not introduce me to your acquaintances as your mother. Never doyou speak of me to your children, who, if they know they have agrandmother, little dream that she lives within a mile of theirfather's dwelling. One of them I have seen, and my heart yearnedtoward her as it did toward you when first I took you in my arms, myfirst-born baby; and yet, William, I thank Heaven there is in hersweet face no trace of her father's features. This may sound harsh, unmotherly, but greatly have I been sinned against, and now, just as abrighter day is dawning upon me, why have you come here? Say, William, why?" By the time Mrs. Hudson had finished, nearly all in the room wereweeping. Mr. Gilbert, however, seemed perfectly indifferent, and withthe most provoking coolness replied, "I came to see my fair sistermarried--to congratulate her upon an alliance which will bring us upona more equal footing. " "You greatly mistake me, sir, " said Mr. Sherwood, turning haughtilytoward Mr. Gilbert, at the same time drawing Mabel nearer to him; "yougreatly mistake me, if, after what I have heard, you think I wouldwish for your acquaintance. If my wife, when poor and obscure, was notworthy of your attention, _you_ certainly are not now worthy of hers, and it is my request that our intercourse should end here. " Mr. Gilbert muttered something about "extenuating circumstances, " and"the whole not being told, " but no one paid him any attention; and atlast, snatching up his hat, he precipitately left the house, I sendingafter him a hearty good riddance, and mentally hoping he would measurehis length in the ditch which he must pass on his way across HemlockSwamp. The next morning Mr. And Mrs. Sherwood departed on their bridal tour, intending on their return to take their mother with them to the city. Several times during their absence I saw Mr. Gilbert, either going toor returning from the "haunted house, " and I readily guessed he wastrying to talk his mother over, for nothing could be more mortifyingthan to be cut by the Sherwoods, who were among the first in Hartford. Afterward, greatly to my satisfaction, I heard that though, motherlike, Mrs. Hudson had forgiven her son, Mr. Sherwood evertreated him with a cool haughtiness, which effectually kept him at adistance. Once, indeed, at Mabel's earnest request, Mrs. Gilbert and Nellie wereinvited to visit her, and as the former was too feeble to accomplishthe journey, Nellie went alone, staying a long time, and torturing hersister on her return with a glowing account of the elegantly-furnishedhouse, of which Adaline had once hoped to be the proud mistress. For several years after Mabel's departure from Rice Corner nothingespecial occurred in the Gilbert family, except the marriage ofAdaline with a rich bachelor, who must have been many years older thanher father, for he colored his whiskers, wore false teeth and a wig, besides having, as Nellie declared, a wooden leg! For the truth ofthis last I will not vouch, as Nellie's assertion was only foundedupon the fact of her having once looked through the keyhole of hisdoor, and espied standing by his bed something which looked like acork leg, but which might have been a boot! What Adaline saw in him tolike I could never guess. I suppose, however, that she only looked athis rich gilding, which covered a multitude of defects. Immediately after the wedding the happy pair started for a two-years'tour in Europe, where the youthful bride so enraged her bald-headedlord by flirting with a mustached Frenchman that in a fit of anger theold man picked up his goods, chattels, and wife, and returned to NewYork within three months of his leaving it! CHAPTER VI. POOR, POOR NELLIE. And now, in the closing chapter of this brief sketch of the Gilberts, I come to the saddest part--the fate of poor Nellie, the dearestplaymate my childhood ever knew, she whom the lapse of years ripenedinto a graceful, beautiful girl, loved by everybody, even by TomJenkins, whose boyish affection had grown with his growth andstrengthened with his strength. And now Nellie was the affianced bride of William Raymond, who hadreplaced the little cornelian with the engagement ring. At last therumor reached Tom Jenkins, awaking him from the sweetest dream he hadever known. He could not ask Nellie if it were true, so he came to me;and when I saw how he grew pale and trembled, I felt that Nellie wasnot altogether blameless. But he breathed no word of censure againsther; and when, a year or two afterward, I saw her given to WilliamRaymond, I knew that the love of two hearts was hers; the one tocherish and watch over her, the other to love and worship, silently, secretly, as a miser worships his hidden treasure. * * * * * The bridal was over. The farewells were over, and Nellie hadgone--gone from the home whose sunlight she had made, and which shehad left forever. Sadly the pale, sick mother wept, and mourned herabsence, listening in vain for the light footfall and soft, ringingvoice she would never hear again. Three weeks had passed away, and then, far and near the papers teemedwith accounts of the horrible Norwalk catastrophe, which desolatedmany a home, and wrung from many a heart its choicest treasure. Sideby side they found them--Nellie and her husband--the light of herbrown eyes quenched forever, and the pulses of his heart still indeath! I was present when they told the poor invalid of her loss, and evennow I seem to hear the bitter, wailing cry which broke from her whitelips, as she begged them to unsay what they had said, and tell herNellie was not dead--that she would come back again. It could not be. Nellie would never return; and in six weeks' time thebroken-hearted mother was at rest with her child. THE THANKSGIVING PARTY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. CHAPTER I. NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING. "Oh, I do hope it will be pleasant to-morrow, " said Lizzie Dayton, ason the night before Thanksgiving she stood at the parlor window, watching a dense mass of clouds, behind which the sun had lately goneto his nightly rest. "I hope so, too, " said Lucy, coming forward and joining her sister;"but then it isn't likely it will be. There has been a big circlearound the moon these three nights, and besides that, I never knew itfail to storm when I was particularly anxious that it should bepleasant;" and the indignant beauty pouted very becomingly at theinsult so frequently offered by that most capricious of all things, the weather. "Thee shouldn't talk so, Lucy, " said Grandma Dayton, who was of Quakerdescent, at the same time holding up between herself and the windowthe long stocking which she was knitting. "Doesn't thee know that whenthee is finding fault with the weather thee finds fault with Him whomade the weather?" "I do wish, grandma, " answered Lucy, "that I could ever say anythingwhich did not furnish you with a text from which to preach me asermon. " Grandma did not reply directly to this rather uncivil speech, but, she continued: "I don't see how the weather will hurt thee, if it'sthe party thee is thinking of, for Mr. Graham's is only ten rods or sofrom here. "I'm not afraid I can't go, " answered Lucy; "but you know as well as Ithat if the wind blows enough to put out a candle, father is soold-maidish as to think Lizzie and I must wear thick stockings anddresses, and I shouldn't wonder if he insisted on flannel wrappers!" "Well, " answered grandma, "I think myself it will be very imprudentfor Lizzie, in her present state of health, to expose her neck andarms. Thy poor marm died with consumption when she wasn't much olderthan thee is. Let me see--she was twenty-three the day she died, andthee was twenty-two in Sep--" "For heaven's sake, grandmother, " interrupted Lucy, "don't continuallyremind me of my age, and tell me how much younger mother was when shewas married. I can't help it if I'm twenty-two, and not married orengaged either. But I will be both before I am a year older. " So saying, she quitted the apartment, and repaired to her own room. Ere we follow her thither we will introduce both her and her sister toour readers. Lucy and Lizzie were the only children of Mr. Dayton, awealthy, intelligent, and naturally social man, the early death ofwhose idolized, beautiful wife had thrown a deep gloom over hisspirits, which time could never entirely dispel. It was now seventeenyears since, a lonely, desolate widower, at the dusky twilight hour hehad drawn closely to his bosom his motherless children, and thoughtthat but for them he would gladly have lain down by her whose home wasnow in heaven. His acquaintances spoke lightly of his grief, saying hewould soon get over it and marry again. They were mistaken, for heremained single, his widowed mother supplying to his daughters theplace of their lost parent. In one thing was Mr. Dayton rather peculiar. Owing to the death ofhis wife, he had always been in the habit of dictating to hisdaughters in various small matters, such as dress, and so forth, aboutwhich fathers seldom trouble themselves. And even now he seemed toforget that they were children no longer, and often interfered intheir plans in a way exceedingly annoying to Lucy, the eldest of thegirls, who was now twenty-two and was as proud, selfish, andself-willed as she was handsome and accomplished. Old maids she heldin great abhorrence, and her great object in life was to secure awealthy and distinguished husband. Hitherto she had been unsuccessful, for the right one had not yet appeared. Now, however, a new star wasdawning on her horizon, in the person of Hugh St. Leon, of NewOrleans. His fame had preceded him, and half the village of S---- wereready to do homage to the proud millionaire, who would make his firstappearance at the Thanksgiving party. This, then, was the reason whyLucy felt so anxious to be becomingly dressed, for she had resolvedupon a conquest, and she felt sure of success. She knew she wasbeautiful. Her companions told her so, her mirror told her so, and hersweet sister Lizzie told her so more then twenty times a day. Lizzie was four years younger than her sister, and wholly unlike her, both in personal appearance and disposition. She had from childhoodevinced a predisposition to the disease which had consigned her motherto an early grave. On her fair, soft cheek the rose of health hadnever bloomed, and in the light which shone from her clear hazel eye, her fond father read but too clearly "passing away--passing away. " If there was in Lucy Dayton's selfish nature any redeeming quality, itwas that she possessed for her frail young sister a love amountingalmost to adoration. Years before, she had trembled as she thought howsoon the time might come when for her sister's merry voice she wouldlisten in vain; but as month after month and year after year went by, and still among them Lizzie stayed, Lucy forgot her fears, anddreamed not that ere long one chair would be vacant--that Lizzie wouldbe gone. Although so much younger than her sister, Lizzie, for more than ayear, had been betrothed to Harry Graham, whom she had known fromchildhood. Now, between herself and him the broad Atlantic rolled, norwould he return until the coming autumn, when, with her father'sconsent, Lizzie would be all his own. Alas! alas! ere autumn came How many hearts were weeping For her who 'neath the willow's shade Lay sweetly, calmly sleeping. CHAPTER II. THANKSGIVING DAY. Slowly the feeble light of a stormy morning broke over the village ofS----. Lucy's fears had been verified, for Thanksgiving's dawn wasushered in by a fierce, driving storm. Thickly from the blackenedclouds the feathery flakes had fallen