OUTPOST. 

BY J. G. AUSTIN, AUTHOR OF "DORA DARLING, OR THE DAUGHTEROF THE REGIMENT, " &C. 

BOSTON:

1867. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. SUNSHINECHAPTER II. THE LITTLE WIFECHAPTER III. CHERRYTOECHAPTER IV. THE CHILDREN OF MERRIGOLANDCHAPTER V. THE RUNAWAYCHAPTER VI. MOTHER WINCHCHAPTER VII. TEDDY'S LITTLE SISTERCHAPTER VIII. THE FAYVERCHAPTER IX. THE NIGHT-WATCHCHAPTER X. THE EMPTY NESTCHAPTER XI. A TRACE AND A SEARCHCHAPTER XII. TEDDY'S TEMPTATIONCHAPTER XIII. THE CACHUCACHAPTER XIV. GIOVANNI AND PANTALONCHAPTER XV. THE PINK-SILK DRESSCHAPTER XVI. BEGINNING A NEW LIFECHAPTER XVII. WHOLESALE MURDERCHAPTER XVIII. DORA DARLINGCHAPTER XIX. A CHAMBER OF MEMORIESCHAPTER XX. A LETTER AND AN OFFERCHAPTER XXI. GIOVANNI'S ROOMCHAPTER XXII. THE CONFESSIONCHAPTER XXIII. TEDDY LOSES AND FINDS HIS HOMECHAPTER XXIV. MR. BURROUGHS'S BUSINESSCHAPTER XXV. MAN VERSUS DOGCHAPTER XXVI. MRS. GINNISS HAS A VISITORCHAPTER XXVII. TEDDY FINDS A NEW PATRONCHAPTER XXVIII. WELCOME HOMECHAPTER XXIX. LIFE AT OUTPOSTCHAPTER XXX. KITTY IN THE WOODSCHAPTER XXXI. THE FOX UNDER THE ROBECHAPTER XXXII. THE PAINTER AND UNCLE 'SIAH'S HARNAHCHAPTER XXXIII. A GLEAM OF DAWNCHAPTER XXXIV. THE FIRST CHANCECHAPTER XXXV. THE SECOND CHANCECHAPTER XXXVI. TREASURE-TROVECHAPTER XXXVII. TEDDY'S PRIVILEGECHAPTER XXXVIII. WHAT DORA SAIDCHAPTER XXXIX. A SURPRISE FOR MRS. GINNISSCHAPTER XL. THE WEDDING-DAYCHAPTER XLI. KARL TO DORA

OUTPOST. 

CHAPTER I. 

SUNSHINE. 

"The last day of October!" said the Sun to himself, --"the last day ofmy favorite month, and the birthday of my little namesake! See if Idon't make the most of it!"

So the Sun called to all the winds and all the breezes, who, poorthings! had but just gone to bed after a terrible night's work, ordering them to get up directly, and sweep the sky as clear as abell; and bid all the clouds, whether big white mountains, littlepinky islands, sweeping mares'-tails, or freckled mackerel-back, toput themselves out of the way, and keep out of it until November;when, as the Sun remarked with a sigh, they would have it all theirown way. 

"And as soon as that job's done, " continued he, "you may go to bedagain in the Mountains of the Moon; for you will only disturb me ifyou are about. "

So the winds, grumbling and sighing a little, went to their work;and the Sun, after a good dip in the Atlantic Ocean, began to rollup the eastern sky, flecking the waves with diamond spray, touchingup the gay-colored leaves still clinging to the forest-trees, blazing on the town and city clocks to let every one know how lateit was, and finally thrusting his saucy glances into all the windowsto see how many persons had needed him. 

"Come, come, you city-folks!" cried the Sun. "Your neighbors in thecountry were up before I was, and have eaten their breakfasts, andhalf cleared it away by this time; and here are you just beginningto dress yourselves! Hurry up, I say! hurry up! It is the last dayof October, don't you know? and to-morrow will be November. 

"But, at the corner house of a handsome square, the Sun foundhimself better satisfied; for through the windows of the dining-roomhe saw a lady and gentleman seated at the table, having apparentlyalmost finished their breakfast. 

"That is better, " remarked the Sun: and, thrusting one of hisslender golden fingers through the window, he touched the stag'shead upon the cover of the silver coffee-pot; glanced off, andsparkled in the cut glass of the goblets and egg-glasses; flickeredacross the white and gilt china; pierced the fiery heart of thediamond upon the first finger of the lady's left hand, and then, creeping swiftly up her white throat, played joyously in her goldencurls, and even darted into her soft blue eyes, making them sparkleas brilliantly as the diamond. 

"The sun shines directly in your face, Fanny, " said Mr. Legrange, admiring the color in his wife's hair. "Shall I lower the shade?"

"Oh, no! thank you. I never want the sunshine shut out, " repliedshe, moving her chair a little. 

"Not to-day of all days in the year, I suppose; not on the birthdayof our little Sunshine. And where is she?" asked Mr. Legrange, halfturning his chair from the table to the fire, and unfolding the dampnewspaper beside his plate. 

"I told Susan to send her down as soon as she had done herbreakfast. Hark! I hear her. " And the Sun, drawing his finger acrossthe mother's lips, helped them to so bright a smile, that herhusband said, --

"I am afraid we have more than our share of Sunshine, or at leastthat I have, little wife. "

The bright smile grew so bright as the lady bent a little toward herhusband, that the Sun whispered, --

"There's no need of sun here, I plainly see, " but, for all that, crept farther into the room; while the door opened, and in skipped alittle girl, who might have been taken for the beautiful lady at thehead of the table suddenly diminished to childish proportions, anddressed in childish costume, but with all her beauty intensified bythe condensation: for the blue eyes were as large and clear, andeven deeper in their tint; the clustering hair was of a brightergold; and the fair skin pearlier in its whiteness, and richer in itsrosiness; while the gay exuberance of life, glowing and sparklingfrom every curve and dimple of the child's face and figure, was, even in the happy mother's face, somewhat dimmed by the shadows thatstill must fall upon every life past its morning, be it never sohappy, or never so prosperous. 

"Morning, mamma and papa. It's my birthday; and I'm six yearsold, --six, six years old! One, two, three, four, five, six years old!Susan told them all to me, and Susan said she guessed papa didn'tforgotten it. She didn't forgotten it; and see!"

The child held up a gay horn of sugar-plums fluttering with ribbons, and then, hugging it to her breast with one hand, plunged the otherin, and offered a little fistful of the comfits, first to herfather, and then to her mother. Both smilingly declined the treat, explaining that they had but just done breakfast: and the younglady, dropping some back into the horn, thrust the rest into her ownmouth, saying, "So has I; but I like candy all the day. "

"Come here, you little Sunshine, " said Mr. Legrange, drawing hertoward him. "So Susie thought I hadn't forgotten your birthday, eh?Well, do you know what they always do to people on their birthdays?"

"Give 'em presents, " replied the child promptly, as she desperatelyswallowed the mouthful of candy. 

"Ho, ho! that's it is it? No; but, besides that, they always pulltheir ears as many times as they are years old. Now, then, don't youwish I had forgotten it?"

Sunshine's eyes grew a little larger, and travelled swiftly towardher mother's face, coming back to her father's with a smile. 

"I don't believe you'd hurt me much, papa, " said she, nestling closeto his side. 

The father folded her tightly in his arms, lifting her to a seatupon his knee. 

"I don't believe I would, little Sunshine. Well, then, sometimes, instead of pinches, they give little girls as many kisses as theyare years old. How will that do?"

The rosy mouth, gathering for a kiss, answered without words; butMr. Legrange, taking the dimpled face between his hands, said, --

"No, no! we must go on deliberately. One for the forehead, two forthe eyes, --that makes three; one for each cheek makes five; and nowthe last and best for the lips makes six. Next year, there will beanother for the chin, and, after that, one in each ear: won't thatbe nice?"

"And mamma? Hasn't Sunshine any kisses for her this morning?" askedMrs. Legrange. 

The child slid from her father's knee to the floor, and, with herarms round her mother's neck, whispered, --

"I'll give mamma all these kisses papa just gave me, and some moretoo. "

And for a minute or two it would have been hard to say to which headthe showery golden curls belonged, or which pair of lips was thekisser's, and which the kissed; while the Sun fairly danced withdelight as he wrapped the two in a beautiful golden mantle woven ofhis choicest beams. 

Mr. Legrange looked on, laughing, for a moment, and then said, --

"So Susan told you people get presents on their birthdays, did she, 'Toinette?"

"Yes, papa;" and the child, half turning from her mother, but stillclinging round her neck, looked at her father roguishly. 

"And I guess you knew it before, and didn't forgotten about it, didyou, papa?" asked she. 

"Well, yes, I believe I have heard something of the kind, " said Mr. Legrange, gravely considering; "but, dear me! did you expect me tomake you a present?"

'Toinette's face grew rather blank; and a sudden impulse turned downthe corners of her mouth with a little tremble across the lips. Butthe instinct of native refinement and delicacy overcame thedisappointment; and, coming to her father's side, the child put herhand in his with a brave little smile, saying, --

"It's no matter, papa dear. I've got ever so many pretty things upin the nursery; and Susan gave me the candy. "

Mr. Legrange looked at his wife. 

"Your own child, Fanny. O Sunshine, Sunshine! what are you coming toby and by? But bless me! what is this in the pocket of mydressing-gown? Let me take it out, lest it should hurt you when Iset you in my lap again. Funny-looking little box, isn't it?"

As he spoke, Mr. Legrange laid upon the table a long, flat box ofred morocco, with some gilt letters upon the top. 

"Yes, papa. What's in the box?" asked 'Toinette, still with a littleeffort. 

"What do you think, Sunshine?"

"I guess it's some cigars, papa. "

"It would make a good cigar-case, to be sure; but you know I haveone already, and mamma says I ought not to have any. Let us peep in, and see what else the box would be good for besides cigars. "

He unfastened the little hooks holding down the cover as he spoke, and placed the casket in 'Toinette's hands. She raised the lid, anduttered a low cry; while her face flushed scarlet with surprise andpleasure. 

Upon the white satin lining, lay two bracelets of coral cameos, linked with gold, and fastened by a broad golden clasp. 

"Are they pretty?" asked Mr. Legrange, smiling at the eager littleface upraised to his. 

"Oh! they are lovely pretty. O papa! oh! is they?"--

"Yes they are yours, Sunshine. Mamma said you had been begging forsome bracelets like Minnie Wall's; and so, as I had heard thatpeople sometimes liked presents on their birthdays, and as I had notforgotten when Sunshine's came, I thought I would bring her a pair. "

The excess of 'Toinette's rapture would not allow of speech; butMrs. Legrange, peeping over her shoulder, exclaimed, --

"Why, Paul! those are not what I asked you to get. I told you commoncoral beads, strung on elastic, and fastened with a little snap. "

"But these were so much prettier, my dear, and will be of some valuewhen she grows up, as the others would not. At any rate, they aremarked: so we must keep them now. See!"

Mr. Legrange touched a tiny spring; and the upper part of the clasp, opening upon a hinge, showed a plate beneath, engraved with thename, "Antoinette Legrange. "

"Yes: they are certainly very handsome; and 'Toinette must be ascareful of them as possible. They will be just right to loop up hersleeves while she is so little, and, when she is older, to wear asbracelets, " said Mrs. Legrange admiringly. 

"I may wear them this afternoon at my party, mayn't I, mamma?" asked'Toinette, trying to clasp one upon her little arm. 

"Oh, we are to have a party, are we!" exclaimed Mr. Legrange raisinghis eyebrows in dismay. 

"Just half a dozen children to play with 'Toinette, and to go homeafter a nursery-tea, " explained his wife. 

"Oh, well! I shall be a little late to dinner, very likely: so itwill all be over when I arrive. Shall I bring Tom Burroughs homewith me to dine?"

"I want Cousin Tommy to come to my party, papa. Tell him to come, please, and Sunshine's love. "

"Your party, chick? Why! he would be Gulliver among the Liliputians. He would tread on a dozen of the guests at the first step, and neverknow it. "

"I don't think he would, papa; and he's my little wife, and I wanthim, " persisted 'Toinette. 

"No, no, dear, " interposed Mrs. Legrange. "Cousin Tom wouldn't wantto come, and my little girl mustn't tease. "

"No, mamma; but he's my little wife, " murmured 'Toinette, going backto her bracelets with a shadow of disappointment in the curve of herpretty mouth. 

"If mamma is willing, I will ask Cousin Tom, and he can do as helikes about accepting, " said the fond father, watching hisSunshine's face. 

Mamma smiled roguishly, murmuring, --"'So long as a woman's possessedof a tear, She'll always have her own way;'" and then, added aloud, --

"Just as you like, of course, papa; but here is Susan, ready to take'Toinette for her walk. "

The dining-room door opened softly, and a fresh, pretty-lookingnursery-maid stepped in, saying

"Is Miss 'Toinette ready to come up stairs, ma'am?"