until the earth far and near wascovered by a mass of white, untrodden snow. Lucy had been awake for a long time, listening to the sad song of thewind, which swept howling by the casement. At length, with animpatient frown at the snow which covered the window pane, she turnedon her pillow, and tried again to sleep. Her slumbers, however, weresoon disturbed by her sister, who arose, and putting aside thecurtain, looked out upon the storm, saying half-aloud, "Oh, I amsorry, for Lucy will be disappointed. " "I disappointed!" repeated Lucy; "now, Lizzie, why not own it, and sayyou are as much provoked at the weather as I am, and wish this horridstorm had stayed in the icy caves of Greenland?" "Because, " answered Lizzie, "I really care but little about the party. You know Harry will not be there, and besides that, the old, ugly painhas come back to my side this morning;" and even as she spoke a low, hacking cough fell on Lucy's ear like the echo of a distant knell. Lucy raised herself up, and leaning on her elbow looked earnestly ather sister, and fancied ('twas not all fancy), that her cheeks hadgrown thinner and her brow whiter within a few weeks. Lizzie proceededwith her toilet, although she was twice obliged to stop on account of"the ugly pain, " as she called it. "Hurry, sister, " said Lucy, "and you will feel better when you get tothe warm parlor. " Lizzie thought so, too, and she accelerated her movements as much aspossible. Just as she was leaving the room Lucy detained her a momentby passing her arm caressingly around her. Lizzie well knew that somefavor was wanted, and she said, "Well, what is it, Lucy? What do youwish me to give you?" "Nothing, nothing, " answered Lucy; "but do not say anything to fatherabout the pain in your side, for fear he will keep you at home, and, worse than all, make me stay, too. " Lizzie gave the required promise, and then descended to the breakfastparlor, where she found her grandmother, and was soon joined by hersister and father. After the usual salutation of the morning thelatter said "There is every prospect of our being alone to-day, forthe snow is at least a foot and a half deep, and is drifting everymoment. " "But, father, " said Lucy, "that will not prevent Lizzie and me fromgoing to the party to-night. " "You mean, if I choose to let you go, of course, " answered Mr. Dayton. "Why, " quickly returned Lucy, "you cannot think of keeping us at home. It is only distant a few rods, and we will wrap up well. " "I have no objections to your going, " replied Mr. Dayton, "providedyou dress suitably for such a night. " "Oh, father, " said Lucy, "you cannot be capricious enough to wish usto be bundled up in bags. " "I care but little what dress you wear, " answered Mr. Dayton, "if ithas what I consider necessary appendages, viz. , sleeves and waist. " The tears glittered in Lucy's bright eyes as she said, "Our partydresses are at Miss Carson's, and she is to send them home thismorning. " "Wear them, then, " answered Mr. Dayton, "provided they possess thequalities I spoke of, for without those you cannot go out on such anight as this will be. " Lucy knew that her dress was minus the sleeves, and that her fatherwould consider the waist a mere apology for one, so she burst intotears and said, rather angrily, "I had rather stay at home than gorigged out as you would like to have me. " "Very well; you can stay at home, " was Mr. Dayton's quiet reply. In a few moments he left the room, and then Lucy's wrath burst forthunrestrainedly. She called her father all sorts of names, such as "anold granny--an old fidget, " and finished up her list with what shethought the most odious appellation of all, "an old maid. " In the midst of her tirade the door bell rang. It was the boy fromMiss Carson's, and he brought the party dresses. Lucy's thoughts nowtook another channel, and while admiring her beautiful embroideredmuslin and rich white satin skirt, she forgot that she could not wearit. Grandma was certainly unfortunate in her choice of words, thismorning, for when Lucy for the twentieth time asked if her dress werenot a perfect beauty, the old Quakeress answered: "Why, it looks very decent, but it can do thee no good, for thy pa hassaid thee cannot wear it; besides, the holy writ reads, 'Let youradorning--'" Here Lucy stopped her ears, exclaiming, "I do believe, grandma, youwere manufactured from a chapter in the Bible, for you throw your holywrit into my face on all occasions. " The good lady adjusted her spectacles, and replied, "How thee talks! Inever thought of throwing my Bible at thee, Lucy!" Grandma had understood her literally. Nothing more was said of the party until dinner time, although therewas a determined look in Lucy's flashing eye, which puzzled Lizzie nota little. Owing to the storm, Mr. Dayton's country cousins did not, aswas their usual custom, come into town to dine with him, and for thisLucy was thankful, for she thought nothing could be more disagreeablethan to be compelled to sit all day and ask Cousin Peter how much hisfatting hogs weighed; or his wife, Elizabeth Betsey, how many teeththe baby had got; or, worse than all the rest, if the old maid, CousinBerintha, were present, to be obliged to be asked at least threetimes, whether it's twenty-four or twenty-five she'd be nextSeptember, and on saying it was only twenty-three, have her worddisputed and the family Bible brought in question. Even then MissBerintha would demur, until she had taken the Bible to the window, andsquinted to see if the year had not been scratched out and rewritten!Then closing the book with a profound sigh she would say, "I never, now! it beats all how much older you look!" All these annoyances Lucy was spared on this day, for neither CousinPeter, Elizabeth Betsey, or Miss Berintha made their appearance. Atthe dinner table Mr. Dayton remarked quietly to his daughters, "Ibelieve you have given up attending the party!" "Oh, no, father, " said Lucy, "we are going, Lizzie and I. " "And what about your dress?" asked Mr. Dayton. Lucy bit her lip as she replied, "Why, of course, we must dress tosuit you, or stay at home. " Lizzie looked quickly at her sister, as if asking how long since shehad come to this conclusion; but Lucy's face was calm and unruffled, betraying no secrets, although her tongue did when, after dinner, shefound herself alone with Lizzie in their dressing-room. A longconversation followed, in which Lucy seemed trying to persuade Lizzieto do something wrong. Possessed of the stronger mind, Lucy'sinfluence over her sister was great, and sometimes a bad one, butnever before had she proposed an open act of disobedience toward theirfather, and Lizzie constantly replied, "No, no, Lucy, I can't do it;besides, I really think I ought not to go, for that pain in my side isno better. " "Nonsense, Lizzie, " said Lucy. "If you are going to be as whimsicalas Miss Berintha you had better begin at once to dose yourself withburdock or catnip tea. " Then, again recurring to the dress, shecontinued, "Father did not say we must not wear them after we gotthere. I shall take mine, anyway, and I wish you would do the same;and then, if he ever knows it, he will not be as much displeased whenhe finds that you, too, are guilty. " After a time, Lizzie was persuaded, but her happiness for that day wasdestroyed, and when at tea-time her father asked if she felt quitewell, she could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. Lucy, however, came to her relief, and said she was feeling blue because Harry wouldnot be present! Just before the hour for the party Lucy descended tothe parlor, where her father was reading, in order, as she said, tolet him see whether her dress were fussy enough to suit him. Heapproved her taste, and after asking if Lizzie, too, were dressed inthe same manner, resumed his paper. Ere long the covered sleigh stoodat the door, and in a few moments Lucy and Lizzie were in AnnaGraham's dressing-room, undergoing the process of a second toilet. Nothing could be more beautiful than was Lucy Dayton, after partydress, bracelets, curls, and flowers had all been adjusted. Sheprobably thought so, too, for a smile of satisfaction curled her lipas she saw the radiant vision reflected by the mirror. Her bright eyeflashed, and her heart swelled with pride as she thought, "Yes, there's no help for it, I shall win him sure;" then turning to AnnaGraham, she asked, "Is that Mr. St. Leon to be here to-night?" "Yes, you know he is, " answered Anna, "and I pity him, for I see youare all equipped for an attack; but, " continued she, glancing atLizzie, "were not little Lizzie's heart so hedged up by brother Hal, Ishould say your chance was small. " Lucy looked at her sister, and a chill struck her heart as sheobserved a spasm of pain which for an instant contracted Lizzie'sfair, sweet face. Anna noticed it, too, and springing toward her, said, "What is it, Lizzie? are you ill?" "No, " answered Lizzie, laying her hand on her side; "nothing but asharp pain. It will soon be better;" but while she spoke her teethalmost chattered with the cold. Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie! For a short time, now, we will leave the young ladies in Miss Graham'sdressing-room, and transport our readers to another part of thevillage. CHAPTER III. ADA HARCOURT. In a small and neat, but scantily furnished chamber, a poor widow waspreparing her only child, Ada, for the party. The plain, white muslindress of two years old had been washed and ironed so carefully thatAda said it looked just as well as new; but then everything lookedwell on Ada Harcourt, who was highly gifted, both with intellect andbeauty. After her dress was arranged she went to the table for her oldwhite gloves, the cleaning of which had cost her much trouble, for hermother did not seem to be at all interested in them, so Ada did aswell as she could. As she was about to put them on her mother returnedfrom a drawer, into the recesses of which she had been diving, andfrom which she brought a paper carefully folded. "Here, Ada, " said she, "you need not wear those gloves; see here"--andshe held up a pair of handsome mitts, a fine linen handkerchief, and aneat little gold pin. "Oh, mother, mother!" said Ada joyfully, "where did you get them?" "I know, " answered Mrs. Harcourt, "and that is enough. " After a moment's thought Ada knew, too. The little hoard of money hermother had laid by for a warm winter shawl had been spent for her. From Ada's lustrous blue eyes the tears were dropping as, twining herarm around her mother's neck, she said, "Naughty, naughty mother!" butthere was a knock at the door. The sleigh which Anna Graham hadpromised to send for Ada had come; so dashing away her tears, andadjusting her new mitts and pin, she was soon warmly wrapped up, andon her way to Mr. Graham's. "In the name of the people, who is that?" said Lucy Dayton, as AnnaGraham entered the dressing-room, accompanied by a bundle of somethingsecurely shielded from the cold. The removal of the hood soon showed Lucy who it was, and with anexclamation of surprise she turned inquiringly to a young lady who wasstanding near. To her look the young lady replied, "A freak of Anna's, I suppose. She thinks a great deal of those Harcourts. " An impatient "pshaw!" burst from Lucy's lips, accompanied with thewords, "I wonder who she thinks wants to associate with thatplebeian!" The words, the look, and the tone caught Ada's eye and ear, andinstantly blighted her happiness. In the joy and surprise of receivingan invitation to the party it had never occurred to her that she mightbe slighted there, and she was not prepared for Lucy's unkind remark. For an instant the tears moistened her long silken eyelashes, and adeeper glow mantled her usually bright cheek; but this only increasedher beauty, which tended to increase Lucy's vexation. Lucy knew thatin her own circle there was none to dispute her claim; but she knew, too, that in a low-roofed house, in the outskirts of the town, theredwelt a poor sewing woman, whose only daughter was famed for herwondrous beauty. Lucy had frequently seen Ada in the streets, butnever before had she met her, and she now determined to treat her withthe utmost disdain. Not so was Lizzie affected by the presence of "the plebeian. " Mrs. Harcourt had done plain sewing for her father, and Lizzie hadfrequently called there for the work. In this way an acquaintance hadbeen commenced between herself and Ada which had ripened intofriendship. Lizzie, too, had heard the remark of her sister, and, anxious to atone as far as possible for the unkindness, she went up toAda, expressed her pleasure at seeing her there, and then, as theyoung ladies were about descending to the parlors, she offered herarm, saying, "I will accompany you down, but, I have no doubt scoresof beaus will quickly take you off my hands. " The parlors were nearly filled when our party reached them, and Adahalf-tremblingly clung to Lizzie's arm, while, with queen-like graceand dignity, Lucy Dayton moved through the crowded drawing-room. Herquick eye had scanned each gentleman, but her search was fruitless. _He_ was not there, and during the next half-hour she listened ratherimpatiently to the tide of flattery poured into her ear by some one ofher admirers. Suddenly there was a stir at the door, and Mr. St. Leonwas announced. He was a tall, fine-looking man, probably abouttwenty-five years of age. The expression of his face was remarkablypleasing, and such as would lead an entire stranger to trust him, surethat his confidence would not be misplaced. His manners were highlypolished, and in his dignified, self-possessed bearing, there wassomething which some called pride, but in all the wide world there wasnot a more generous heart than that of Hugh St. Leon. Lucy for a moment watched him narrowly, and then her feelings becameperfectly calm, for she felt sure that now, for the first time, shelooked upon her future husband! Ere long Anna Graham approached, accompanied by the gentleman, whom she introduced, and then turning, left them alone. Lucy would have given almost anything to have knownwhether St. Leon had requested an introduction, but no means ofinformation were at hand, so she bent all her energies to be asagreeable as possible to the handsome stranger at her side, who eachmoment seemed more and more pleased with her. Meantime, in another part of the room Lizzie and Ada were the centerof attraction. The same kindness which prompted Anna Graham to inviteAda was careful to see that she did not feel neglected. For thispurpose Anna's brother, Charlie, a youth of sixteen, had beeninstructed to pay her particular attention. This he was not unwillingto do, for he knew no reason why she should not be treated politely, even if she were a sewing woman's daughter. Others of the company, observing how attentive Charlie and Lizzie were to the beautiful girl, felt disposed to treat her graciously, so that to her the evening waspassing very happily. When St. Leon entered the room the hum of voices prevented Ada fromhearing his name; neither was she aware of his presence until he hadbeen full fifteen minutes conversing with Lucy. Then her attention wasdirected toward him by Lizzie. For a moment Ada gazed as ifspellbound; then a dizziness crept over her, and she nervously graspedthe little plain gold ring which encircled the third finger of herleft hand! Turning to Lizzie, who, fortunately, had not noticed her agitation, she said, "What did you say his name was?" "St. Leon, from New Orleans, " replied Lizzie. "Then I'm not mistaken, " Ada said inaudibly. At that moment Anna Graham approached, and whispered something to Ada, who gave a startled look, saying, "Oh, no, Miss Anna; you would nothave me make myself ridiculous. " "Certainly not, " answered Anna; "neither will you do so, for some ofyour songs you sing most beautifully. Do come; I wish to surprise myfriends. " Ada consented rather unwillingly, and Anna led her toward themusic-room, followed by a dozen or more, all of whom wondered what asewing woman's daughter knew about music. On their way to the pianothey passed near St. Leon and Lucy, the former of whom started as hiseye fell upon Ada. "I did not think there was another such face in the world, " said he, apparently to himself; then turning to Lucy, he asked who thatbeautiful girl was. "Which one?" asked Lucy; "there are many beauties here to-night. " "I mean the one with the white muslin, and dark auburn curls, " saidSt. Leon. Lucy's brow darkened but she answered, "That? oh, that is AdaHarcourt. Her mother is a poor sewing woman. I never met Ada before, and cannot conceive how she came to be here; but then the Grahams arepeculiar in their notions, and I suppose it was a whim of Anna's. " Without knowing it, St. Leon had advanced some steps toward the doorthrough which Ada had disappeared. Lucy followed him, vexed beyondmeasure that the despised Ada Harcourt should even have attracted hisattention. "Is she as accomplished as handsome?" asked he. "Why, of course not, " answered Lucy, with a forced laugh. "Poverty, ignorance, and vulgarity go together, usually, I believe. " St. Leon gave her a rapid, searching glance, in which disappointmentwas mingled, but before he could reply there was the sound of music. It was a sweet, bird-like voice which floated through the rooms, andthe song it sang was a favorite one of St. Leon's, who waspassionately fond of music. "Let us go nearer, " said he to Lucy, who, nothing loath, accompaniedhim, for she, too, was anxious to know who it was that thus chainedeach listener into silence. St. Leon at length got a sight of the singer, and said with evidentpleasure, "Why, it's Miss Harcourt!" "Miss Harcourt! Ada Harcourt!" exclaimed Lucy. "Impossible! Why, hermother daily toils for the bread they eat!" But if St. Leon heard her, he answered not. His senses were locked inthose strains of music which recalled memories of something, hescarcely knew what, and Lucy found herself standing alone, her heartswelling with anger toward Ada, who from that time was her hatedrival. The music ceased, but scores of voices were loud in their callfor another song; and again Ada sang, but this time there was in thetones of her voice a thrilling power, for which those who listenedcould not account. To Ada the atmosphere about her seemed charmed, for though she never for a moment raised her eyes, she well knew whoit was that leaned upon the piano and looked intently upon her. Againthe song was finished, and then at St. Leon's request he wasintroduced to the singer, who returned his salutation with perfectself-possession, although her heart beat quickly, as she hoped, yethalf-feared, that that he would recognize her. But he did not, and asthey passed together into the next room he wondered much why the handwhich lay upon his arm trembled so violently, while Ada said toherself, "'Tis not strange he doesn't know me by this name. " WhetherSt. Leon knew her or not, there seemed about her some strongattraction, which kept him at her side the remainder of the evening, greatly to Lucy Dayton's mortification and displeasure. "I'll be revenged on her yet, " she muttered. "The upstart! I wonderwhere she learned to play. " This last sentence was said aloud; and Lizzie, who was standing near, replied, "Her father was once wealthy and Ada had the best ofteachers. Since she has lived in S---- she has occasionally practisedon Anna's piano. " "I think I'd keep a piano for paupers to play on, " was Lucy'scontemptuous reply, uttered with no small degree of bitterness, for atthat moment St. Leon approached her with the object of her dislikeleaning upon his arm. Ada introduced Lizzie to St. Leon, who offered her his other arm, andthe three kept together until Lizzie, uttering a low, sharp cry ofpain leaned heavily as if for support against St. Leon. In an instantLucy was at her side; but to all her anxious inquiries Lizzie couldonly reply, as she clasped her thin, white hand over her side, "Thepain--the pain--take me home. " "Our sleigh has not yet come, " said Lucy. "Oh, what shall we do?" "Mine is here, and at your command, Miss Dayton, " said St. Leon. Lucy thanked him, and then proceeded to prepare Lizzie, who, chilledthrough and through by the exposure of her chest and arms, had bornethe racking pain in her side as long as possible, and now lay upon thesofa as helpless as an infant. When all was ready St. Leon lifted herin his arms, and bearing her to the sleigh, stepped lightly in withher, and took his seat. "It is hardly necessary for you to accompany us home, " said Lucy, overjoyed beyond measure, though, to find that he was going. "Allow me to be the judge, " answered St. Leon, and other than that, not a word was spoken until they reached Mr. Dayton's door. Then, carefully carrying Lizzie into the house, he was about to leave, whenLucy detained him to thank him for his kindness, adding that she hopedto see him again. "Certainly, I shall call to-morrow, " was his reply, as he sprang downthe steps, and entering his sleigh, was driven back to Mr. Graham's. He found the company about dispersing, and meeting Ada in the hall, asked to accompany her home. Ada's pride for a moment hesitated, andthen she answered in the affirmative. When St. Leon had seated her inhis sleigh he turned back, on pretext of looking for something, but inreality to ask Anna Graham where Ada lived, as he did not wish toquestion her on the subject. When they were nearly home St. Leon said, "Miss Harcourt, have youalways lived in S----?" "We have lived here but two years, " answered Ada; and St. Leoncontinued: "I cannot rid myself of the impression that somewhere I have met youbefore. " "Indeed, " said Ada, "when and where?" But his reply was prevented by the sleigh's stopping at Mrs. Harcourt's door. As St. Leon bade Ada good night he whispered, "Ishall see you again. " Ada made no answer, but going into the house where her mother waswaiting for her, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, mother, I've seenhim!--he was there!--he brought me home!" "Seen whom?" asked Mrs. Harcourt, alarmed at her daughter's agitation. "Why, Hugh St. Leon!" replied Ada. "St. Leon in town!" repeated Mrs. Harcourt, her eye lighting up withjoy. 