Yes, Susan. You may take the bracelets, pet; but, when you go out, leave them in the drawer of your bureau. "

"Yes, mamma. Good-by, mamma and papa; and don't forget my littlewife, papa. "

"I won't forget, Sunshine, " said Mr. Legrange, laughing, as hefollowed the child and nurse to the door, and watched them upstairs. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE LITTLE WIFE. 

THREE o'clock came at last, although 'Toinette had become fullypersuaded it never would; and the little guests arrived aspunctually as juvenile guests are apt to arrive. Later on in life, people either expect less pleasure from meeting each other, or aremore willing to defer securing it; or perhaps it is that they arewilling to allow their friends the first chance of appropriating thehappiness in store for all. If none of these, what is the reason, children, that, at grown parties, the struggle is to see who shallarrive last, while at ours it is to see who shall come first?

'Toinette was dressed, and in the drawing-room ready to receive herlittle friends, by half-past two; and very nice she looked in herlight-blue merino frock, with its pretty embroideries, her longgolden hair curled in the feathery ringlets Susan was so proud ofmaking, her sleeves looped up with new bracelets, and a littleembroidered handkerchief just peeping out of her pockets

Mrs. Legrange, who sat reading by the fire, watched with someamusement and more anxiety the movements of the little beauty, whowalked slowly up and down the room, twisting her head to look now atone shoulder and now at the other, now at the flow of her skirtsbehind, and now at the dainty fit of her bronze cloth gaiter-boots. At last, stopping before the long mirror, Miss 'Toinette beganpracticing the courtesy she had learned at dancing-school, finishingby throwing a kiss from the tips of her fingers to the gracefullittle shadow in the mirror. 

"She will be spoiled, entirely spoiled, before she is a year older, "thought the mother anxiously. "She is so beautiful! and every onetells her of it. What shall I do?"

But sometimes, when our task seems too difficult for us, God takesit into his own hand, and does it in his own way, though that way tous be strange and painful. 

While Mrs. Legrange still hesitated whether to speak, and what tosay, the doorbell rang, and 'Toinette rushed away to meet herfriends, and take them to the dressing room, where they were toleave their outside garments; and the mother laid aside her book, and prepared to help in entertaining the little people. 

Another ring at the bell; another troop of little feet, and peal ofmerry voices; another and another; and, following the last, a firmerstep upon the stair, and the appearance in the drawing-room of atall, fine-looking young man, of twenty two or three years old, whocame forward, offering his hand to Mrs. Legrange. 

"Why, Tom, " said she, "did you really come?"

"As you see, Cousin Fanny. Paul gave me the invitation, with mylittle wife's love; and how could I decline?"

"I am sure it is very good of you to come and help entertain; but Iam afraid it will be a sad bore. Miss Minnie Wall, the oldest of theyoung ladies, is but just fourteen; and Bessie Rider, the youngest, is not yet six. "

"But I came to visit my little wife, " persisted Mr. Burroughs, laughing gayly. 

"Here she is, then, with all the rest behind her;" and, as thelittle hostess caught sight of her new guest, she flew toward him, crying, --

"Oh, my little wife has come!--my little, wife!"

Every one laughed, except the young man thus oddly addressed, whogravely extended his hand, saying, --

"Miss 'Toinette, allow me to wish you many happy returns of thisfortunate day. "

'Toinette looked at him a moment in surprise, then, glancing at theother guests, said innocently, --

"I guess you talk that way because the girls are here; but I likethe way you are always, best. "

This time Tom laughed as loud as the rest, and, catching the childin his arms, kissed her a dozen times, saying, --

"That is it, Sunshine. Let us be natural, and have a good time. Getthe table-cloth, and make an elephant of me. "

CHAPTER III. 

CHERRYTOE. 

"LET us have a dance!" exclaimed Minnie Wall, when all the games hadbeen played, and the little people stood for a moment, wonderingwhat they should do next. 

"O Mrs. Legrange! will you play for us?"

"Certainly. What will you have, Minnie? But, in the first place, canyou all dance?"

"Yes'm, every one of us. Even 'Toinette and Bessie have learned attheir Kindergarten; and the rest of us all go to Mr. Papanti. O Mrs. Legrange! last Saturday, when you let Susan bring 'Toinette todancing-school, I told Mr. Papanti what a pretty little dancer shewas; and he made her stand up, and she learned the cachuca with halfa dozen others of us; and he did laugh and bow so at her, you neversaw; and he called her enfant Cherrytoe, or something like that"--

"Cerito, " suggested Mrs. Legrange, smiling. 

"Yes'm, I guess that was it; and she learned it beautifully. Haveyou seen her dance it?"

"Yes, the old gentleman called me Cherrytoe; and you must, mamma, and every one, because I dance so pretty, with my little toes. Willyou call me Cherrytoe always, mamma?" asked 'Toinette, with such acomplacent delight in her own accomplishments, that her mother'ssmile was sad as it was tender. But she felt that this was not thetime or place to reprove the vanity so rankly springing in thechild's heart; so she only said, --

"Mr. Papanti was in fun when he called you Cherrytoe, darling. Shewas a woman who danced better than I hope you ever will. Now, who isready for Virginia reel?"

Tom Burroughs led Minnie Wall to the head of the set, other childrenrushed for places, Mrs. Legrange seated herself at the piano, andthe merry dance went on; but, when it was over, Minnie Wall returnedto Mrs. Legrange's side, followed by two or three more, begging herto play the cachuca, and see how nicely 'Toinette could dance it. Half unwillingly the mother complied, and found really astonished asshe noticed the graceful evolutions and accurate time of the child, who went through the intricate motions of the dance without a singlemistake, and, at the close, dropped her little courtesy, and kissedher little hand, with the grace and self-possession of a danseuse. 

The children crowded around her with a clamor of delight andsurprise; but the mother, anxiously watching her darling's flushedface and sparkling eyes, whispered to her cousin, as he playfullyapplauded, --

"Oh, don't, Tom! The child will be utterly ruined by so muchflattery and admiration. I feel very badly about it, I assure you. "

"But she is absolutely so bewitching! How can we help admiring her?"replied he, laughing. 

"No: but it is wrong; it won't do, " persisted Mrs. Legrange. "Justsee how excited and happy she looks because they are all admiringher! You must help me to check it, Tom. Come, you are so famous forstories, tell them one about a peacock, or something, --a story with amoral about being vain, you know, only not too pointed. "

"A pill with a very thick sugar-coat, " suggested Mr. Burroughs, and, as his cousin nodded, continued, in a louder voice, --

"A story, ladies and gentlemen! Who will listen to the humbleattempts of an unfortunate improvisator?"

"Yes, yes, a story; let us have a story!" shouted with one accordboth girls and boys; and with 'Toinette perched upon his knee, andthe rest grouped about him, Cousin Tom began the story of THECHILDREN OF MERRIGOLAND. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE CHILDREN OF MERRIGOLAND. 

ONCE upon a time, in the pleasant country of Merrigoland, all thefathers and mothers, the uncles and aunts, the grandpas andgrandmas, in fact, all the grown-up people of every sort, wereinvited to the governor's house to spend a week; and all the cooksand chambermaids, and nurses and waiters, and coachmen andgardeners, in Merrigoland, were invited to go and wait upon them: sothere was nobody left at home in any of the houses but the children;not even the babies; for their mothers had carried them in theirarms to the governor's house. 

"What fun!" shouted the children. "We can do every thing we have amind to now. "

"We'll eat all the cake and pies and preserves and candies in thecountry, " said Patty Pettitoes. 

"We'll swing on all the gates, and climb all the cherry-trees, andchase all the roosters, and play ball against the parlor-windows, "said Tom Tearcoat. 

"We'll lie down on the sofas, and read stories all day, and go tosleep before the fire at night, " said Dowsabelle Dormouse. 

"We'll dress up in all our mothers' clothes, and put on their ringsand breastpins, " said little Finnikin Fine, pushing a chair in frontof the looking-glass, and climbing up to look at herself. 

"We'll get our stockings dirty, and tear our frocks, and tumble ourhair, and not wash our hands at dinner-time, nor put on oureating-aprons, " said Georgie Tearcoat, Tom's younger sister. 

"Yes, yes: we'll all do just as we like best for a whole week; forfather and mother said we might!" shouted all the children inMerrigoland, and then laughed so loud, that the mice ran out oftheir holes to see what was the matter; and the cats never noticedthem, they were so busy sticking the hair straight up on theirbacks, and making their tails look like chimney-brushes; while allthe birds in the pleasant gardens of Merrigoland fluttered theirwings, and sung, --

 "Only listen to the row! What in the world's the matter now? Tweet, tweet! Can't sing a note; My heart's just jumping out of my throat. Bobolink, bobolink, What do you think? Is the world very glad, Or has it gone mad?"

So the children all did what they liked best, and frolicked in thesunshine like a swarm of butterflies, or like several hundred littlekittens, until it came night; and then they went into the houses, and put themselves to bed. But some of them, I am afraid, forgot tosay their prayers when their mammas were not there to remind them ofit. 

The next morning they all jumped up, and dressed very gayly (forchildren do not often lie in bed), and came down to breakfast: but, lo and behold! there was no breakfast ready, nor even any fire inthe ranges and cooking-stoves, and in some houses not even anyshavings and kindling wood to make a fire; and the cows, who weremostly of a Scotch breed, came to the bars, calling, --

 "Moo, moo, moo! Who'll milk us noo?"

and the hens all stuck their heads through the bars of thepoultry-yard fence, and cried, --

 "Kah-dah-cut, kah-dah-cut! Are you having your hair cut? Can you give us some corn This beautiful morn?"

and the pigeons came flying down to the back door, murmuring, --

 "Coo, coo, coo! Must we breakfast on dew?"

and all the little children began to cry as loud as they could, and call, --

 "Mamma, mamma, mamma! I want you and papa!"

So, altogether, the older children were just about crazy, and feltas if they'd like to cry too. But that never would do, of course;for nobody cries when old enough to know better: so after runninground to each others' houses, and talking a little, they agreed theywould all work together, and that every one should do what he coulddo best. So Tom Tearcoat, instead of climbing trees, and smashingthe furniture with his hatchet, went and split kindlings in all thewood-houses; and his sister Georgie, who never wanted to be in thehouse, carried them into the kitchens; and Patty Pettitoes tried herhand at cooking, instead of eating; and Dowsabelle Dormouse made thebeds, and beat up the sofa-pillows; and Mattie Motherly, whose chiefdelight was playing at housekeeping in her baby-house, set thetables, and put the parlors to rights. But there seemed to benothing that Finnikin Fine could do; for she had never thought ofany thing but dressing, in all the gay clothes she could get, andlooking into the mirror until she had worn quite a place in thecarpet before it. But, at last, someone said, --

"Oh! Finnikin may dress the little children: that will suit herbest. "

So Finnikin tried to do that. But she spent so much time tying upthe little girls' sleeves with ribbons, and parting the little boys'hair behind, that, when breakfast-time came, they were not halfready, and began to cry, --

 "O Finnikin, O! Don't spend your time so, But put on our dresses, And smooth out our tresses; We don't care for curls, Either boys or girls, If we are but neat, And may sit down to eat. "

So at last Finnikin followed their advice, and, when she had dressedall the children, was so tired and hungry, that she was glad to sitdown and eat her breakfast without even looking in the mirror oncewhile she was at table. 

But nobody knew how to milk the cows; and, although Tom and GeorgieTearcoat tried with all their might, they could not manage to get adrop of milk from one of them, and no one else even tried. But, justas the children were all wondering what they should do, little PeterPhinn, who had been listening and looking, with his hands in thepockets of his ragged trousers, and a broad grin on his freckledface, said slowly, --

"I know how to milk. "

"You do! Why didn't you say so, Peter Phinn?" cried all the childrenangrily. 

"Oh! I didn't know as you'd want me and Merry amongst you, " saidPeter. 

"Why not? Of course we do, " said Patty Pettitoes, who was a verygood-natured little girl. 

"Because Finnikin Fine told Merry once she wasn't fit to play withher, when her clothes was so poor, " said Peter. 

"Did Finnikin say that?" asked Patty. 

"Yes, she did, sure; and she called her a little Paddy, and said, ifshe wore such an old, mean gown and bonnet, she'd ought to keep outof the way of folks that dressed nicer, as she did. "

Then all the children turned and looked at Finnikin Fine, and said, --

"Oh, shame, Finnikin! for shame to talk so to good little MerryPhinn!"