'Twas only for a moment, however, for the remembrance of what she waswhen she knew St. Leon, and what she now was, recurred to her, and shesaid calmly, "I thought you had forgotten that childish fancy. " "Forgotten!" said Ada bitterly; and then as she recalled the unkindremark of Lucy Dayton she burst into a passionate fit of weeping. After a time Mrs. Harcourt succeeded in soothing her, and then drewfrom her all the particulars of the party, St Leon and all. When Adahad finished her mother kissed her fair cheek, saying, "I fancy St. Leon thinks as much of little Ada now as he did six years ago;" butAda could not think so, though that night, in dreams, she was againhappy in her old home in the distant city, while at her side was St. Leon, who even then was dreaming of a childish face which had hauntedhim six long years. CHAPTER IV. LUCY. We left Lizzie lying upon the sofa, where St. Leon had laid her. Afterhe was gone Lucy proposed calling their father and sending for aphysician, but Lizzie objected, saying she should be better when shegot warm. During the remainder of that night Lucy sat by her sister'sbedside, while each cry of pain which came from Lizzie's lips fellheavily upon her heart, for conscience accused her of being the causeof all this suffering. At length the weary night watches werefinished, but the morning light showed more distinctly Lizzie's whitebrow and burning cheeks. She had taken a severe cold, which hadsettled upon her lungs, and now she was paying the penalty of herfirst act of disobedience. Mr. Dayton had sent for the old family physician, who understoodLizzie's constitution perfectly. He shook his head as he said, "Howcame she by such a cold? Did she go to the party?" "Yes, sir, " replied Mr. Dayton. "And not half-dressed, I'll warrant, " said the gruff old doctor. Lucy turned pale as her father answered, quickly and truthfully as hethought, "No, sir, she was properly dressed. " Lizzie heard it, and though speaking was painful, she said, "Forgiveme, father, forgive me; I disobeyed you. I wore the dress you said Imust not wear!" An exclamation of surprise escaped Mr. Dayton, who, glancing at Lucy, read in her guilty face what Lizzie generously would not betray. "Oh, Lucy, Lucy, " said he, "how could you do so?" Lucy could only reply through her tears. She was sincerely sorry thatby her means Lizzie had been brought into danger; but when the doctorsaid that by careful management she might soon be better, all feelingsof regret vanished, and she again began to think of St. Leon and hispromise to call. A look at herself in the mirror showed her that shewas looking pale and jaded, and she half-hoped he would not come. However, as the day wore on she grew nervous as she thought hepossibly might be spending his time with the hated Ada. But he wasnot, and at about four o'clock there was a ring at the door. From anupper window Lucy saw St. Leon, and when Bridget came up for her, sheasked if the parlor was well darkened. "An' sure it's darker nor a pocket, " said Bridget, "an' he couldn'tsee a haporth was ye twice as sorry lookin'. " So bathing her face in cologne, in order to force a glow, Lucydescended to the parlor, which she found to be as dark as Bridget hadsaid it was. St. Leon received her very kindly, for the devotion shehad the night before shown for her sister had partiallycounterbalanced the spitefulness he had observed in her manner whenspeaking of Ada at the party. Notwithstanding Bridget's precautions, he saw, too, that she was pale and spiritless, but he attributed it toher anxiety for her sister, and this raised her in his estimation. Lucy divined his thoughts, and in her efforts to appear amiable andagreeable, a half-hour passed quickly away. At the end of that timeshe unfortunately asked, in a very sneering tone, "how long since hehad seen the sewing girl?" "If you mean Miss Harcourt, " said St. Leon coolly, "I've not seen hersince I left her last night at her mother's door. " "You must have been in danger of upsetting if you attempted to turnround in Mrs. Harcourt's spacious yard, " was Lucy's next remark. "I did not attempt it, " said St. Leon. "I carried Miss Ada in my armsfrom the street to the door. " The tone and manner were changed. Lucy knew it, and it exasperatedher to say something more, but she was prevented by St. Leon's risingto go. As Lucy accompanied him to the door she asked how long heintended to remain in S----. "I leave this evening, in the cars for New Haven, " said he. "This evening?" repeated Lucy in a disappointed tone, "and will younot return?" "Yes, if the business on which I go is successful, " answered St. Leon. "A lady in question, perchance, " remarked Lucy playfully. "You interpret the truth accurately, " said St. Leon, and with a cold, polite bow he was gone. "Why was he going to New Haven?" This was the thought which nowtortured Lucy. He had confessed that a lady was concerned in hisgoing, but who was she, and what was she to him? Anyway, there was acomfort in knowing that Ada Harcourt had nothing to do with it! Mistaken Lucy! Ada Harcourt had everything to do with it! CHAPTER V. UNCLE ISRAEL. The lamps were lighted in the cars, and on through the valley of theConnecticut the New Haven train was speeding its way. In one corner ofthe car sat St. Leon, closely wrapped in cloak and thoughts, thelatter of which occasionally suggested to him the possibility that hiswas a "Tomfool's" errand; "but then, " thought he, "no one will know itif I fail, and if I do not, it is worth the trouble. " When the train reached Hartford a number of passengers entered, allbound for New Haven. Among them was a comical-looking, middle-agedman, whom St. Leon instantly recognized as a person whom he had knownwhen in college in New Haven, and whom the students familiarly called"Uncle Israel. " The recognition was mutual, for Uncle Israel pridedhimself on never forgetting a person he had once seen. In a fewmoments St. Leon was overwhelming him with scores of questions, butUncle Israel was a genuine Yankee, and never felt happier than whenengaged in giving or guessing information. At length St. Leon asked, "Does Ada Linwood fulfil the promise ofbeauty which she gave as a child?" "Ada who?" said Uncle Israel. "Linwood, " repeated St. Leon, arguing from the jog in Uncle Israel'smemory that all was not right. "Do you mean the daughter of Harcourt Linwood, he that was said to beso rich?" "The same, " returned St. Leon. "Where are they?" Uncle Israel settled himself with the air of a man who has a longstory on hand, and intends to tell it at his leisure. Filling hismouth with an enormous quid of tobacco, he commenced: "Better thanfour years ago Linwood smashed up, smack and clean; lost everything hehad, and the rest had to be sold at vandue. But what was worse thanall, seein' he was a fine feller in the main, and I guess didn't meanto fail, he took sick, and in about a month died. " "And what became of his widow and orphan?" asked St. Leon eagerly. "Why, it wasn't nateral, " said Uncle Israel, "that they should keepthe same company they did before, and they's too plaguy stuck up tokeep any other; so they moved out of town and supported themselves bytakin' in sewin' or ironin', I forgot which. " "But where are they now?" asked St. Leon. Uncle Israel looked at him for a moment, and then replied, "The Lordknows, I suppose, but Israel don't. " "Did they suffer at all?" asked St. Leon. "Not as long as I stuck to them, but they sarved me real mean, "answered Uncle Israel. "In what way?" "Why, you see, " said Uncle Israel, "I don't know why, but somehow Inever thought of matrimony till I got a glimpse of Ada at her father'svandue. To be sure, I'd seen her before, but then she was mighty bigfeelin', and I couldn't ha' touched her with a hoe-handle, but now'twas different. I bought their house. I was rich and they was poor. " Involuntarily St. Leon clinched his fist, as Uncle Israel continued:"I seen to getting them a place in the country and then tended to 'emgenerally for more than six months, when I one day hinted to Mrs. Linwood that I would like to be her son-in-law. Christopher! how quickher back was up, and she gave me to understand that I was lookin' toohigh! 'Twas no go with Ada, and after awhile I proposed to the mother. Then you ought to seen her! She didn't exactly turn me out o' door butshe coolly told me I wasn't wanted there. But I stuck to her and keptkind o' offerin' myself, till at last they cut stick and cleared out, and I couldn't find them, high nor low. I bunted for more than a year, and at last found them in Hartford. Thinkin' maybe they had come to Iproposed again, and kept hangin' on till they gave me the slip again;and now I don't know where they be, but I guess they've changed theirname. " At this point the cars stopped until the upward train should passthem, and St. Leon, rising, bade his companion good evening, saying, "he had changed his mind and should return to Hartford on the othertrain. " CHAPTER VI. EXPLANATION. Six years prior to the commencement of our story New Haven boasted nota better or wealthier citizen than Harcourt Linwood, of whosesubsequent failure and death we have heard from Uncle Israel. Thegreat beauty of his only child, Ada, then a girl of nearly thirteen, was the subject of frequent comment among the circle in which hemoved. No pains were spared with her education, and many were theconjectures as to what she would be when time had matured her mind andbeauty. Hugh St. Leon, of New Orleans, then nineteen years of age, and astudent at Yale, had frequently met Ada at the house of his sister, Mrs. Durant, whose eldest daughter, Jenny, was about her own age. Theuncommon beauty of the child greatly interested the young Southernerand once, in speaking of his future prospects to his sister, heplayfully remarked, "Suppose I wait for Ada Linwood. " "You cannot do better, " was the reply, and the conversationterminated. The next evening there was to be a child's party at the house of Mrs. Durant, and as Hugh was leaving the house Jenny bounded after him, saying, "Oh, Uncle Hugh, you'll come to-morrow night, won't you? Nomatter if you are a grown-up man, in the junior class, trying to raisesome whiskers! You will be a sort of restraint, and keep us fromgetting too rude. Besides, we are going to have tableaux, and I wantyou to act the part of bridegroom in one of the scenes. " "Who is to be the bride?" asked Hugh. "Ada Linwood. Now I know you'll come, won't you?" "I'll see, " was Hugh's answer, as he walked away. Jenny well knew that "I'll see" meant "yes, " and tying on her bonnet, she hastened off to tell Ada that Uncle Hugh would be present, andwould act the part of bridegroom in the scene where she was to bebride. "What! that big man?" said Ada. "How funny!" Before seven the next evening Mrs. Durant's parlors were filled, forthe guests were not old enough or fashionable enough to delay makingtheir appearance until morning. Hugh was the last to arrive, for whichJenny scolded him soundly, saying they were all ready for tableaus. "But come, now, " said she, "and let me introduce you to the bride. " In ten minutes more the curtain rose, and Hugh St. Leon appeared withAda on his arm, standing before a gentleman in clerical robes, whoseemed performing the marriage ceremony. Placing a ring on Ada's thirdfinger, St. Leon, when the whole was finished, took advantage of hisnew relationship, and kissed the lips of the bride. Amid a storm ofapplause the curtain dropped, and as he led the blushing Ada away hebent down, and pointing to the ring, whispered, "Wear it until somefuture day, when, by replacing it, I shall make you really my littlewife. " The words were few and lightly spoken, but they touched the heart ofthe young Ada, awakening within her thoughts and feelings of which shenever before had dreamed. Frequently, after that, she met St. Leon, who sometimes teased her about being his wife; but when he saw howpainfully embarrassed she seemed on such occasions, he desisted. The next year he was graduated, and the same day on which he receivedthe highest honors of his class was long remembered with heartfeltsorrow, for ere the city clocks tolled the hour of midnight he stoodwith his orphaned niece, Jenny, weeping over the inanimate form of hissister, Mrs. Durant, who had died suddenly in a fit of apoplexy. Mr. Durant had been dead some years, and as Jenny had now no relatives inNew Haven, she accompanied her uncle to his Southern home. Long andpassionately she wept on Ada's bosom as she bade her farewell, promising never to forget her, but to write her three pages offoolscap every week. To do Jenny justice, we must say that thispromise was faithfully kept for a whole month, and then, withthousands of its sisterhood, it disappeared into the vale of brokenpromises and resolutions. She still wrote occasionally, and at the end of each epistle there wasalways a long postscript from Hugh, which Ada prized almost as much asshe did Jenny's whole letter; and when at last matters changed, theletter becoming Hugh's and the postscript Jenny's, she made noobjection, even if she felt any. At the time of her father's failureand death, a long unanswered letter was lying in her portfolio, whichwas entirely forgotten until weeks after, when, in the home whichUncle Israel so _disinterestedly_ helped them to procure, she and hermother were sewing for the food which they ate. Then a dozen times wasan answer commenced, blotted with tears, and finally destroyed, untilAda, burying her face in her mother's lap, sobbed out, "Oh, mother, Icannot do it. I cannot write to tell them how poor we are, for Iremember that Jenny was proud, and laughed at the schoolgirls whosefathers were not rich. " So the letter was never answered, and as St. Leon about that timestarted on a tour through Europe, he knew nothing of their change ofcircumstances. On his way home he had in Paris met with Harry Graham, who had been his classmate, and who now won from him a promise that onhis return to America he would visit his parents, in S----. He did so, and there, as we have seen, met with Ada Harcourt, whose face, voice, and manner reminded him so strangely of the Ada he had known yearsbefore, and whom he had never forgotten. As the reader will have supposed, the sewing-woman whose daughterLucy Dayton so heartily despised was none other than Mrs. Linwood, ofNew Haven, who had taken her husband's first name in order to avoidthe persecutions of Uncle Israel. The day following the party St. Leonspent in making inquiries concerning Mrs. Harcourt, and theinformation thus obtained determined him to start at once for NewHaven, in order to ascertain if his suspicions are correct. The result of his journey we already know. Still he resolved not tomake himself known immediately, but to wait until he satisfied himselfthat Ada was as good as beautiful. And then? A few more chapters will tell us what then. CHAPTER VII. A MANEUVER. The gray twilight of a cold December afternoon was creeping over thevillage of S----, when Ada Harcourt left her seat by the window, where, the livelong day, she had sat stitching till her heart was sickand her eyes were dim. On the faded calico lounge near the fire layMrs. Harcourt, who for several days had been unable to work on accountof a severe cold which seemed to have settled in her face and eyes. "There, " said Ada, as she brushed from her gingham apron the bits ofthread and shreds of cotton, "there, it is done at last, and nowbefore it is quite dark I will take it home. " "No, not to-night, " said Mrs. Harcourt; "to-morrow will do just aswell. " "But, mother, " answered Ada, "you know Mrs. Dayton always pays as soonas the work is delivered, and what I have finished will come to twodollars and a half, which will last a long time, and we shall not beobliged to take any from the sum laid by to pay our rent; besides, youhave had nothing nourishing for a long time; so let me go, and on myway home I will buy you something nice for supper. " Mrs. Harcourt said no more, but the tears fell from her aching eyes asshe thought how hard her daughter was obliged to labor, now that shewas unable to assist her. In a moment Ada was in the street. Thelittle alley in which she lived was soon traversed, and she aboutturning into Main Street, when rapid footsteps approached her, and St. Leon appeared at her side, saying, "Good evening, Miss Harcourt; allowme to relieve you of that bundle. " And before she could prevent it he took from her hands the package, while he continued, "May I ask how far you are walking to-night?" Ada hesitated a moment, but quickly forcing down her pride, sheanswered, "Only as far as Mr. Dayton's. I am carrying home some work. " "Indeed!" said he, "then I can have your company all the way, for I amgoing to inquire after Lizzie. " They soon reached their destination, and their ring at the door wasnot, as usual, answered by Bridget but by Lucy herself, whose sweetsmile, as she greeted St. Leon, changed into an angry scowl when sherecognized his companion. "Ada Harcourt!" said she, and Ada, blushing scarlet, began: "I havebrought--" but she was interrupted by St. Leon, who handed Lucy thebundle, saying: "Here is your work, Miss Dayton, and I hope it will suit you, for wetook a great deal of pains with it. " Lucy tried to smile as she took the work, and then opening the parlordoor she with one hand motioned St. Leon to enter, while with theother she held the hall door ajar, as if for Ada to depart. A teartrembled on Ada's long eyelashes, as she timidly asked; "Can I see your grandmother?" "Mrs. Dayton, I presume you mean, " said Lucy haughtily. Ada bowed and Lucy continued: "She is not at home just at present. " "Perhaps, then, you can pay me for the work, " said Ada. The scowl on Lucy's face grew darker as she replied, "I have nothingto do with grandma's hired help. Come to-morrow and she will be here. How horridly cold this open door makes the hall!" Ada thought of the empty cupboard at home, and of her pale, sickmother. Love for her conquered all other feeling, and in a chokingvoice she said, "Oh, Miss Dayton, if you will pay it you will confer agreat favor on me, for mother is sick, and we need it so much!" There was a movement in the parlor. St. Leon was approaching, and withan impatient gesture Lucy opened the opposite door, saying to Ada, "Come in here. " The tone was so angry that, under any other circumstances, Ada wouldhave gone away. Now, however, she entered, and Lucy, taking out herpurse, said, "How much is the sum about which you make so much fuss?" "Two dollars and a half, " answered Ada. "Two dollars and a half, " repeated Lucy, and then, as a tear fell fromAda's eye, she added contemptuously, "It is a small amount to cryabout. " Ada made no reply, and was about leaving the room when Lucy detainedher, by saying, "Pray, did you ask Mr. St. Leon to accompany you hereand bring your bundle?" "Miss Dayton, you know better--you know I did not, " answered Ada, asthe fire of insulted pride flashed from her dark blue eyes, whichbecame almost black, while her cheek grew pale as marble. Instantly Lucy's manner changed, and in a softened tone she said, "Iam glad to know that you did not; and now, as a friend, I warn youagainst receiving any marks of favor from St. Leon. " "What do you mean?" asked Ada, and Lucy continued: "You have sense enough to know that when a man of St. Leon's standingshows any preference for a girl in your circumstances it can be fromno good design. " "You judge him wrongfully--you do not know him, " said Ada; and Lucyanswered: "Pray, where did you learn so much about him?" Ada only answered by rising to go. "Here, this way, " said Lucy, and leading her through an enter passageto the back door, she added, "I do it to save your good name. St. Leon is undoubtedly waiting for you, and I would not trust my ownsister with him, were she a poor sewing girl!" The door was shut in Ada's face, and Lucy returned to the parlor, where she found her father entertaining her visitor. Seating herselfon a crimson ottoman, she prepared to do the agreeable, when St. Leon, rising, said, "Excuse my short call, for I must be going. Where haveyou left Miss Harcourt?" "I left her at the door, " answered Lucy, "and she is probably halfwayto 'Dirt Alley' by this time, so do not be in haste. " But he was in haste, for when he looked on the fast-gathering darknesswithout, and thought of the by streets and lonely alleys through whichAda must pass on her way home, he felt uneasy, and biding Miss Daytongood night, he hurried away. Meantime, Ada had procured the articles she wished for, and proceededhome, with a heart which would have been light as a bird had not theremembrance of Lucy's insulting language rung in her ears. Mrs. Harcourt saw that all was not right, but she forbore making anyinquiries until supper was over. Then Ada, bringing a stool to hermother's side, and laying her head on her lap, told everything whichhad transpired between herself, St. Leon, and Lucy. Scarcely was her story finished when there was a rap at the door, andSt. Leon himself entered the room. He had failed in overtaking Ada, and anxious to know of her safe return, had determined to call. Therecognition between himself and Mrs. Harcourt was mutual, but forreasons of their own, neither chose to make it apparent, and Adaintroduced him to her mother as she would have done any stranger. St. Leon possessed in an unusual degree the art of making himselfagreeable, and in the animated conversation which ensued Mrs. Harcourtforgot that she was poor--forgot her aching eyes; while Ada forgoteverything save that St, Leon was present, and that she was againlistening to his voice, which charmed her now even more than in theolden time. During the evening St. Leon managed in various ways to draw Ada out onall the prominent topics of the day, and he felt pleased to find thatamid all her poverty she did not neglect the cultivation of her mind. A part of each day was devoted to study, which Mrs. Harcourt, who wasa fine scholar, superintended. It was fast merging toward the hour when phantoms walk abroad ere St. Leon remembered that he must go. As he was leaving he said to Ada, "Ihave a niece, Jenny, about your age, whom I think you would like verymuch. " Oh, how Ada longed to ask for her old playmate, but a look from hermother kept her silent, and in a moment St. Leon was gone. CHAPTER VIII. COUSIN BERINTHA AND LUCY'S PARTY. Cousin Berintha, whom Lucy Dayton so much disliked and dreaded, was acousin of Mr. Dayton, and was a prim, matter-of-fact maiden of fifty, or thereabout. That she was still in a state of single blessedness waspartially her own fault, for at twenty she was engaged to the son of awealthy farmer who lived near her father. But, alas! ere the weddingday arrived, there came to the neighborhood a young lady from Boston, in whose presence the beauty of the country girl grew dim, as do thestars in the rays of the morning sun. Berintha had a plain face, but a strong heart, and when she saw thatAmy Holbrook was preferred, with steady hand and unflinching nerve, she wrote to her recreant lover that he was free. And now Amy, to whomthe false knight turned, took it into her capricious head that shewould not marry a farmer--she had always fancied a physician; and ifyoung B---- would win her, he must first secure the title of M. D. Hecomplied with her request, and one week from the day on which hereceived his diploma Berintha read, with a slightly blanched cheek, the notice of his marriage with the Boston beauty. Three years fromthat day she read the announcement of Amy's death, and in two yearsmore she refused the doctor's offer to give her a home by his lonelyfireside, and a place in his widowed heart. All this had the effect ofmaking Berintha rather cross, but she seldom manifested her spitetoward any one except Lucy, whom she seemed to take peculiar delightin teasing, and whose treatment of herself was not such as wouldwarrant much kindness in return. Lizzie she had always loved, and when Harry Graham went away it wason Berintha's lap that the young girl sobbed out her grief, wondering, when with her tears Berintha's were mingled, how one apparently socold and passionless could sympathize with her. To no one had Berinthaever confided the story of her early