Then Finnikin hung down her head, and blushed very much, and beganto cry; but Merry Phinn went close to her, and whispered, --

"Never mind them, honey. I'll forget it sooner than you will, andI'll come and help you dress the children tomorrow morning. "

"And I'll give you my new pink muslin, and my white beads, and mybronze slippers with pink rosettes, and, and, " began Finnikin; butMerry put her little brown hand over her mouth, and said, laughing, --

"And, if I get all these fine things, I'd be as bad as yourself, Finny darling. No: I'll wear my calico gown, and my sun-bonnet, andmy strong shoes; and you'll see I can get to my work or my playwithout half the bother you'd make in your finery. "

So Finnikin, still blushing, and crying a little, put her arm roundMerry's neck, and kissed her; and then she ran and took off therinses and pins and ribbons and flowers she had found time sincebreakfast to put on, and changed her blue silk dress for a neatgingham and a white apron, and put her hair into a net, instead ofthe wreath and curls it had cost her so much trouble to arrange. And, when she came down stairs again, all the children cried, --

"Only see how pretty Finnikin Fine is in her plain dress! She lookslike a little girl now, instead of a wax doll in a toy-shop window. "

"Yes, " said Tom Tearcoat; "and a fellow could play with her now insome comfort. It used to be, --

"'Dear me, you rude boy! you've gone and torn my flounce!' or, 'You've spoilt my bow!' or, 'Dear me, you troublesome creature!you've made me so nervous!'"

Every one laughed to hear Tom mimic Finnikin, he did it so well;but, when they saw that the little girl herself was troubled by it, they left off directly, and began to talk of other things; and Tomcame and tucked a big green apple into her pocket, and a lump ofmaple-sugar into her hand. 

Then Peter and Merry, who had always been used to waiting uponthemselves, and doing all the work they were able to do, showed theother children many things which they needed to know, and helpedthem in so many ways, that the troubles of the morning were soonforgotten; and when, after clearing away the dinner, the littlepeople all came out to play upon the green, they agreed to crownPeter and Merry King, and Queen of Merrigoland from three o'clock inthe afternoon until sunset, because they were the only boy and girlin all the land who knew how to do the work that must every day bedone to make us all comfortable. But Peter and Merry, who were verysensible as well as very good-natured children, said, --

"No, no, no! There shall be no kings or queens in Merrigoland. Wewill teach you all that we know, and you shall teach us all that youknow, and so we will help each other; and no one shall think himselfbetter than any one else, or forget that none of us can do wellwithout the help of all the rest. "

So the children shouted, --

"Hurrah for Peter and Merry, and down with fine ways and fineclothes!"

And then they gave three cheers so loud, that the fathers andmothers, and grandpas and grandmas, and uncles and aunts, andbrothers and sisters, heard them, as they sat at dinner in thegovernor's house; and all came trooping home in a great hurry to seewhat was the matter. 

But when they heard the story, and found how well the children weregoing on, they said, --

"We could teach them nothing better than what they are learning forthemselves. We may let them alone. "

So they all went back to the governor's house, and spent the rest ofthe week, and"--

"Tea is ready, Mrs. Legrange, " said James at the parlor-door. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE RUNAWAY. 

TEA was over, and the little guests made ready to go home. CousinTom, declining Mrs. Legrange's invitation to dinner on plea ofanother engagement, delighted Miss Minnie Wall's heart by offeringto wait upon her home, but rather injured the effect of hispoliteness by taking Willy and Jerry Noble upon the other side, andtalking pegtop with them as glibly as he talked opera with the younglady. 

As for the rest, some went alone, some with their nurses, some witheach other. Little Bessie Rider was the last; and, when the nursedid not come for her as had been promised, Mrs. Legrange bid Susanlead her home, leaving 'Toinette in the drawing-room till herreturn. 

"And I must go and lie down a little before I dress for dinner, "continued she to 'Toinette. "So, Sunshine, I shall leave you herealone, if you will promise not to touch anything you should not, orto go too near the fire. "

The little girl promised; and, with a lingering kiss, her motherleft her. 

Alone in the twilight, 'Toinette sat for a while upon the rug, watching the bright coals as they tinkled through the grate, orrushed in roaring flame up the chimney. 

"I wish I was a fire-fairy, and lived in that big red hole right inthe middle of the fire, " thought 'Toinette. "Then I would wear sucha beautiful dress just like gold, and a wreath on my head allblazing with fire; and I would dance a-tiptoe away up the chimneyand into the sky: and perhaps I should come to heaven; no, to thesun. I wonder if the sun is heaven for the fire-fairies, and Iwonder if they dance in the sunset. "

So 'Toinette jumped up, and, running to one of the long windows, puther little eager face close to the glass, and looked far away acrossthe square, and down the long street beyond, to the beautifulwestern sky, all rosy and golden and purple with the sunset-clouds;while just above them a great white star stood trembling in the deepblue, as if frightened at finding itself out all alone in the night. 

"No, " thought 'Toinette; "I don't want to be a fire-fairy, and dancein the sunset: I want to be a--a angel, I guess, and live in thatbeautiful star. Then I'd have a dress all white and shining likemamma's that she wore to the ball. But mamma said the little girl inthe story was naughty to like her pretty dress, and she weared agingham one when she was good. Guess I won't be any fairy. I'll beFinnikin Fine, and wear a gingham gown and apron. I'll tell papa tocarry away the bracelets too. I'm going to be good like Merry thatweared a sun-bonnet. "

Eager to commence the proposed reform, 'Toinette tugged at thebracelet upon her left shoulder until she broke the clasp and torethe pretty lace of her under-sleeve. 

"Dear, dear, what a careless child!" exclaimed the little girl, remembering the phrase so often repeated to her. "But it ain't anymatter, I guess, " added she, brightening up; "for I shan't have anyunder-sleeve to my gingham dress. Susan's aunt doesn't. "

'Toinette paused, with her hand upon the other bracelet trying toremember whether Susan, or the little girl who came to see her, wasthe aunt. The question was not settled, when the sound of music inthe street below attracted 'Toinette's attention. Clinging to thewindow-ledge so as to see over the iron railing of the balcony, shepeeped down, and saw a small dark man walking slowly by the house, turning the crank of a hand-organ which he carried at his side. Uponthe organ was perched a monkey, dressed in a red coat with giltbuttons, a little cocked hat, and blue trousers. He was busilyeating a seed-cake; pausing now and then to look about him in a sortof anxious way, chattering all the while as if he thought some onewanted to take it away from him. 

'Toinette had never before seen a monkey; and she stared at this onein great surprise and delight, taking him for a little man, and hisinarticulate chattering for words in some foreign language such asshe had sometimes heard spoken. 

The music also suited the little girl's ear better than the beststrains of the Italian opera would have done; and altogether she wasresolved to see and hear more both of the monkey and the music. 

"Mamma's asleep, and Susan gone out; so I can't ask leave, but I'llonly stay a little tiny minute, and tell the little man what is hisname, and what he is saying, " reasoned the pretty runaway, primlywrapping herself in her mother's breakfast-shawl left lying upon thesofa, and tying her handkerchief over her head. 

"Now I's decent, and the cold won't catch me, " murmured she, regarding herself in the mirror with much satisfaction, and thenrunning softly down stairs. Susan, thinking she should be backdirectly, had left the catch-latch of the front-door fastened up: so'Toinette had only to turn the great silver handle of the otherlatch; and this, by putting both hands to it and using all herstrength, she finally succeeded in doing, although she could notclose the door behind her. Leaving it ajar, 'Toinette ran down thesteps, and looked eagerly along the square until she discovered thehand-organ man with his monkey just turning the corner, and flewafter him as fast as her little feet would carry her. But, with allher haste, the man had already turned another corner before sheovertook him, and was walking, more quickly than he had yet done, down a narrow street. He was not playing now; but the monkey, whohad finished his cake, was climbing over his master's shoulders, running down his arms and back, chattering, grinning, making faces, and evidently having a little game of romps on his own account. 

'Toinette, very much amused, tripped along behind, talking as fastas the monkey, and asking all manner of questions, to none of whicheither monkey or man made any reply; while all the time thebeautiful rosy light was fading out of the west, and the streetswere growing dark and crowded; and as the organ-grinder, followed by'Toinette, turned from one into another, each was dirtier andnarrower and more disagreeable than the last. 

All at once, the man, after hesitating for a moment, dashed acrossthe street, and into a narrow alley opposite. Two or threedirt-carts were passing at the same time; and 'Toinette, afraid tofollow, stood upon the edge of the sidewalk, looking wistfully afterhim, and beginning to wonder if she ought not to be going home. 

While she wondered, a number of rude boys came rushing by; and, either by accident or malice, the largest one, in passing the littlegirl, pushed her so roughly, that she stumbled off the sidewalkaltogether, and fell into the gutter. 

A little hurt, a good deal frightened, and still more indignant, 'Toinette picked herself up, and looked ruefully at the mud upon herpretty dress, but would not allow herself to cry, as she longed todo. 

"If I'd got my gingham dress on, it wouldn't do so much harm, "thought she, her mind returning to the story she had that afternoonheard; and then all at once an anxious longing for home and motherseized the little heart, and sent the tiny feet flying up the narrowstreet as fast as they could move. But, at the corner, 'Toinette, who never had seen the street before, took the wrong turn; and, although she ran as fast as she could, every step now led herfarther from home, and deeper into the squalid by-streets andalleys, among which she was lost. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MOTHER WINCH. 

IN a narrow court, hardly lighted by the one gas-light flaring atits entrance, 'Toinette stopped, and, looking dismally about her, began at last to cry. At the sound, a crooked old woman, with agreat bag on her back, who had been resting upon the step of a doorclose by, although the little girl had not noticed her, rose, andcame toward her. 

"What's the matter, young one?" asked the old woman harshly. 

"I don't know the way home, and I'm lost!" said 'Toinette, wipingher eyes, and looking doubtfully at the old woman, who was very darkand hairy as to the face, very blinking and wicked as to the eyes, and very crooked and warped as to figure, while her dress seemed tobe a mass of rags held together by dirt. 

"Lost, be you?" asked this unpleasant old woman, seizing Mrs. Legrange's beautiful breakfast-shawl, and twitching it off thechild's shoulders. "And where'd you git this 'ere pretty shawl?"

"It's my mamma's, and you'd better not touch it; you might soil it, you know, " said 'Toinette anxiously. 

"Heh! Why, I guess you're a little lady, ain't you? B'long to thebig-bugs, don't you?"

"I don't know. I want to go home, " stammered 'Toinette, perplexedand frightened. 

"Well, you come right in here along o' me, and wait till I get mypack off; then I'll show you the way home, " said the woman, as, seizing the little girl's hand, she led her to the bottom of thecourt, and down some steps into a foul-smelling cellar-room, perfectly dark, and very cold. 

"You stop right there till I get a light, " said the woman, lettinggo the child's hand when they reached the middle of the room. "Don'tye budge now. "

Too much frightened to speak, or even cry, 'Toinette did as she wasbid, and stood perfectly still until the old woman had found amatch, and, drawing it across the rusty stove, lighted a tallowcandle, and stuck it into the mouth of a junk-bottle. This she setupon the table; and, sinking into a chair beside it, stretched out askinny hand, and, seizing 'Toinette by the arm, dragged her close toher. 

"Yes, you kin let me have that pooty shawl, little gal, cause--Eh, what fine clo'es we've got on!" exclaimed the hag, as, pulling offthe shawl 'Toinette had again wrapped about her, she examined herdress attentively for a moment, and then, fixing her eyes sternlyupon the child, continued angrily, --

"Now look at here, young un. Them ain't your clo'es; you know theyain't. You stole 'em. "

"Stealed my clothes!" exclaimed 'Toinette in great indignation. "Why, no, I didn't. Mamma gave them to me, and Susan sewed them. "

"No sech a thing, you young liar!" returned the old woman, shakingher roughly by one arm. "You stole 'em; and I'm a-going to take 'emoff, and give you back your own, or some jist like 'em. Then I'llcarry these fine fixings to the one they b'long to. Come, now, noblubbering. Strip off, I tell yer. "

As she spoke, she twirled the little girl round, and began to pullopen the buttons of her dress. In doing this, her attention wasattracted by the bracelet looping up the right sleeve; 'Toinettehaving, it will be remembered, pulled off the other, and left it athome. 

"Hi, hi! What sort o' gimcrack you got here?" exclaimed she, pullingat it, until, as 'Toinette had done with the other, she broke thelinks between two of the cameos, without unclasping the bracelet. 

"Hi! that's pooty! Now, what a young wretch you be for to go and saythat ere's yourn!" added she severely, as she held the trinket outof reach of the little girl, who eagerly cried, --

"It is, it is mine! Papa gave me both of them, 'cause it's mybirthday. They're my bracelets; only mamma said I was too little towear them on my arms like she does, and she tied up my sleeves withthem. "

"Where's t'other one, then?"

"It's at home. I pulled it off 'cause I was going to be like Merry, that weared a sun-bonnet, and didn't have any bracelets. "

"Sun-bonnet! What d'ye want of a sun-bonnet, weather like this? I'llgive you my old hood; that's more like it, I reckon, " replied thehag, amused, in spite of herself, by the prattle of the child. 'Toinette hesitated. 