love. Mr. Dayton was a schoolboythen, and as but little was said of it at the time, it faded entirelyfrom memory; and when Lucy called her a "crabbed old maid, " she knewnot of the disappointment which had clouded every joy and imbittered awhole lifetime. At the first intelligence of Lizzie's illness Berintha came, andthough her prescriptions of every kind of herb tea in the known worldwere rather numerous, and her doses of the same were rather large, andthough her stiff cap, sharp nose, and curious little eyes, which saweverything, were exceedingly annoying to Lucy, she proved herself aninvaluable nurse, warming up old Dr. Benton's heart into a glow ofadmiration of her wonderful skill! Hour after hour she sat by Lizzie, bathing her burning brow, or smoothing her tumbled pillow. Night afternight she kept her tireless watch, treading softly around thesick-room, and lowering her loud, harsh voice to a whisper, lest sheshould disturb the uneasy slumbers of the sick girl, who, under herskilful nursing, gradually grew better. "Was there ever such a dear, good cousin, " said Lizzie, one day, whena nervous headache had been coaxed away by what Berintha called her"mesmeric passes;" and "Was there ever such a horrid bore, " said Lucy, on the same day, when Cousin Berintha "thought she saw a white hair inLucy's raven curls!" adding, by way of consolation, "It wouldn't beanything strange, for I began to grow gray before I was as old asyou. " "And that accounts tor your head being just the color of wool, "angrily retorted Lucy, little dreaming of the bitter tears andsleepless nights which had early blanched her cousin's hair to itspresent whiteness. For several winters Lucy had been in the habit of giving a largeparty, and as she had heard that St. Leon was soon going South, shefelt anxious to have it take place ere he left town. But what shouldshe do with Berintha, who showed no indications of leaving, thoughLizzie was much better? "I declare, " said she to herself, "that woman is enough to worry thelife out of me. I'll speak to Liz about it this very day. " Accordingly, that afternoon, when alone with her sister, she said, "Lizzie, is it absolutely necessary that Berintha should stay here anylonger, to tuck you up, and feed you sage tea through a straw?" Lizzie looked inquiringly at her sister, who continued: "To tell youthe truth, I'm tired of having her around, and must manage some way toget rid of her before next week, for I mean to have a party Thursdaynight. " Lizzie's eyes now opened in astonishment, as she exclaimed, "A party!oh, Lucy, wait until I get well. " "You'll be able by that time to come down-stairs in your crimsonmorning-gown, which becomes you so well, " answered Lucy. "But father's away, " rejoined Lizzie; to which Lucy replied: "So much the better, for now I shan't be obliged to ask any oldthings. I told him I meant to have it while he was gone, for you knowhe hates parties. But what shall I do with Berintha?" "Why, what possible harm can she do?" asked Lizzie. "She would enjoyit very much, I know; for in spite of her oddities, she likessociety. " "Well, suppose she does; nobody wants her round, prating about whitehairs and mercy knows what. Come, you tell her you don't need herservices any longer--that's a good girl. " There was a look of mischief in Lizzie's eye, and a merry smile on herlip, as she said, "Why, don't you know that father has invited her tospend the winter, and she has accepted the invitation?" "Invited her to spend the winter!" repeated Lucy, while the tearsglittered in her bright eyes. "What does he mean?" "Why, " answered Lizzie, "it is very lonely at Cousin John's, and hiswife makes more of a servant of Berintha than she does a companion, sofather, out of pity, asked her to stay with us, and she showed hergood taste by accepting. " "I'll hang myself in the woodshed before spring--see if I don't!" andburying her face in her hands, Lucy wept aloud, while Lizzie, lyingback upon her pillow, laughed immoderately at her sister's distress. "There's a good deal to laugh at, I think, " said Lucy, more angrilythan she usually addressed her sister. "If you have any pity, dodevise some means of getting rid of her, for a time, at least. " "Well, then, " answered Lizzie, "she wants to go home for a few days, in order to make some necessary preparations for staying with us, andperhaps you can coax her to go now, though I for one would like tohave her stay. Everybody knows she is your cousin, and no one willthink less of you for having her here. " "But I won't do it, " said Lucy, "and that settles it. Your plan is agood one, and I'll get her off--see if I don't!" The next day, which was Saturday, Lucy was unusually kind to hercousin, giving her a collar, offering to fix her cap, and doingnumerous other little things, which greatly astonished Berintha. Atlast, when dinner was over, she said, "Come, cousin, what do you sayto a sleigh ride this afternoon? I haven't been down to ElizabethBetsey's in a good while, so suppose we go to-day. " Berintha was taken by surprise, but after a moment she said just whatLucy hoped she would say, viz. , that she was wanting to go home for afew days, and if Lizzie were only well enough, she would go now. "Oh, she is a great deal better, " said Lucy, "and you can leave her aswell as not. Dr. Benton says I am almost as good a nurse as you and Iwill take good care of her--besides, I really think you need rest; sogo, if you wish to, and next Saturday I will come round after you. " Accordingly, Berintha, who suspected nothing, was coaxed into goinghome, and when at three o'clock the sleigh was said to be ready, shekissed Lizzie good-by, and taking her seat by the side of Lucy, wasdriven rapidly toward her brother's house. * * * * * "There! haven't I managed it capitally!" exclaimed Lucy, as shereentered her sister's room after her ride; "but the bother of it is, I've promised to go round next Saturday, and bring not only Berintha, but Elizabeth Betsey, and her twins! Won't it be horrible! However, the party'll be over, so I don't care. " Cousin Berintha being gone, there was no longer any reason why theparty should be kept a secret, and before nightfall every servant inthe house was discussing it, Bridget saying: "Faith, an' I thought itwas mighty good she was gettin' with that woman. " Mrs. Dayton was highly indignant at the trick which she plainly sawhad been put upon Berintha, but Lucy only replied, "that she wished itwere as easy a matter to get rid of grandma!" On Monday cards of invitation to the number of one hundred and fiftywere issued, and when Lizzie, in looking them over, asked why AdaHarcourt was left out, Lucy replied, that "she guessed she wasn'tgoing to insult her guests by inviting a sewing girl with them. AnnaGraham could do so, but nobody was going to imitate her. " "Invite her, then, for my sake, and in my name, " pleaded Lizzie, butLucy only replied: "I shall do no such thing;" and thus the matter was settled. Amid the hurry and preparation for the party, days glided rapidlyaway, and Thursday morning came, bright, beautiful, and balmy, almost, as an autumnal day. "Isn't this delightful!" said Lucy, as she stepped out upon thepiazza, and felt the warm southern breeze upon her cheek. "It's awonder, though, " she continued, "that Madam Nature didn't conjure upan awful storm for my benefit, as she usually does!" Before night she had occasion to change her mind concerning the day. Dinner was over, and she in Lizzie's room was combing out her longcurls, and trying the effect of wearing them entirely behind her ears. Suddenly there was the sound of sleigh bells, which came nearer, untilthey stopped before the door. Lucy flew to the window, and in tones ofintense anger and surprise, exclaimed, "Now, heaven defend us! here isCousin John's old lumber sleigh and rackabone horse, with Berintha anda hair trunk, a red trunk, two bandboxes, a carpet-bag, a box full ofherbs, and a pillowcase full of stockings. What does it all mean?" She soon found out what it all meant, for Berintha entered the room inhigh spirits. Kissing Lizzie, she next advanced toward Lucy, saying, "You didn't expect me, I know; but this morning was so warm andthawing that John said he knew the sleighing would all be gone bySaturday, so I concluded to come to-day. " Lucy was too angry to reply, and rushing from the room, she closed thedoor after her, with a force which fairly made the windows rattle. Berintha looked inquiringly at Lizzie, who felt inadequate to anexplanation; so Berintha knew nothing of the matter until shedescended to the kitchen, and there learned the whole. Now, if Lucyhad treated her cousin politely and good-naturedly, she would havesaved herself much annoyance, but on the contrary, she told her thatshe was neither expected nor wanted there; that parties were neverintended for "such old things;" and that now she was there, she hopedshe would stay in her own room, unless she should happen to be wantedto wait on the table! This speech, of course, exasperated Berintha, but she made no reply, although there was on her face a look of quiet determination, whichLucy mistook for tacit acquiescence in her proposal. Five--six--seven--eight--struck the little brass clock, and no one hadcome except old Dr. Benton, who, being a widower and an intimatefriend of the family, was invited, as Lucy said, for the purpose ofbeauing grandma! Lizzie, in crimson double-gown, and soft, warm shawl, was reclining on the sofa in the parlor, the old doctor mutteringabout carelessness, heated rooms, late hours, etc. Grandma, in richblack silk and plain Quaker cap, was hovering near her favorite child, asking continually if she were too hot, or too cold or too tired, while Lucy, in white muslin dress and flowing curls, flitted hitherand thither, fretting at the servants, or ordering grandma, andoccasionally tapping her sister's pale cheek, to see if she could notcoax some color into it. "You'll live to see it whiter still, " said the doctor, who wasindignant at finding his patient down-stairs. And where all this time was Berintha? The doctor asked this question, and Lucy asked this question, while Lizzie replied, that "she was inher room. " "And I hope to goodness she'll stay there, " said Lucy. Dr. Benton's gray eyes fastened upon the amiable young lady, who, byway of explanation, proceeded to relate her maneuvers for keeping "theold maid" from the party. We believe we have omitted to say that Lucy had some well-foundedhopes of being one day, together with her sister, heiress of Dr. Benton's property, which was considerable. He was a widower, and hadno relatives. He was also very intimate with Mr. Dayton's family, always evincing a great partiality for Lucy and Lizzie, and had morethan once hinted at the probable disposal of his wealth. Of courseLucy, in his presence, was all amiability, and though he was usuallyvery far-sighted, he but partially understood her real character. Something, however, in her remarks concerning Berintha displeased him. Lucy saw it, but before she had time for any thought on the subjectthe door-bell rang, and a dozen or more of guests entered. The parlors now began to fill rapidly. Ere long St. Leon came, andafter paying his compliments to Lucy, he took his station between herand the sofa, on which Lizzie sat. So delighted was Lucy to have himthus near that she forgot Berintha, until that lady herself appearedin the room, bowing to those she knew, and seating herself on thesofa, very near St. Leon. The angry blood rushed in torrents to Lucy'sface, and St. Leon, who saw something was wrong, endeavored to diverther mind by asking her various questions. At last he said, "I do not see Miss Harcourt. Where is she?" "She is not expected, " answered Lucy carelessly. "Ah!" said St. Leon; and Berintha, touching his arm, rejoined: "Of course you could not think Ada Harcourt would be invited here!" "Indeed! Why not?" asked St. Leon, and Berintha continued: "To be sure, Ada is handsome, and Ada is accomplished, but then Ada ispoor, and consequently can't come!" "But I see no reason why poverty should debar her from good society, "said St. Leon; and Berintha, with an exultant glance at Lucy, who, ifpossible, would have paralyzed her tongue, replied: "Why, if Ada were present, she might rival somebody in somebody's goodopinion. Wasn't that what you said, Cousin Lucy? Please correct me, ifI get wrong. " Lucy frowned angrily, but made no reply, for Berintha had quoted hervery words. After a moment's pause she proceeded: "Yes, Ada is poor;so though she can come to the front door with a gentleman, she cannotgo out that way, but must be led to a side door or back door; whichwas it, Cousin Lucy?" "I don't know what you are talking about, " answered Lucy; andBerintha, in evident surprise, exclaimed: "Why, don't you remember when Ada came here with a gentleman--let mesee, who was it?