"No, " said she at last: "I guess you'd better give me my own veryclo'ses, and carry me home. Then mamma will give me a gingham dressand a sun-bonnet; and maybe she'll give you my pretty things, if youwant them. "

"Thanky for nothing, miss. I reckon it'll be a saving of trouble totake em now. I don't b'lieve a word about your ma'am giving 'em toyou; and, more'n all, I don't b'lieve you've got no ma'am. "

So saying, she rudely stripped off, first the dress, then theunderclothes, and finally even the, stockings and prettygaiter-boots; so that the poor child, frightened, ashamed, andangry, stood at last with no covering but the long ringlets of hergolden hair, which, as she, sobbing, hid her face in her hands, fellabout her like a veil. 

Leaving her thus, the old woman rummaged for a few moments in a heapof clothes thrown into the corner of the room, --the result, apparently, of many a day's begging or theft. From them shepresently produced a child's nightgown, petticoat, and woollenskirt, a pair of coarse shoes much worn, and an old plaid shawl:with these she approached 'Toinette. 

"See! I've got your own clo'es here all ready for you. Ain't Igood?"

"They ain't my clothes: I won't have 'em on. Go away, you naughtylady, you ain't good a bit!" screamed 'Toinette, passionatelystriking at the clothes and the hand that held them. 

"Come, come, miss, none o' them airs! Take that, now, and mend yourmanners!" exclaimed the old woman with a blow upon the bare whiteshoulder, which left the print of all her horny fingers. It was thefirst time in all her life that 'Toinette had been struck; and theblood rushed to her face, and then away, leaving her as white asmarble. She cried no more, but, fixing her eyes upon the face of theold woman, said solemnly, --

"Now the Lord doesn't love you. Did you know it was the bad spiritsthat made you strike me? Mamma said so when I struck Susan. "

"Shut up! I don't want none of your preaching, miss, " replied thewoman angrily. "Here, put on these duds about the quickest, or I'llgive you worse than that. Lor, what a mess of hair! What's the goodon't? Maybe, though, they'd give some'at for it to the store. "

She took a large pair of shears from the table-drawer as she spoke, and, grasping the shining, curls in her left hand, rapidly snippedthem from the head, leaving it rough, tangled, and hardly to berecognized. 

'Toinette no longer resisted, or even cried. The blow of that roughhand seemed to have stunned or stupefied her, and she stoodperfectly quiet, her face pale, her eyes fixed, and her tremblinglips a little apart; while the old woman, after laying the handfulof curls carefully aside, dragged on the clothes she had selected, in place of those she was stealing, and finished by trying the plaidshawl around the child's shoulders, fastening it in a great knotbehind, and placing a dirty old hood upon the shorn head. 

"There, now, you'll do, I guess; and we'll go take you home: onlymind you don't speak a word to man, woman, nor child, as we go; for, if you do, I'll fetch you right back here, and shut you up with OldBogy in that closet. "

So saying, she bundled up 'Toinette's own clothes, slipped thebracelet into her pocket, then, with the parcel in one hand, graspedthe child's arm with the other, and led her out into the street. 

"Will you really take me home?" asked 'Toinette piteously, as theyclimbed the broken steps leading from the cellar to the pavement. 

"There, now! What did I tell yer?" exclaimed the woman angrily, andturning as if to go back. "Now come along, and I will give you toOld Bogy. "

"No, no! oh, please, don't! I will be good. I won't say a word anymore. I forgotten that time, I did;" and the timid child, pale andtrembling, clung to the wretch beside her as if she had been herdearest friend. 

"Well, then, don't go into fits, and I'll let you off this time; butsee that you don't open your head agin, or it'll be all up withyer. "

"Yes'm, " said the poor child submissively; and, taking her once moreby the hand, the old woman led her rapidly along the filthy street, now entirely dark except for the gaslights, and more strange to'Toinette's eyes than Fairy-land would have been. As they turned thecorner, a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a blue coat withbrass buttons, and a glazed cap, who stood leaning against the wall, looked sharply at them, and called out, "Hullo, Mother Winch! What's up to-night?"

"Nothing, yer honor, --nothing at all. Me and little Biddy Mahoney'sgoing to leave some duds at the pawnbroker's for her mother, who'smost dead with the fever. "

"Well, well, go along; only look out you carry no more than youhonestly come by, " said the policeman, walking leisurely up thestreet. 

Mother Winch turned in the opposite direction, and, still tightlygrasping 'Toinette's arm, led her through one street after another, until, tired and bewildered, the poor child clung with half-closedeyes to the filthy skirts of the old woman, and stumbled along, neither seeing nor knowing which way they went. 

"Hold up, can't ye, gal!" exclaimed Mother Winch, as the childtripped, and nearly fell. "Or, if you're so tired as all that, setdown on that door-stone, and wait for me a minute. " Pushing her downupon the step as she spoke, Mother Winch hurried away so fast, that, before 'Toinette's tired little brain could fairly understand whatwas said, she found herself alone, with no creature in sight all upand down the narrow street, except a cross-looking dog walkingslowly along the pavement toward her. For one moment, she satwondering what she had better do; and then, as the cross-lookingdog fixed his eyes upon her with a sullen growl, she started to herfeet, and ran as fast as she could in the direction taken by MotherWinch. Just at the corner of the alley, something glittering uponthe sidewalk attracted her attention; and, stooping to pick it up, she uttered a little cry of surprise and pleasure. It was her owncoral bracelet, which had traveled round in Mother Winch's pocketuntil it came to a hole in the bottom, and quietly slipping out, anddown her skirts to the pavement, lay waiting for its little mistressto pick it up. 

'Toinette kissed it again and again, not because it was a braceletbut because her father had given it to her; and it seemed somehow totake her back a little way toward him and home. It must have beenthis she meant, in saying as she did, --

"I guess you have come after me, pretty bracelet, hasn't you? andwe'll go home together. "

And so, hugging the toy as close to her heart as she would haveliked herself to be hugged to her mother's heart, 'Toinette wanderedon and on through the dark and lonely streets, her little facegrowing paler and paler, her little feet more and more weary, herheart swelling fuller and fuller with fright and desolation; untilat last, stopping suddenly, she looked up at the sky, all alive nowwith the crowding stars, and with a great sob whispered, --

"Pretty stars, please tell God I'm lost. I think he doesn't knowabout it, or he'd send me home. "

And then, as the wild sob brought another and another, 'Toinettesank down in the doorway of a deserted house, and, covering her facewith her hands, cried as she had never cried in all her little life. 

CHAPTER VII. 

TEDDY'S LITTLE SISTER. 

"THERE, honey!" said Mrs. Ginniss, giving the last rub to theshirt-bosom she was polishing, and setting her flat-iron back on thestove with a smack, --"there, honey; and I couldn't have done betterby that buzzum if ye'd been the Prisidint. "

Mrs. Ginniss was alone, so that one might at first have been alittle puzzled to know whom she addressed as "honey;" but as shecontinued to talk while unfolding another shirt, and laying it uponher ironing-board, it became evident that she was addressing theabsent owner of the garments. 

"And sure it's many a maner man they've made their prisidints outon, and sorra a better one they'd find betune here and Canady. It'syees that have the free hand and the kind way wid yees, for all yourgrand looks. The good Lord save and keep ye all the days of yerlife!"

A wrinkle in the wristband here absorbed the attention of thelaundress; and, while smoothing it out, she forgot to continue whatshe had been saying, but, as she once more ironed briskly upon thesleeve, began upon a new subject. 

"And it's late ye're agin, Teddy Ginniss, bad 'cess to yees! Andthin it's mesilf that should take shame for saying it; for niver ab'y of them all is so good to his ould mother, and niver a one of'em all that his mother's got so good a right to be proud on, asTed. But where is the cratur? His supper's cowld as charity widstannin. "

At this moment a heavy step was heard upon the stairs, as of someone climbing slowly up with a heavy burden in his arms. Mrs. Ginnisspaused to listen, holding the iron suspended over the collar she hadjust smoothed ready for it. 

"Murther an' all!" muttered she. "And what's the crather got wid himanyhow? Shure an it's him; for, if it wor Jovarny with his orgin, he'd ha' stopped below. "

The heavy steps reached the top of the stairs as she spoke, andclumped along the narrow passage to the door of Mrs. Ginniss'sgarret. She was already holding it open. 

"Teddy, b'y, an' is it yersilf?" asked she, peering out into thedarkness. 

"Yes, mother, its meself, " panted a boy's voice, as a stout youngfellow, about fifteen years old, staggered into the room, and sankupon a chair. 

"Saints an' angels, child! and what have ye got there?" exclaimedhis mother, bending over the something that filled Teddy's arms andlap. 

"It's a little girl, mother; and I'm feared she's dead!" pantedTeddy. 

"A little girl, an' she's dead! Oh, wurra, wurra, Teddy Ginniss, that iver I should be own mother to a murderer! An' is it yersilfthat kilt the purty darlint?"

"Meself, mother!" exclaimed the boy indignantly. "Sure and itwasn't; and I wouldn't 'a thought you'd have needed to ask. I foundher on a doorstep in Tanner's Court: and first I thought she wasasleep, and so I shook her to tell her to go home before the Charleygot her; and then, when she wouldn't wake up, I saw she was eitherfainted or dead; and I fetched her home to you, --and it's you thatgo for to call me a murtherer! Oh, oh!"

As he uttered these last sounds, the boy's wide mouth puckered up ina comical look of distress, and he rubbed the cuff of his jacketacross his blinking eyes. Mrs. Ginniss gave him a slap, on theshoulder, intended to be playful, but actually heavy enough to havethrown a slighter person out of the chair. 

"Whisht, honey, whisht!" said she. "And it's an ould fool I am widme fancies an' me frights. But let us looks at the poor littlecrather ye've brought home to me. Sure and it was like yees, Teddy, b'y. "

As she spoke, she took from Teddy's arms the little lifeless form, with its pale, still face, and laid it gently upon her own bed. 

"Oh thin! an' it's a shame to see the party darlint lay like thatand I'm 'feared, unless the breath's in her yet, she's deadintirely, " muttered the good woman, rubbing the little hands in herown, and gently feeling for the beating of the heart. 

"Maybe it's only the cold and the hunger that's ailing her, andshe'll come to with the fire and vittels. She can have my supper andmy breakfast too, and a welcome with it, " said Teddy eagerly. 

"The cowld, maybe, it is; for her clothes is nixt to nothing, an'the flesh of her's like a stone wid the freezing: but she's gotenough to ate, or she never'd be so round an' plump. It's like she'sthe child of some beggar-woman that's fed her on broken vittels, an', whin she got tired ov trampin' wid her, jist dropped her on thedoorstep where yees got her. --Howly mother! what's this?"

Mrs. Ginniss, as she spoke, had taken the little lifeless form uponher lap close to the stove, and was undressing it, when, among thefolds of the old shawl crossed over the bosom, she found a braceletof coral cameos, set in gold, and fastened with a handsome clasp. 

She held it up, stared at it a moment, and then looked anxiously atTeddy. 

"An' where did this splindid armlit come from, Teddy Ginniss?" askedshe sharply. 

"Sorra a bit of me knows, thin; an' is it a thafe ye'll be callin'me as well as a murtherer!" exclaimed the boy, falling, in hisagitation, into the Irish brogue he was generally so careful toavoid. 

"Whisht, ye spalpeen! an' lave it on the mantletry till we see ifthe breath's in her yit. Sure an' sich a little crather niver couldhave stole it. "

Teddy, with an air of dignified resentment, took the bracelet fromhis mother's hand, and laid it upon the mantlepiece; while Mrs. Ginniss, with a troubled look upon her broad face, finishedstripping the little form, and began rubbing it all over with herwarm hands. 

"Power some warm wather into the biggest wash-tub, Teddy, an' I'llthry puttin' her in it. It's what the Yankee doctor said to do widyees, whin yees had fits; an' it niver did no harm, anyways. "

"Is it a fit she's got?" asked Teddy, with a look of awe upon hisface. 

"The good Lord knows what's she's got, or who she is. Mabbe the goodfolk put her where yees got her. Niver a beggar-brat before had askin so satin-smooth, an' hands an' feet like rose-leaves and milk. An' look how clane she is from head to heel! Niver a corpse readyfor the wakin' was nater. "

"The water's ready now, " said Teddy, pushing the tub close to hismother's side, and then walking away to the window. For somemoments, the gentle plashing of the water was the only sound heheard; but then his mother hastily exclaimed, --

"Glory be to God an' to his saints! The purty crather's alive, andlookin' at me wid the two blue eyes av her like a little angel! Han'me the big tow'l till I rub her dhry. "

Teddy ran with the towel; and as his mother hastily wrapped herlittle charge in her apron, and reseated herself before the fire, hecaught sight of two great bright eyes staring up at him, andjoyfully cried, --

"She's alive, she's alive! and she'll be my little sister, and we'llkeep her always, won't we, mother?"