--well, no matter who 'twas--she came with agentleman--he was ushered into the parlor, while you took her into aside room, then into a side passage, and out at the side door, kindlytelling her to beware of the gentleman in the parlor, who could wantnothing good of sewing girls!" "You are very entertaining to-night, " said Lucy; to which Berinthareplied: "You did not think I could be so agreeable, did you, when you asked meto keep out of sight this evening, and said that such old fudges asgrandma and I would appear much better in our rooms, taking snuff, andnodding at each other over our knitting work?" Lucy looked so distressed that Lizzie pitied her, and touchingBerintha she said, "Please don't talk any more. " At that moment supper was announced, and after it was over St. Leondeparted, notwithstanding Lucy's urgent request that he would remainlonger. As the street door closed after him she felt that she wouldgladly have seen every other guest depart also. A moody fit came on, and the party would have been voted a failure had it not been for thetimely interference of Dr. Benton and Berintha. Together they soughtout any who seemed neglected, entertaining them to the best of theirability, and leaving with every one the impression that they were thebest-natured couple in the world. At eleven o'clock, Lizzie, weariedout, repaired to her chamber. Her departure was the signal for others, and before one o'clock the last good night was said, the doors locked, the silver gathered up, the tired servants dismissed, and Lucy, in hersister's room, was giving vent to her wrath against Berintha, theparty, St. Leon, and all. Scolding, however, could do her no good, and ere long, throwingherself undressed upon a lounge she fell asleep, and dreamed thatgrandma was married to the doctor, that Berintha had become herstepmother, and, worse than all, that Ada Harcourt was Mrs. St. Leon. CHAPTER IX. A WEDDING AT ST. LUKE'S. The day but one following the party, as Lucy was doing some shoppingdown street she stepped for a moment into her dressmaker's, MissCarson's, where she found three or four of her companions, all eagerlydiscussing what seemed to be quite an interesting topic. As Lucyentered, one of them turning toward her said; "Oh, isn't it strange?Or haven't you heard?" "Heard what?" asked Lucy; and her companion replied: "Why, Ada Harcourt is going to be married. Miss Carson is making herthe most beautiful traveling dress, with silk hat to match--" "Besides three or four elegant silk dresses, " chimed in another. "And the most charming morning-gown you ever saw--apple green, anddark green, striped--and lined with pink silk, " rejoined a third. By this time Lucy had sunk into the nearest chair. The truth hadflashed upon her, as it probably has upon you; but as she did not wishto betray her real emotions she forced a little bitter laugh, andsaid, "St. Leon, I suppose, is the bridegroom. " "Yes; who told you?" asked her companion. "Oh, I've seen it all along, " answered Lucy carelessly. "He calledwith her once at our house!" "But you didn't invite her to your party, " said mischievous BessieLee, who loved dearly to tease Lucy Dayton. "You didn't invite her toyour party, and so he left early, and I dare say went straight to Mrs. Harcourt's and proposed, if he hadn't done so before. Now, don't youwish you'd been more polite to Ada? They say he's got a cousin South, as rich and handsome as he is, and if you'd only behaved as youshould, who knows what might have happened!" Lucy deigned Bessie no reply, and turning to another young lady, asked, "When is the wedding to be?" "Next Thursday morning, in the church, " was the answer; and Bessie Leeagain interposed, saying, "Come, Lucy, I don't believe you have everreturned Ada's call, and as I am going to see her, and inquire allabout that Cousin Frank, suppose you accompany me, and learn theparticulars of the wedding. " "Thank you, " said Lucy; "I don't care enough about it to take thattrouble;" and soon rising she left the shop. If Lucy manifested so much indifference, we wot of some bright eyesand eager ears which are willing to know the particulars, so we willgive them as follows: When St. Leon left Mr. Dayton's it was teno'clock, but notwithstanding the lateness of the hour he started forthe small brown house on "Dirt Alley, " where dwelt the sewing womanand her daughter, who were both busy on some work which they wished tofinish that night. Ada had stopped for a moment to replenish the firewhen a knock at the door startled her. Opening it she saw St. Leon, and in much surprise said, "Why, I supposed you were at the party. " "So I have been, " said he; "but I grew weary, and left for a morecongenial atmosphere;" then advancing toward Mrs. Harcourt, he tookher hand, saying, "Mrs. Linwood, allow me to address you by your rightname this evening. " We draw a veil over the explanation which followed--over thefifty-nine questions asked by Ada concerning Jenny--and over the _one_question asked by St. Leon, the answer to which resulted in thepurchase of all those dresses at Miss Carson's and the well-foundedrumor that on Thursday morning a wedding would take place at St. Luke's church. Poor Lucy! how disconsolate she felt! St. Leon was passing from hergrasp, and there was no help. On her way home she three times heard ofthe wedding, and of Ada's real name and former position in life, andeach time her wrath waxed warmer and warmer. Fortunate was it forBerintha and grandma that neither made her appearance until tea-time, for Lucy was in just the state when an explosive storm would surelyhave followed any remark addressed to her! The next day was the Sabbath, and as Lucy entered the church, thefirst object which met her eye was St. Leon, seated in the sewingwoman's pew, and Ada _tolerably_ though not _very_ near him! "Howdisgusting!" she hissed between her teeth, as she entered her ownrichly-cushioned seat, and opened her velvet-bound prayer book. Precious little of the sermon heard she that day, for, turn which wayshe would, she still saw in fancy the sweet young face of her rival;and it took but a slight stretch of imagination to bring to view acostly house in the far-off "Sunny South, " a troop of servants, ahandsome, noble husband, and the hated Ada the happy mistress of themall! Before church was out Lucy was really sick, and when at home inher room she did not refuse the bowl of herb tea which Berintha kindlybrought her, saying "it had cured her when she felt just so. " The morning of the wedding came, and though Lucy had determined not tobe present, yet as the hour approached she felt how utterly impossibleit would be for her to stay away; and when at half-past eight thedoors were opened she was among the first who entered the church, which in a short time was filled. Nine rang from the old clock in thebelfry, and then up the broad aisle came the bridal party, consistingof Mr. And Mrs. Graham, Charlie and Anna, Mrs. Harcourt, or Mrs. Linwood as we must now call her, St. Leon and Ada. "Was there ever a more beautiful bride?" whispered Bessie Lee; butLucy made no answer, and as soon as the ceremony was concluded shehurried home, feeling almost in need of some more catnip tea! In the eleven o'clock train St. Leon with his bride and her motherstarted for New Haven, where they spent a delightful week, and thenreturned to S----. A few days were passed at the house of Mr. Graham, and then they departed for their southern home. As we shall not againhave occasion to speak of them in this story we will here say that thefollowing summer they came North, together with Jenny and CousinFrank, the latter of whom was so much pleased with the rosy cheeks, laughing eyes, and playful manners of Bessie Lee that when he returnedhome he coaxed her to accompany him; and again was there a wedding inSt. Luke's, and again did Miss Carson make the bridal outfit, wishingthat all New Orleans gentlemen would come to S---- for their wives. CHAPTER X. A SURPRISE. "Reuben, " said Grandma Dayton to her son one evening after she hadlistened to the reading of a political article for which she did notcare one fig, "Reuben, does thee suppose Dr. Benton makes a chargeevery time he calls?" "I don't know, " said Mr. Dayton; "what made you ask that question?" "Because, " answered grandma--and her knitting needles rattled loudenough to be heard in the next room--"because, I think he calls mightyoften, considering that Lizzie neither gets better nor worse; and Ithink, too, that he and Berintha have a good many private talks!" The paper dropped from Mr. Dayton's hand, and "What can you mean?"dropped from his lips. "Why, " resumed grandma, "every time he comes he manages to seeBerintha alone; and hain't thee noticed that she has colored her hairlately, and left off caps?" "Yes; and she looks fifteen years younger for it; but what of that?" Grandma, whose remarks had all been preparatory to the mighty secretshe was about to divulge, coughed, and then informed her son thatBerintha was going to be married, and wished to have the weddingthere. "Berintha and the doctor! Good!" exclaimed Mr. Dayton. "To be sure, I'll give her a wedding, and a wedding dress, too. " Here grandma left the room, and after reporting her success toBerintha, she sought her granddaughters, and communicated to them theexpected event. When Lucy learned of her cousin's intended marriageshe was nearly as much surprised and provoked as she had been whenfirst she heard of Ada's. Turning to Lizzie she said, "It's too bad! for of course we shall haveto give up all hopes of the doctor's money. " "And perhaps thee'll be the only old maid in the family, after all, "suggested grandma, who knew Lucy's weak point, and sometimes loved totouch it. "And if I am, " retorted Lucy angrily, "I hope I shall have senseenough to mind my own business, and not interfere with that of mygrandchildren!" Grandma made no answer, but secretly she felt some conscientiousscruples with regard to Lucy's grandchildren! As for Berintha sheseemed entirely changed, and flitted about the house in a manner whichcaused Lucy to call her "an old fool, trying to ape sixteen. " With achange of feelings her personal appearance also changed, and when sheone day returned from the dentist's with an entire set of new teeth, and came down to tea in a dark, fashionably-made merino, themetamorphose was complete, and grandma declared that she looked