"Wait, thin, till we see if it's here she is in the morning, saidhis mother mysteriously. 

"And where else would she be, if not here?" asked Teddy in surprise. 

"If it war the good folks, Meaning the fairies, whom the Irishpeople call by this name. That browt her, it's they that willfetch her away agin 'fore the daylight. Wait till mornin', Teddydarlint. "

But, in spite of her suspicions, Mrs. Ginniss did all for the littlestranger that she could have done for her own child, even to heatingand giving to her the cupful of milk reserved for her own "tay"during the next day, and warming her in her own bosom all throughthe long, cold night. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FAYVER. 

"AND is she here, mother?" asked Teddy, rushing into his mother'sroom next morning as soon as there was light enough to see. 

"Yis, b'y, she's here; but it's not long she'll be, savin' the mercyo' God. It's the heavy sickness that's on her the morn. "

"And will she die, mother?"

"The good Lord knows, not the likes of me, Teddy darlint. "

"And you'll keep her, and do for her, mother, won't you?" asked theboy anxiously. 

"Sure and it wouldn't be Judy Ginniss that'd turn out a dying child, let alone sending her to the poor'us. Thim that sint her to us willsind us the manes to kape her, " said the Irish woman confidently;and leaving her little moaning, feverish charge dozing uneasily, sherose, and went about the labors of the day. 

"Here's the masther's shirts done, Teddy; and ye'd betther take thimto his lodgings before yees go to the office. More by token, it'shim as u'd tell us what we'd ought to be doin' wid the darlint, ifshe lives, or if she dies. Tell the masther all ye know uv her, Teddy; an' ax him to set us sthraight. "

"No, no, mother!" exclaimed Teddy eagerly; "I'll be doing no suchthing: for it's ourselves wants her, and any thing the master wouldsay would take her away from us. Sure and how often I've said I'dgive all ever I had for a little sister to be my own, and love me, and go walking with me, and be took care by me; and, now one issent, if it's the good folks or if it's the good God sent her, I'mgoing to keep her all myself. Sure, mother, you'll never be crossingme in this, when it's yourself never crossed me yet; and more bytoken, it'll keep me out of the streets, and such. "

"Thrue for ye, Teddy; though it's you was alluz the good b'y toshtop at home, an' niver ax fur coompany savin' yer poor owldmother, " said the washerwoman, looking fondly at her son. 

"And you'll keep the child, and say nothing to nobody but she's ourown; won't you, mother?" persisted Teddy. 

"Yis, b'y, if it's yer heart is set on it. "

"It is that, mother; and you're the good mother, and it's I alwaysknowed, I mean knew it. And will I bring home a doctor to the littlesister?"

"No, Teddy; not yit. Faix, an' it's hard enough to live when we'rewell; but it's too poor intirely we are to be sick. Whin the timecooms to die, it's no doctherin' 'll kape us. "

Teddy looked wistfully at the little burning face upon the coarse, clean pillow: but he knew that what his mother said was true; and, without reply, he took up the parcel of clothes, and left the room. 

All through the long day, Mrs. Ginniss, toiling at her wash-tubs, found a moment here and another there to sit upon the edge of thebed, and smooth her little patient's hair, or moisten her glowinglips and burning forehead, trying at intervals to induce her tospeak, if even but one word, in answer to her tender inquiries; butall in vain: for the child already lay in the stupor preceding thedelirium of a violent fever, and an occasional moan or sigh was theonly sound that escaped her lips. 

Toward night, Teddy, returning home an hour earlier than usual, camebounding up the stairs, two at a time, but, pausing at the door, entered as softly as a cat. 

"How is the little sister now, mother?" asked he anxiously. 

"Purty nigh as bad as bad can be, Teddy, " said his mothersorrowfully, standing aside as she spoke that the boy might see theburning face, dull, half-closed eyes, and blackening lips of thesick child, and touch the little hands feebly plucking at theblanket with fingers that seemed to scorch the boy's healthy skin ashe closed them in his palm. 

Teddy looked long and earnestly, --looked up at his mother's sad face, and down again at the "little sister" whom he had taken to his heartwhen he first took her to his arms; and then, shutting his lipsclose together, and swallowing hard to keep down the great sob thatseemed like to strangle him, he turned, and rushed out of the room. Mrs. Ginniss looked after him, and wiped her eyes. 

"It's the luvin' heart he has, the crather, " murmured she. "An' ifthe baby wor his own sisther, it's no more he could care for her. Sure an' if the Lord spares her to us, it's Teddy's sisther sheshall be, forever an' aye, while me two fists hoold out to work fer'em. "

An hour later, Teddy returned, conducting a stranger. Rushing intothe room before him, the boy threw his arms around his mother'sneck, and whispered hastily, in his broadest brogue, --

"It's a docther; an' he'll cure the sisther; an' it's not a cinthe'll be afther axin' us: but don't let on that she's not our own. "

Mrs. Ginniss rose, and courtesied to the young man, who now followedTeddy into the room, saying pleasantly, --

"Good evening, ma'am. I am Dr. Wentworth; and I came to see yourlittle girl by request of Teddy here, who said you would like adoctor if you could have one without paying him. "

Mrs. Ginniss courtesied again, but with rather a wrathful look atTeddy, as she said, --

"And it's sorry I am the b'y should be afther beggin' of yees, docther. I thought he'd more sinse than to be axin' yees to giveaway yer time, that's as good as money to yees. "

"But my time is not as good as money by any means, " said Dr. Wentworth, laughing as he took off his hat and coat; "for I havevery little to do except to attend patients who cannot give morethan their thanks in payment. That is the way we young doctorsbegin. "

"An' is that so indade! Sure an' 'Meriky's the place fur poor folksquite an' intirely, " said Mrs. Ginniss admiringly. 

"For some sorts of poor people, and not for others. Unfortunately, bakers, butchers, and tailors do not practise gratuitously; so wepoor doctors, lawyers, and parsons have to play give without take, "said the young man, warming his hands a moment over thecooking-stove. 

"An' sure it was out of a Protistint Bible that I heard wonst, 'Himas gives to the poor linds to the Lord:' so, in the ind, it's yeesthat'll come in wid your pockets full, if ye belave yer ownScripter, " said Mrs. Ginniss shrewdly. 

The young doctor gave her a sharp glance out of his merry browneyes, but only answered, as he walked on to the bedside, --

"You have it there, my friend. "

For several moments, there was silence in the little room while Dr. Wentworth felt his patient's pulse, looked at her tongue, examinedher eyes, and passed his hand over the burning skin. 

"H'm! Typhoid, without doubt, " said he to himself, and then to Mrs. Ginniss, --

"Can you tell the probable cause of the child's illness, ma'am? Hasshe been exposed to any sudden chill, or any long-continued cold orfatigue?"

Mrs. Ginniss was about to reply by telling all she knew of thelittle stranger; but catching Teddy's imploring look, and thegesture with which he seemed to beg her to keep the secret of his"little sister's" sudden adoption, she only answered, --

"Sure an' it's the cowld she took last night but one is workin' inher. "

"She took cold night before last? How was it?" pursued the doctor. 

"She was out late in the street, sure, an' the clothes she'd gotwasn't warm enough, " said the washwoman, her eyes still fixed onTeddy, who, from behind the doctor, was making every imploringgesture he could invent to prevent her from telling the whole truth. The doctor did not fail to notice the hesitation and embarrassmentof the woman's manner, but remembering what Teddy had told him ofhis mother's poverty, and her own little betrayal of pride when hefirst entered, naturally concluded that she was annoyed at having tosay that the child had been sent into the street without properclothing, and forbore to press the question. 

Ah Teddy and Teddy's mother! if you had loved the truth as well asyou loved little lost 'Toinette, how much suffering, anxiety, andanguish you would have saved to her and her's!

But the doctor asked no more questions, except such as Mrs. Ginnisscould answer without hesitation; and pretty soon went away, promising to come again next day, and taking Teddy with him to theinfirmary where medicine is furnished without charge to those unableto pay for it. 

Before the boy returned, 'Toinette had passed from the stupid to thedelirious stage of her fever; and all that night, as he woke ordozed in his little closet close beside his mother's door, poorTeddy's heart ached to hear the wild tones of entreaty, of terror, or of anger, proving to his mind that the delicate child he alreadyloved so well had suffered much and deeply, and that at no distantperiod. 

Toward morning, he dressed, and crept into his mother's room. Thewasherwoman sat in the clothes she had worn at bed-time, patientlyfanning her little charge, and, half asleep herself, murmuringconstantly, --

"Ah thin, honey, whisht, whisht! It's nothin' shall harm ye now, darlint! Asy, now, asy, mavourneen! Whisht, honey, whisht!"

"Lie down and sleep, mother, and let me sit by her, " whispered Teddyin his mother's ear; and, with a nod, the weary woman crept acrossthe foot of the bed, and was asleep in a moment. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE NIGHT-WATCH. 

TEDDY, waving the old palm-leaf fan up and down with as much care asif it had carried the breath of life to his poor little charge, satfor some time very quiet, listening to her wild prattle withouttrying to interrupt it; until, after lying still for a few moments, she suddenly fixed her eyes upon him, and said, --

"Oh! you're Peter Phinn, sister to Merry that weared a sun-bonnet, ain't you?"

The question seemed so conscious and rational, that Teddy answeredeagerly, --

"No, honey; but I'm Teddy Ginniss; and I'm going to be your brotherforever and always. What's your name, sissy?"

"I'm Finny; no, I'm Cherrytoe, --I'm Cherrytoe, that dances. Want tosee me dance, Peter?"

As she spoke, she started up, and would have jumped out of bed; butTeddy laid his hand upon her arm, and said soothingly, --

"No, no, sissy; not now. Another day you shall dance for Teddy, whenyou're all well. And you mustn't call me Peter, 'cause I'm Teddy. "

"Teddy, Teddy, " repeated 'Toinette vaguely, and then, with a suddenshrill laugh, shouted, --"'Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief;Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef. ' Guess you'reTaffy, ain't you?"

"No: I'm Teddy. I'm your brother Teddy, " repeated the boy patiently;and then, to change the subject, added coaxingly, "And what's thepretty name you called yourself, darlint?"

"I'm Cherrytoe, --Cherrytoe that dances so pretty. Don't you hear, yougreat naughty lady?--Cherrytoe, Cherrytoe, Cherrytoe!"

The wild scream in which the name was repeated woke even tired Mrs. Ginniss, who started upright, crying, --

"What's it, what's it, Teddy? Ochone! what ails the crather?"

"It's only her name she's telling, mother; and sure it's a prettyone. It's Cherrytoe. "

"And what sort of a quare name is that for a christened child? Surewe'll call it Cherry; for wunst I heerd of a lady as was called thatway, " said Mrs. Ginniss. 

"Yes, we'll call her Cherry, little sister Cherry, " said Teddy, delighted with the promise implied in his mother's words of keepingthe child for her own. "And, mother, " added he, "mind you don't betelling the doctor nor any one that she ain't your own, or maybethey'll take her away to the 'sylum or somewheres, whether we'd likeit or not: and, if they do, I'll run off to sea; I will, by ginger!"

"Whisht, thin, with your naughty words, Teddy Ginniss! Didn't I bateye enough whin ye wor little to shtop ye from swearin'?"

"Ginger ain't swearing, " replied Teddy positively. "I asked themaster if it wor, and he said it worn't. "

"Faith, thin, and he says it hisself, I'm thinkin', " half asked themother, with a shrewd twinkle of her gray eyes. Teddy faltered andblushed, but answered manfully, --

"No, he don't; and he said it was low and vulgar to talk that way;and I don't, only by times. "

"Well, thin, Teddy, see that yer don't, only thim times whin yerhears the masther do it forninst ye: thin it'll be time enough forye. And don't ye be forgettin', b'y, that ye're bound to be agintleman afore ye die. It was what yer poor daddy said when yer worborn, a twelvemonth arter we landed here. 'There, Judy, ' says he, 'there's a native-born 'Merican for yees, wid as good a right to bePrisidint as the best ov 'em. Now, don't yer let him grow up aPaddy, wid no more brains nor a cow or a horse. Make a gintleman, an' a 'Merican gintleman, of the spalpeen; an' shtrike hands on itnow. '

"'Troth, thin, Michael alanna, an' it's a bargain, ' says I, an', wake as I wor, give him me fist out ov the bed; an' he shuk ithearty. An', though Michael died afore the year wor out, the promiseI'd made him stood; an' it's more ways than iver ye'll know, TeddyGinniss, I've turned an' twisted to kape ye dacent, an' kape ye outov the streets, niver forgittin' for one minute that Michael hadtowld me there was the makin's of a gintleman in yees, an' that he'dleft it to me to work it out. "

To this story, familiar as it was, Teddy listened with as muchattention as if he had never heard it before, and, when it wasended, said, --

"And tell about your putting me to the squire, mother. "

"Yis, b'y; an' that wor the biggest bit of loock that iver I wor inyet. Two twelvemonth ago come Christmas it wor, an' iver an' alwaysI had been thinkin' what 'ud I do wid ye nixt, when Ann Dolan towldme how her sisther's son had got a chance wid a lawyer to clane outhis bit ov an office, and run wid arrants an' sich, an' wor to havefifty dollars a year, wid the chance ov larnin' what he could out ovall thim big books as does be in sich places. Thin it somehow kiminter my head so sudden like, that it's sartain sure I am it wasMichael come out ov glory to whishper it in my ear: 'There's MistherBooros'll mebbe do as much for your Teddy. ' I niver spoke the firstword to Ann Dolan, but lapped my shawl about me, an' wint out ov herhouse with no more than, 'God save ye, Ann!' an' twenty minuteslater I wor in Misther Booros's office. 