betterthan she ever had before in her life. The doctor, too, was improved, and though he did not color his hair, he ordered six new shirts, a newcoat, a new horse and a pair of gold spectacles! After a due lapse of time the appointed day came, and with it, at anearly hour, came Cousin John and Elizabeth Betsey, bringing with themthe few herbs which Berintha, at the time of her removal, hadoverlooked. These Bridget demurely proposed should be given to MissLucy, "who of late was much given to drinking catnip. " Perfectlyindignant, Lucy threw the herbs, bag and all, into the fire, therebyfilling the house with an odor which made the asthmatic old doctorwheeze and blow wonderfully during the evening. A few of the villagers were invited, and when all was ready Mr. Daytonbrought down in his arms his white-faced Lizzie, who imperceptiblyhad grown paler and weaker every day, while those who looked at her asshe reclined upon the sofa, sighed, and thought of a differentoccasion when they probably would assemble there. For once Lucy wasvery amiable, and with the utmost politeness and good nature waitedupon the guests. There was a softened light in her eye, and aheightened bloom on her cheek, occasioned by a story which Berintha, two hours before, had told her, of a heart all crushed in its youth, and aching on through long years of loneliness, but which was about tobe made happy by a union with the only object it had ever loved! Doyou start and wonder? Have you not guessed that Dr. Benton, who thatnight for the second time breathed the marriage vow, was the same who, years before, won the girlish love of Berintha Dayton, and then turnedfrom her to the more beautiful Amy Holbrook, finding, too late, thatall is not gold that glitters? It is even so, and could you have seenhow tightly he clasped the hand of his new wife, and how fondly hiseye rested upon her, you would have said that, however long hisaffections might have wandered, they had at last returned to her, hisfirst, best love. CHAPTER XI. LIZZIE. Gathered 'round a narrow coffin, Stand a mourning, funeral train, While for her, redeemed thus early, Tears are falling now like rain. Hopes are crushed and hearts are bleeding; Drear the fireside now, and alone; She, the best loved and the dearest, Far away to heaven hath flown. Long, long, will they miss thee, Lizzie, Long, long days for thee they'll weep; And through many nights of sorrow Memory will her vigils keep. In the chapter just finished we casually mentioned that Lizzie, instead of growing stronger, had drooped day by day, until to all savethe fond hearts which watched her, she seemed surely passing away. Butthey to whom her presence was as sunlight to the flowers, shut theireyes to the dreadful truth, refusing to believe that she was leavingthem. Oftentimes during the long winter nights would Mr. Dayton stealsoftly to her chamber, and kneeling by her bedside gaze in muteanguish upon the wasted face of his darling. And when from hertransparent brow and marble cheek he wiped the deadly night sweats, achill, colder far than the chill of death, crept over his heart, andburying his face in his hands he would cry, "Oh, Father, let this cuppass from me!" As spring approached she seemed better, and the father's heart grewstronger, and Lucy's step was lighter, and grandma's words morecheerful, as hope whispered, "she will live. " But when the snow wasmelted from off the hillside, and over the earth the warm spring sunwas shining, when the buds began to swell and the trees to put forththeir young leaves, there came over her a change so fearful that withone bitter cry of sorrow hope fled forever; and again, in the lonelynight season, the weeping father knelt and asked for strength to bearit when his best-loved child was gone. "Poor Harry!" said Lizzie one day to Anna, who was sitting by her, "Poor Harry, if I could see him again; but I never shall. " "Perhaps you will, " answered Anna. "I wrote, to him three weeks ago, telling him to come quickly. " "Then he will, " said Lizzie, "but if I should be dead when he comes, tell him how I loved him to the last, and that the thought of leavinghim was the sharpest pang I suffered. " There were tears in Anna's eyes as she kissed the cheek of the sickgirl, and promised to do her bidding. After a moment's pause Lizzieadded, "I am afraid Harry is not a Christian, and you must promise notto leave him until he has a well-founded hope that again in heaven Ishall see him. " Anna promised all, and then as Lizzie seemed exhausted she left herand returned home. One week from that day she stood once more inLizzie's sick-room, listening for the last time to the tones of thedying girl as she bade her friends adieu. Convulsed with grief Lucyknelt by the bedside, pressing to her lips one little clammy hand, andaccusing herself of destroying her sister's life. In the furthestcorner of the room sat Mr. Dayton. He could not stand by and seestealing over his daughter's face the dark shadow which falls but onceon all. He could not look upon her when over her soft brown eyes thewhite lids closed forever. Like a naked branch in the autumn wind hiswhole frame shook with agony, and though each fiber of grandma's heartwas throbbing with anguish, yet for the sake of her son she strove tobe calm, and soothed him as she would a little child. Berintha, too, was there, and while her tears were dropping fast, she supportedLizzie in her arms, pushing back from her pale brow the soft curlswhich, damp with the moisture of death, lay in thick rings upon herforehead. "Has Harry come?" said Lizzie. The answer was in the negative, and a moan of disappointment came fromher lips. Again she spoke: "Give him my Bible--and my curls--when I am dead letLucy arrange them--she knows how; then cut them off, and the best, thelongest, the brightest is for Harry; the others for you all. Andtell--tell--tell him to meet--me in heaven--where I'm--going--going. " A stifled shriek from Lucy, as she fell back fainting, told that withthe last word, "going, " Lizzie had gone to heaven! An hour after the tolling bell arrested the attention of many, and ofthe few who asked for whom it tolled nearly all involuntarily sighedand said, "Poor Harry! Died before he came home!" * * * * * It was the night before the burial, and in the back parlor stood anarrow coffin containing all that was mortal of Lizzie Dayton. In thefront parlor Bridget and another domestic kept watch over the body oftheir young mistress. Twelve o'clock rang from the belfry of St. Luke's church, and then the midnight silence was broken by the shrillscream of the locomotive as the eastern train thundered into thedepot. But the senses of the Irish girls were too profoundly locked insleep to heed that common sound; neither did they hear the outer door, which by accident had been left unlocked, swing softly open, nor sawthey the tall figure which passed by them into the next room--the roomwhere stood the coffin. Suddenly through the house there echoed a cry, so long, so loud, sodespairing, that every sleeper started from their rest, and hurriedwith nervous haste to the parlor, where they saw Harry Graham, bendingin wild agony over the body of his darling Lizzie, who never beforehad turned a deaf ear to his impassioned words of endearment. He hadreceived his sister's letter, and started immediately for home, butowing to some delay did not reach there in time to see her alive. Anxious to know the worst, he had not stopped at his father's house, but seeing a light in Mr. Dayton's parlors, hastened thither. Findingthe door unlocked, he entered, and on seeing the two servant girlsasleep, his heart beat quickly with apprehension. Still he wasunprepared for the shock which awaited him, when on the coffin and herwho slept within it his eye first rested. He did not faint, nor evenweep, but when his friends came about him with words of sympathy heonly answered, "Lizzie, Lizzie, she is dead!" During the remainder of that sad night he sat by the coffin pressinghis hand upon the icy forehead until its coldness seemed to benumb hisfaculties, for when in the morning his parents and sister came hescarcely noticed them; and still the world, misjudging ever, lookedupon his calm face and tearless eye, and said that all too lightly hadhe loved the gentle girl whose last thoughts and words had been ofhim. Ah, they knew not the utter wreck the death of that young girlhad made, of the bitter grief, deeper and more painful because notear-drop fell to moisten its feverish agony. They buried her, andthen back from the grave came the two heart-broken men, the father andHarry Graham, each going to his own desolate home, the one to communewith the God who had given and taken away, and the other to questionthe dealings of that Providence which had taken from him his all. Days passed, and nothing proved of any avail to win Harry from thedeep despair which seemed to have settled upon him. At length Annabethought her of the soft, silken curl which had been reserved forhim. Quickly she found it, and taking with her the Bible repaired toher brother's room. Twining her arms around his neck she told him ofthe death-scene, of which he before had refused to hear. She finishedher story by suddenly holding to view the long, bright ringlet whichonce adorned the fair head now resting in the grave. Her plan wassuccessful, for bursting into tears Harry wept nearly two hours. Fromthat time he seemed better, and was frequently found bathed in tears, and bending over Lizzie's Bible, which now was his daily companion. Lucy, too, seemed greatly changed. She had loved her sister asdevotedly as one of her nature could love, and for her death shemourned sincerely. Lizzie's words of love and gentle persuasion hadnot been without their effect, and when Mr. Dayton saw how kind, howaffectionate and considerate of other people's feelings his daughterhad become, he felt that Lizzie had not died in vain. Seven times have the spring violets blossomed, seven times the flowersof summer bloomed, seven times have the autumnal stores been gatheredin, and seven times have the winds of winter sighed over the NewEngland hills since Lizzie was laid to rest. In her home there havebeen few changes. Mr. Dayton's hair is whiter than it was of old, andthe furrows on his brow deeper and more marked. Grandma, quiet andgentle as ever, knits on day after day, ever and anon speaking of "ourdear little Lizzie, who died years ago. " Lucy is still unmarried, and satisfied, too, that it should be so. Apatient, self-sacrificing Christian, she strives to make up to herfather for the loss of one over whose memory she daily weeps, and towhose death she accuses herself of being accessory. Dr. Benton and hisrather fashionable wife live in their great house, ride in theirhandsome carriage, give large dinner parties, play chess after supper, and then the old doctor nods over his evening paper, while Berinthanods over a piece of embroidery, intended to represent a little dogchasing a butterfly and which would as readily be taken for that asfor anything else, and for anything else as that. Two years ago a pale young missionary departed to carry the news ofsalvation to the heathen land. Some one suggested that he should takewith him a wife, but he shook his head mournfully, saying, "I have onewife in heaven. " The night before he left home, he might have beenseen, long after midnight, seated upon a grassy grave, where theflowers of summer were growing. Around the stone which marks the spotrose bushes have clustered so thickly as to hide from view the wordsthere written, but push them aside and you will read, "Our darlingLizzie. "