"'Good-evenin', Mrs. Ginniss, ' says he, as ginteel as yer plaze. 'An' how is yer health?'

"'Purty good, thank ye kindly, sir, ' says I; 'an' its hopin' youhave yours the same, I am. '

"'Thank you, I am very well; and what can I do for you this evening?Pray, be sated, ' says he, laning back in his chair wid sech a ralegood-natured smile on the handsome face of him, that I says tomyself, 'It's the lucky woman you are, Judy Ginniss, to put yer b'ywid sech a dacent gintleman: an' I smiled to him agin, an' begun tothe beginnin', and towld him the whole story, --what Michael said tome, an' what I said to Michael; an' how Mike died wid the faver; an'how I'd worked an 'saved, an' wouldn't marry Tom Murphy when he axedme, an' all so as I could kape my b'y dacent, an' sind him to theschool, an' give him his books an' his joggerphy-picters"--

"Them's maps, mother, " interposed Teddy. 

"Niver yer mind, b'y, what they be. Yer had 'em along wid the bestof yer schoolmates; an' so I towld the squire. 'An' now, ' says I, 'he's owld enough to be settlin' to a thrade; an' I likes the lawyerthrade the best, an' so I've coom to git yer honor to take him'printice. '

"At that he stared like as he'd been moonsthruck; an' thin helaughed a little to hisself; and thin he axed mighty quite like, 'How do you mane, Mrs. Ginniss?' So I towld him about Ann Dolan'ssisther's son, an' what wor the chance he'd got; an' thin I madebowld to ax him would he take my b'y the same way, on'y I'd likehe'd larn more, an' I wouldn't mind the fifty dollars a year, but'ud kape him mesilf, as I had kep' him since his daddy died, if thewuth uv it might be give him in larnin'. "

"And what did the master say to that, mother?" asked Teddy, with abright look that showed he foresaw and was pleased with the answer. 

"Sure and he said what a gintleman the likes uv him should say, andsaid with his own hearty smile that's as good as the goold dollar uvanother man, --

"'My good 'oman, ' says he, 'sind along your b'y as soon as youplaze; an' if he's as--as'--what's that agin, Teddy, darlint?"

"Amberitious, " pronounced Teddy with a grand sort of air; "and itmeans, he told me, wanting to be something more than you wor bynater. "

"Faith, and that's it, Teddy: that's the very moral uv what I wantsto see in yees. Well, the masther said if the b'y was as amberitiousan' as 'anest as his mother afore him (that's me, yer see, Teddy), "--

"Yes, yes, mother, I know. Well?"

"That he'd make a man uv him that should be a pride an' a support tothe owld age uv me, an' a blissin' to the day I med up my mind toeddicate him. That wor two year ago, Teddy Ginniss; an', so far, hasn' the gintleman done by yees as niver yer own daddy could? Hasn'he put yees to the readin' an' the writin' an' the joggerphy--picters, an' the nate figgers that yees puts on me washin'--bills, till it's proud I am to hand 'em to the gintlefolks, an' say, 'If yeplaze, the figgers is pooty plain. It's me b'y made 'em'? Now tillme, Teddy, hasn' the shquire done all this by yees, an' give yeesthe fifty dollars by the year, all the same as if he give ye nothin'else?"

"He has so, mother. "

"An' whin I wanted to wash for him widout a cint uv charge, an'towld him it was jist foon to rinshe out his bit things, bekase heis that good--natered an' quite that there's niver the fust roobin'to do to 'em, he says, --

"'An' if I let yees do 'em widout charge, I'd as lieve wear theshirt of Misther Nessus;' an' more by token, Teddy Ginniss, I toldye iver and oft to look in the big books an' see who was MistherNessus, an' what about his shirt. "

"Faith and ye did, mother; but I never could find him yet. Some dayI'll ask the master, " said Teddy with a puzzled look. 

"An' so he pays me what I ax, an' it isn' for the likes uv him to beknowin' what the others ud charge; an', whin he gives me forty cintsthe dozen, he thinks, the poor innercint! that it's mooch as I wouldax uv any one. Now, Teddy b'y, isn' all I've towld ye God's truth?and haven't ye heerd it as many times as yees are days owld out uvyer own moother's lips?"

"Faith and I have, mother. "

"An' wud yer moother till yees a lie, or bid yees do what wasn'tplazin' to God, Teddy?"

"Sure she wouldn't; and I'll lick the first fellow that'll say shewould, if he was as big as Goliah in the Bible, " said Teddy, doubling up his fist, and nodding fiercely. 

"Thin, Teddy Ginniss, we cooms to this; an' it's not the first time, nor yet the last, we'll coom to it. If iver ye can do yer masther aservice, be it big or be it little; if iver the stringth, or thecoorage, or the life itself, of yees, or thim as is dear to yees, udsarve him or plaze him, --I bid yees now to give it him free an'willin' as ye'd give it to God. An' so ye mind me, it's my blissin'an' the blissin' uv yer dead father that's iver wid ye; an' so yefail me, it's the black curse uv disobedience, an' yer moother'sbrukken heart, that shall cling to yees for iver and iver, whilelife shall last. Do ye mind that, b'y?"

"I mind it, and I'll heed it, mother, as I've promised you before, "said Teddy solemnly; and mother and son exchanged as tender and astrue a kiss as young Bayard and his lady-mother could have done whenshe gave him to be a knight and chevalier. 

All through this long conversation, which had been carried on in alow tone of voice, and frequently interrupted when it seemed todisturb her, 'Toinette had slept feverish and restlessly; but as thewashwoman crept away to begin her daily labors, and Teddy lingeredfor a moment more to look at the poor little sister whose beauty wasto him an ever-new delight, her great blue eyes suddenly opened, andfixed upon him, while with an airy little laugh she said, --

"We're King and Queen of Merrigoland, Peter; isn't we? Does you loveme, Peter?"

"I couldn't tell how well I love you, Cherry dear; but it's Teddy Iam, and not Peter, " said the boy, bashfully kissing the little hothand upon the outside of the bed. 

To his dismay, the delirious child snatched it from him with a wildcry, and burst into a storm of tears and sobs, crying, --

"Go away, wicked lady! go away, I say! God won't love you when youstrike me, you know. He won't: my mamma said so. Oh, oh, oh!"

Her cries brought Mrs. Ginniss to her side in a moment, who, tenderly soothing her, turned upon Teddy. 

"Bad 'cess to yees, ye spalpeen! An' what ud ye be afther vexin' herfor, an' her in a faver? What did yees say to her?"

"I said my name was Teddy, and not Peter; and then she said I was alady, and struck her, " replied the boy, bewildered, and a littleindignant. 

"And sure ye'r Peter or Paul, or Judas hissilf, if so be she likesto call ye so while she's this way; an', if ye shtrike her, it's theweight uv my fist ye'll feel; mind that, young man!--Whisht, thin, darlint! asy, mavourneen!"

'Toinette, hushed upon the motherly bosom of the good woman, soonceased her cries, and presently fell again to sleep; while Teddy, with rather an injured look upon his uncouth face, and yet pleasedto see the little sister in his mother's arms, crept softly from theroom, with his breakfast in his hand. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE EMPTY NEST. 

WHEN Susan returned from carrying Bessie Rider home, she was quitesurprised to find the front-door ajar, as she thought she had beensure of latching it in going out; but, without stopping to make anyinquiries of the other servants, she ran up the stairs, took off hershawl and hood, and then went to the drawing-room for 'Toinette. Theroom was empty; and Susan at once concluded that Mrs. Legrange hadtaken the child to her own chamber while she dressed for dinner, as'Toinette often begged to be present at this ceremony, and was oftenindulged. 

"I'll just ready up the nursery a bit before I fetch her, " saidSusan, looking round the littered room; and so it was half anhour before she knocked at Mrs. Legrange's chamber-door with, "I came for Miss 'Toinette, ma'am. "

"Come in, Susan. Miss 'Toinette, did you say? She is down in thedrawing-room by herself, and you had better put her to bed at once. She must be very tired. "

Alas! the tender mother little guessed how tired!

Without reply, Susan closed the door, and ran down stairs; an uneasyfeeling creeping over her, although she would not yet confess iteven to herself. 

The drawing-room was still empty; but James had lighted the gas andstirred the fire, so that every corner was as light as day. In everywindow-recess, under every couch and sofa, behind every large chair, even in the closet of the ‚tagŠre, Susan searched for her littlecharge, hoping, praying to find her asleep, or roguishly hiding, asshe had known her to do before. But all in vain: no merry face, nosunny curls, no laughing eyes, peeped out from recess or corner orhiding place; and Susan's ruddy face grew pale even to the lips. 

She flew to the dining-room, and searched it as narrowly as she haddone the drawing-room. 

No: she was not there!

The library, the bath-room, the chambers, the nursery again, theservants' chambers, the kitchen, laundry, pantries, the very cellar!

No, no, no! 'Toinette was in none of them. 'Toinette was not in anynook of the whole wide house, that, without her, seemed so empty anddesolate. Standing in one of the upper entries, mute and bewildered, Susan heard a latch-key turn in the front-door lock, and presentlyMr. Legrange's pleasant voice speaking in the hall. A sudden hoperushed into Susan's heart. The child might possibly have gone tomeet her father, and was now returned with him. She rushed downstairs as fast as her feet could carry her; but in the hall stoodonly Mr. Legrange, talking to James, who had some message to deliverto him. 

As Susan flew down the stairs, the master turned and looked at herin some surprise. 

"Be careful, Susan: you nearly fell then. Is any thing the matter?"

"Miss 'Toinette, sir: I can't find her, high nor low!" gasped Susan. 

"Can't find her! Good heavens! you don't mean to say she's lost!"exclaimed the father, turning, and staring at the nurse in dismay. 

"Oh! I don't know, sir, I'm sure; but I can't find her, " criedSusan, wildly bursting into tears. 

"Where is her mother? Where is Mrs. Legrange, James?"

"I don't know, sir, I'm sure, " said the footman blankly. 

"She's in her own room, sir; and I'm afraid to go to tell her, she'll feel that bad. And indeed it wasn't any fault of mine: I onlywent"--

"Hush!" exclaimed Mr. Legrange, who had heard his wife close herchamber-door and begin to descend the stairs, and did not wish herto be frightened. 

"Wait here a moment, Susan, " added he, and, running up stairs, entered the drawing-room just after his wife, who stood before thefire, looking so pretty and so gay in her blue silk-dress, with aribbon of the same shade twisted among her golden curls, that herhusband shrunk back, dreading to ask the question that must so shockand startle her. But Mrs. Legrange had caught sight of him, and, running to the door, opened it suddenly, crying, --

"Come in, you silly boy! Are you playing bo-beep? I don't do suchthings since my daughter is six years old, I would have you tounderstand. "

Mr. Legrange, forcing a laugh and a careless tone, came forward asshe spoke, and, stooping to kiss her, asked, --

"And where is your daughter, my love?"

"'Toinette? Oh! I suppose she is with Susan, " began Mrs. Legrangecarelessly; and then, as something in her husband's voice or mannerattracted her attention, she drew back, and hurriedly looked intohis face, crying, --

"O Paul! what is it? What has happened? Is 'Toinette hurt? Where isshe?"

"Be quiet, darling; don't be alarmed. Wait till we know more. --Susan, come up here, " called Mr. Legrange; and Susan, with her face buriedin her apron, and sobbing as if her heart would break, crept timidlyup the stairs and into the room. 

At sight of her, Mrs. Legrange turned pale, and clung to her husbandfor support. 

"O Susan! what is it? Tell me quick!"

"She's gone, ma'am, and I don't know where!" sobbed the nurse. 

"Gone! What, 'Toinette gone! Lost, do you mean?" cried the motherwildly, while her pale cheeks flushed scarlet, and her soft eyesglittered with terror. 

"Oh! I don't know, ma'am; but I can't find her. "

"Lost! What, 'Toinette lost!" repeated the mother in the same wildtone, and trying to tear herself away from her husband's detainingarms. But, soothing her as he would a child, Mr. Legrange, by a fewcalm and well-directed questions, drew from both mistress and maidall that was to be known of 'Toinette's disappearance, and, when thewhole was told, said, --

"Well, Susan, you are not to blame. You merely obeyed yourmistress's directions, and need not feel that this misfortune is atall your fault. No doubt 'Toinette has gone out by herself, and is, for the moment, lost, but, I trust, will soon be found. You may goat once to the houses of the neighbors whose children she has beenin the habit of visiting. Be as quick as you can about it; and, ifyou do not find her, come directly home, and I will warn the police. Send James up to me as you go down. "

"Yes, sir, " said Susan, a little comforted; and, as she closed thedoor, Mr. Legrange returned to his wife, and, clasping her tenderlyin his arms, kissed the burning cheeks and glittering eyes thatfrightened him, until the dangerous calm broke up in a graciousflood of tears and wild sobs of, "My child!--O my little child!"

"Hush, darling, hush! You must be calm, or I cannot leaveyou, --cannot go to look for her. I will not leave you so, even tosearch for her. "

"Yes, yes, go! I will try--O Paul, Paul! do go and look for her!"

"When I see you calmer, love; not till then;" and the tender-heartedman could himself have wept to see the heroic efforts of thatdelicate nature to control itself and put his fears to rest. Hestill was soothing her, when, with a tap at the door, entered James, followed by Susan, who hurriedly announced that 'Toinette was not tobe heard of at any of the neighbors, and asked where she should gonext. 

"Nowhere! Stay here and attend to Mrs. Legrange until I return. Ishall go at once to the police-station. James, you know where Mr. Burroughs lives?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Go to him. Or stay: he is dining with a friend to-day. Here is thedirection. Go to this house at once; see Mr. Burroughs; tell himthat 'Toinette is lost, and beg him to come up here directly. Keepyour eyes open as you go: you may possibly meet her yourself. Hurry, man; hurry for your life!"

"Yes, sir, " replied the man heartily; and Mr. Legrange returned tohis wife, who was walking quickly up and down the room, her handsclasped tight before her, her lips rigid, and her eyes set. 

"There, darling, I have sent for Tom to help us; and no one could doit better than he will. I am going to the police myself. Takecourage, dearest, and hope, as I do, that, before morning, we shallhave our pet back, safe and sound. But you--O Fanny! how can I leaveyou so? Try, try, for my sake, for 'Toinette's sake, to be calm andhopeful. "

"Yes--I--will--try!" sobbed the poor mother; and Mr. Legrange, notdaring to trust himself to look at her again, lest he also shouldbreak down, hastened from the room. 

But morning came, and night, and yet another morning and as thefather, the mother, the cousin who was almost brother to both, theassistants, and poor broken-hearted Susan, looked into each other'swan, worn faces, they found nothing there but discouragement, andalmost hopeless despair. 

Mrs. Legrange who had not eaten or slept since 'Toinette'sdisappearance, was already too ill to sit up, but insisted uponremaining dressed, and waiting in the drawing-room for the reportsthat some one of those engaged in the search brought almost hourlyto the house. Her husband, looking like the ghost of his formerself, wandered incessantly from his own home to the police-officeand back again, each time through some new street, and peeringcuriously into the face of every child he met, that more than one ofthem ran frightened home to tell their mothers that they had met acrazy man, who stared at them as if he would eat them up. 

And yet no clew, no faintest trace, of the little 'Toinette, who laytossing in her fever-dreams upon good Mrs. Ginniss's humble bed, while the young doctor day by day shook his head more sadly overher, and said to his own heart that it was only by God's specialmercy she could ever rise from that cruel illness. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A TRACE AND A SEARCH. 

THREE weary nights and two days had passed, when as Mr. Legrange, bending over his wife's sofa, entreated her to take the food anddrink he had himself prepared for her, a sharp peal at the bell, followed by a bounding step upon the stair, startled them both. 

"It is Tom, and he has news!" exclaimed Mrs. Legrange in a lowvoice, as she pushed away the tray and rose to her feet. 

The door opened, and the young man entered, his tired face glowingwith hope and satisfaction. In his hand he held a little bundle; andsitting down, with no more than word of greeting, he hastily untiedit upon his knee. 

"Aren't these her clothes?" asked he breathlessly, as he held up byone sleeve a little sky-blue merino-dress, with a torn laceundersleeve hanging from the shoulder, and in the other hand a pairof dainty little boots of bronze cloth. 

Mrs. Legrange, with a wild cry, darted forward, and, grasping thepretty dress, buried her face in it, covering it with kisses, whileshe cried, --

"Yes, yes! O Tom! where is she? Tell me quick, before my poor heartbreaks with joy!"

Mr. Burroughs remained silent. How could he say that he knew aslittle as ever how to answer this appeal?

"Where did you get them, Tom?" asked Mr. Legrange hurriedly. 

"Billings found them in a pawn-broker's shop. You know we gave allthe detectives a list of the clothing, and full description of thechild. Billings has been all over the city, examining at everypawn-broker's shop all the children's clothes brought in since welost her, you know"--

"Yes, yes! And when"--

"Last night he found this in a little out-of-the-way place (I didn'tstop to ask where), and, thinking they looked like the right thing, brought them to me. I was asleep, and the people stupidly would notwake me: so he waited; and this morning, when I rose, there he was. I snatched the bundle, and came right along with it. Now, of course, they'll soon find who left them: only, unluckily, they weren'tpawned, but sold outright; so they didn't take the name; but the manthinks it was an old woman who sold them to him. He is in custody;and we will go down and hear the examination, Paul. "

"Certainly, at once. " And Mr. Legrange nervously buttoned his coat, and moved toward the door. 

"It is to be at ten, and it is now half-past nine. I suppose we hadbetter go at once. Good-by, dear cousin Fanny!" said Mr. Burroughs, looking sorrowfully at the wan face upraised to his, as the poormother replied, --

"Good-by, Tom! and oh, pray, do every thing, every thing, that canbe done! I cannot tell"--

She was unable to finish, and the two men hurried away from thesight of a sorrow as yet without remedy. 

The examination of the blear-eyed and stupid old pawn-brokerresulted in very little satisfaction. He believed that it was awoman who had sold him the bundle of child's clothing. He was notsure if it were an old or a young woman, but rather thought it wasan old woman. It might have been a week ago that he bought them; itmight have been more, or it might have been less: he didn't set itdown, and couldn't say. 

This was all; and, as nothing could be proved or even suspected ofhim in connection with 'Toinette's disappearance, he was dischargedfrom custody, although warned to hold himself in readiness to appearat any moment when he should be summoned. 

He had not yet, however, left the room, when one of the audience, apoliceman off duty, stepped forward, and, intimating that he hadsomething to say, was sworn, and went on to tell how he had beenleaning against a lamp-post at the extreme of his beat, just restinga bit, in the edge of evening before last, when he saw an old womanthat they call Mother Winch come up the street, carrying a bundle, and leading a little girl. He knew she hadn't any child of her own;and the child was dressed very poor; and Mother Winch called herJudy or Biddy, or some Paddy-name or other; and maybe it was allright, and maybe it wasn't. It could be worked up easy enough, hesupposed. 

So supposed the detective in whose hands the clew was immediatelyplaced; but when, an hour later, he descended the steps into MotherWinch's cellar, he found that a keener and a swifter messenger thanhimself had already called the wretched old woman to account; andshe lay across the rusty old stove, quite dead, with a broken bottleof spirit upon the floor beside her, and all the front of her bodyshockingly burned. The coroner who was called to see her decidedthat she had fallen across the stove, either in a fit, or too muchintoxicated to move, and had died unconscious of her situation. Shewas buried by public charity, and in her grave seemed hidden everyhope of tracing the lost child. 

"She must have been carried from the city, " said the detectives; andthe search was extended into the country, and to other towns andcities, although not neglected at home. 

CHAPTER XII. 

TEDDY'S TEMPTATION. 

TEDDY GINNISS sat alone in his master's office, feeling very sad andforlorn: for Dr. Wentworth had that morning said that the chance oflife for his little patient was very, very small; and it seemed toTeddy heavier news than human heart had ever borne before. Hismorning duties over, he had seated himself at his little table, andtried to study the lesson given him by Mr. Burroughs upon theprevious day; but a heavy heart makes dim eyes, and the page whereTeddy's were fixed seemed to him no better than a crowd ofdisjointed letters swimming in a blinding mist. 

A hasty step was heard upon the stair; and, passing the sleeve ofhis jacket across his eyes, the boy bent closer over the book as hismaster entered the room. 

"Any one been in this morning, Teddy?" asked Mr. Burroughs, passinginto the inner office. 

"No, sir. "

"I am going out of town for a day or two, Teddy, --going to New York;and Mr. Barlow will be here to attend to the business. You will dowhatever he wishes as you would for me. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. "

The good-natured young man, struck by the mournful tone of Teddy'susually hearty voice, turned and looked sharply at him. 

"Aren't you well, Teddy?"

"Yes sir, thank your honor. "

"Not 'your honor' until I'm a judge, Teddy. But what's amiss withyou, my boy?"

"I wouldn't be troubling your--you with it, sir. It's nothing as canbe helped. "

"No, no; but what is it, Teddy?" insisted the lawyer, who saw thatTeddy could hardly restrain his tears. 

"Nothing, sir; but the little sister is mortal sick, and the doctorsays he's afeard she won't stand it. "

"Your little sister, Teddy?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I didn't know you had one. You never spoke of her before, did you?"

"Maybe not, sir. "

"What is the matter with her?"

"The faver, sir. "

Mr. Burroughs knew that this phrase in an Irish mouth means but onedisease, and replied, in a sympathizing voice, --

"Typhus! I'm sorry for you, Teddy, and sorry, too, for your mother, who is an excellent woman; but the little girl may yet recover:while there is life, there is hope, you know. Even if she dies, itis not so bad as--I am going to New York, Teddy, to look for a littlecousin of mine whose parents do not know if she is living or dead, suffering or safe: that is worse than to have her ill, but undertheir care and protection, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, perhaps. Is the little girl in New York, sir, do youthink?"

"We hear of a child found astray there, who answers to thedescription; and I am going to see her before we mention the reportto her mother. Have you never seen Mr. Legrange here, Teddy? It ishis little girl. I wonder you haven't heard us talking of thematter. "

"I don't mind the name, sir; and I haven't heard of the little girlbefore. Is she long lost?"

"Ten days yesterday. I have been busy all the week in the search forher. The clothes she had on when lost were found in a pawn-broker'sshop; but we have no trace of her yet. "

"What looking child was she, if you please, sir?" asked Teddy aftera short pause, in which he seemed to study intently; while Mr. Burroughs went on glancing at the newspapers in his hand. 

"'Toinette? Here is a description of her in 'The Journal, ' and Ihave a photograph in my pocket-book. Here it is. It is well for youto study them both; for possibly you may discover her. I didn'tthink of it before; but you are just the boy to put upon the search. If you should find her, Teddy, Mr. Legrange will make your fortune. He is rich and generous, and this is his only child. Eleven o'clock. Shall be in at one. "

As he spoke, Mr. Burroughs threw the paper and photograph uponTeddy's table, and hastily left the office. The boy took up "TheJournal, " and read the following advertisement:--

"Lost, upon the evening of Oct. 31, a little girl, six years of age, named Antoinette Legrange; of slight figure, round face, delicatecolor, large blue eyes, long curled hair of a bright-yellow color, small mouth, and regular teeth. She was dressed, at the time of herdisappearance, in a blue frock and brown boots, with a lady'sbreakfast-shawl; and wore upon the sleeve of her dress a bracelet ofcoral cameos engraved under the clasp with her name in full. Aliberal reward will be paid for information concerning her. Apply atthe police-station. "

When he had studied this, Teddy took up the photograph, and examinedit earnestly. The dress, the long curled hair, the joyousexpression, were very different from the pale face, wild eyes, andcropped head of the little sister at home; but Teddy's heart sankwithin him as he traced the delicate features, the curved lips, andtrim little figure. He dropped the picture, and, leaning his faceupon his arm, sobbed aloud. 

"I'll lose her anyway, if she dies or if she lives; and it's all thelittle sister ever I got. "

But presently another thought made Teddy lift his head, and lookanxiously about him to make sure that his emotion had not been seenby any one. He was still alone; and, with a sigh of relief, hedashed away the tears from his eyes, muttering, --

"It's the big fool I am, entirely! Sure and mightn't she have pickedup the bracelet in the street, where maybe the little lady they'velost dropped it? And, if she looks like the picture, so does many aone beside; and it's no call I have to be troubling the master withtelling him about her anyway. She's my own little sister, and I'llkeep her to myself. "

A sudden sharp recollection darted through the boy's mind, and hegrew a little pale as he added, --

"Leastways, I'll keep her if God will let me; and sure isn't hestronger nor me? If it isn't for me to have her, can't he take her, if it's by death, or if it's by leading them that's searching forher to where she is? And more by token, that's the way I'll try it. If God means she shall stay and be my little sister, she'll live, and I'll take her, and say nothing to nobody about it: but, if it'sdisplasin' to him, she'll die; and then I'll tell the master allabout it, and he may do what he's a mind to with me. That's the wayI'll fix it. "

And Teddy, well satisfied with his own bad argument, took comfort, and went back to his books. 

When Mr. Burroughs returned to the office, he was accompanied by Mr. Barlow, the gentleman who was to occupy it during his absence; andhe did not speak to Teddy, except to give him a few directions, andbid him a kind good-by. The paper and picture he found lying uponhis desk, and hastily put in his pocket without remark or question. 

For the first time in his life, Teddy avoided meeting his master'seye, but watched him furtively over the top of his book, raising itso as to screen his face whenever Mr. Burroughs looked his way, andtrembling whenever he spoke to him; and, for the first time in hislife, he secretly rejoiced at seeing him leave the office, knowingthat he was to be gone for some time. 

The long day was over at last; and, so soon as the hour for closingthe office had begun to strike, Teddy locked the door, sprang downstairs, and ran like a deer towards home, feeling as if in somemanner the little sister was about to be taken away from him, and hemust hasten to prevent it. 

At the foot of the stairs, however, he checked himself, creeping upas silently and cautiously as possible, and stopping at the head tolisten for the clear voice, frightfully clear and shrill, of thedelirious child, which usually met him there. No sound was to beheard except the deep voice of the Italian organ-grinder in the roombelow, talking to himself or his monkey as he prepared supper; andTeddy, creeping along the entry to his mother's door, softly openedit, and went in. 

At one side of the bed stood Mrs. Ginniss; at the other, Dr. Wentworth: but Teddy saw only the little waxen face upon the pillowbetween them, --the little face so strange and lovely now; for all thefever flush had passed away, the babbling lips were folded white andstill, the glittering eyes were closed, and the long dark lashes laymotionless upon the cheek, --the little face so strange and terriblein its sudden, peaceful beauty. 

As Teddy softly entered, Dr. Wentworth turned and held a warningfinger up; then bent again above the little child, his hand upon herheart. 

The boy crept close to his mother, down whose honest face the tearsran like rain; although she heeded the earnest warning of thephysician, and was almost as still as she little form she watched. 

"Is she dead, mother?" whispered Teddy. 

"Whisht, darlint! wait till we know, " whispered she in return; andthe young doctor glanced impatiently at both out of his strained andeager eyes. Had it been his own and only child, he could not havehung more earnestly about her: and here was the strange, sweet charmof this little life, --that all who came within its influence feltthemselves drawn toward it, and opened wide their hearts to allowits entrance; feeling not alone that they loved the lovely child, but that she was or should be their very own, to cherish and fondleand bind to them forever. 

So the coarse, hard-working woman, who two weeks before had neverseen her face, now wept as true and bitter tears as she had donebeside the death-bed of the child she had lost when Teddy was ababy; and the young doctor, who had watched the passage of a hundredsouls from time to eternity, hung over this little dying form as ifall life for him were held within it, and to lose it were to loseall. And Teddy-ah! poor Teddy; for upon his young heart lay not onlythe bitterness of the death busy with his "little sister's" life, but the heavy burden of wrong and deception, and the proof, as hethought, of God's displeasure in taking from him at last what he hadtried so hard to keep. 

He sank upon his knees beside the bed, and hid his face, whispering, --

"O God! let her live, and I will give her back to them as I kept herfrom. "

Over and over and over again, he whispered just these words, clinching tight his boy-hands to keep down the agony of thesacrifice; while in the very centre of his heart throbbed a hard, dull pain, that seemed as if it would rend it asunder. 

His face was still hidden, when, like an answer to his petition, came the softest of whispers from the doctor's lips, --

"She will live, with God's help, and the best of care from you. "

"An' it's the bist uv care she'll git, I'll pass me word for that, "whispered back Teddy's mother, so earnestly, that the doctoranswered, --

"Hush! She is falling asleep. Do not wake her, for her life!"

He sank into a chair as he spoke. Mrs. Ginniss crept round to thestove, and, crouching beside it, covered her head with her apron, and remained motionless. As for Teddy, he never stirred or lookedup, but with his face hidden upon the bed, repeated again and againthose words, to him so solemn and so full of meaning, until in thesilence and the waiting he fell asleep, and gradually sank upon thefloor. 

And so the night went on: and the careful eyes of the youngphysician marked how a faint tinge of color crept into thedeath-white cheek upon the pillow; and how the still lips lost theirhard, cold line, and grew human once more, though so pale; and howthe eyelids stirred, moving the heavy lashes; and a faint pulsefluttered in the slender throat. 

At last, with a long, soft sigh, the lips lightly parted; theeyelids opened slowly, showing for a moment the blue eyes, dim andlanguid, but no longer wild with delirium; and then they slowlyclosed, and the breath came softly and regularly from the partedlips. 

Dr. Wentworth heaved an answering sigh of mingled weariness andrelief, and, rising, went to Mrs. Ginniss's side, touching her uponthe shoulder, and whispering, --

"She is doing well. Keep her as quiet as possible. I will be in atnine. "

Hushing the murmured blessings she would have poured upon his head, the young man stole softly from the room and down the stairs intothe street, where already the first gray of dawn struggled with theflaring gas-lights. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE CACHUCA. 

TEN days more, and beside the fire in Mrs. Ginniss's attic-room sata little figure, propped in the wooden rocking-chair with pillowsand comfortables; while upon a small stand close beside her werearranged a few cheap toys, a plate with some pieces of orange uponit, a sprig of geranium in a broken-nosed pitcher of water, and acup of beef-tea. 

But for none of these did the languid little invalid seem to care;and lying back in the chair, her head nestled into the pillow, herparched lips open, and her eyes half closed, she looked so littlelike the bright and glowing 'Toinette who had danced at herbirthday-party not a month before, that it is a question if any onebut her own mother would have believed her to be the same. 

Mrs. Ginniss, hard at work upon the frills of a fashionable lady'sskirt, paused every few moments to look over her shoulder at thelittle wasted face with the wistful look of some dumb creature whosees its offspring suffering, and cannot tell how to relieve it. 

Suddenly setting the flat-iron she had just taken back upon thestove, the washwoman came and bent over the child, looking earnestlyinto her face. 

"An' it's waker an' whiter she gits every day. Sure and I'm aftherseeing the daylight through the little hands uv her; and her eyes isthat big, they take the breath uv me whin I mate 'em. See, darlint!-see the purty skip-jack Teddy brought ye!"

She took from the table the toy she named, and, pulling the string, made the figure of the man vault over the top of the stick and backseveral times, crying at the same time, --

"Hi, thin!-hi, thin! See how the crather joomps, honey!"

But, although the languid eyes of the child followed her motions fora moment, no shadow of a smile stirred the parched lips; andpresently the eyes closed, as if the effort were too much for them. 

Mrs. Ginniss laid the toy upon the table, and took up the cup ofbeef-tea. 

"Have a soop of yer dhrink, darlint?" said she, tenderly holding thecup to the child's lips, and raising her head with the other hand;but, with a moan of impatience or distress, the weary head turneditself upon the pillow, and the little wasted hand half rose to pushaway the cup. 

"An' what is it I'll plaze ye wid, mavourneen? Do yees want Teddy tocoom home?" asked the poor woman in despair. 

A faint murmur of assent crept from between the parched lips; andthe eyes, slowly opening, glanced toward the door. 

"It's this minute he'll be here, thin, " said the washwoman joyfully. "An' faith yees ought to love him, honey; for he'd give the two eyesout of his head to plaze yees, an' git down on his knees to thankyees for takin' 'em. Now, thin, don't ye hear his fut upon thestair?"

But the heavy steps coming up the stairs were not Teddy's, as hismother well knew; and although, when they stopped upon the landingbelow her own, she pretended to be much surprised, she would, inreality, have been much more so if they had not stopped. 

"And it's Jovarny it wor that time, honey, " said she soothingly:"but Teddy'll coom nixt; see if he doun't, Cherry darlint. "

But Cherry, closing her eyes, with no effort at reply, lay asmotionless upon her pillow as if she had been asleep or in a swoon. 

Suddenly, from the room below, was heard a strain of plaintivemusic. The organ-grinder, for some reason or other, was trying hisinstrument in his own room; although, remembering the sick childabove, he played as softly and slowly as he could. It was the firsttime he had done so since Cherry had been ill; and Mrs. Ginnissanxiously watched her face to see what effect the sounds would have. 

The air was "Kathleen Mavourneen;" and, as one tender strainsucceeded another, the watchful nurse could see a faint colorstealing into the child's face, while from between the half-closedlids her eyes shone brighter than they had for many a day. 

"If it plazes her, I'll pay him to grind away all day, the crather, "murmured she joyfully. 

The song ended, and, after a little pause, was succeeded by a livelydancing-tune. 

"She'll not like that so well, thought Mrs. Ginniss; but, to hergreat astonishment, the child, after listening a moment, startedupright in her chair, her eyes wide open and shining withexcitement, her cheeks glowing, and her little hands fluttering. 

"Mamma, mamma! I'm Cherritoe! and I can dance with that music, andmamma can play it more"--

The words faltered upon her lips, and she sank suddenly back uponthe pillows in a death-faint. At the same moment, Teddy camebounding up the stairs and into the room. 

"Go an' shtop that fool's noise if yees brain him, an' ax him what'sthe name o' that divil's jig he's playing!" exclaimed Mrs. Ginnissas she caught sight of the boy; and Teddy, without stopping for aquestion, hastily obeyed. 

In a moment he was back. 

"It's the cachuca, mother; but what's the matter with the littlesister?"

"Whist! She's swounded wid the noise he's afther making, " repliedhis mother angrily, as she laid the wasted little figure upon herbed, and bathed the temples with cold water. 

Teddy stood anxiously looking on. Ever since the night when thelittle sister's fever had turned, and the doctor had promised thatshe should live, a struggle had been going on in the boy's heart. Hecould not but believe that God had given back the almost-departedlife in answer to his earnest prayer and promise; and he had nointention of breaking the promise, or withholding the price he felthimself to have offered for that life. But, like many older andbetter taught persons, Teddy did not see clearly enough how littledifference there is between doing right and failing to do right, orhow much difference between promising with the lips and promisingwith the heart. 

While his little sister, as he still called her, lay between lifeand death, Teddy said to himself that the excitement of seeing herfriends might be fatal to her, and that, if she should die, theirgrief in this second loss would be greater than what they were nowsuffering. 

When she began slowly to recover, he said that they would only befrightened at seeing her so wasted and weak, and that he would keepher until she had recovered something of her good looks; and, finally, he had begun to think that it would be no more than fairthat he should repay himself for all the sorrow and anxiety herillness had given him by keeping her a little while after she wasquite well and strong, and could go for a walk with him, and see thebeautiful shops, with their Christmas-wares displayed. 

"New Year's will be soon enough. I'll take her to the master for aNew-Year's gift, " Teddy had said to himself that very night as hecame up the stairs; and a sort of satisfaction crept into his heartin thinking that he had at least fixed a date for fulfilling hispromise. 

But New-Year's Day found 'Toinette, or Cherry as we must learn tocall her, more unlike her former self than she had been when heformed the resolution. The strange emotion that had overcome her inlistening to the organ-grinder's music had caused a relapse intofever, followed by other troubles; and spite of Dr. Wentworth'sconstant care, Mrs. Ginniss's patient and tender nursing, andTeddy's devotion, the child seemed pining away without hope orremedy. 

"I'll wait till the spring comes, anyway, " said Teddy to himself. "Maybe the warm weather will bring her round, and I'll hear herlaugh out once, and take her for just one walk on the Commons beforeI carry her to the master. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

GIOVANNI AND PANTALON. 

IT was April; and the bit of sky to be seen between two tall roofs, from the window of Mrs. Ginniss's attic, had suddenly grown of adeeper blue, and was sometimes crossed by a great white, glitteringcloud, such as is never seen in winter; and, when the window wasraised for a few moments, the air came in soft and mild, and with afresh smell to it, as if it had blown through budding trees and overfresh-ploughed earth. 

Cherry was now well enough to be dressed, and to play about theroom, or sew a little, or look at pictures in the gaudily paintedbooks Teddy anxiously saved his coppers to buy for her: but, morethan once in the day, she would push a chair to the bed, and climbup to lie upon it; or would come and cling to her foster-mother, moaning, --

"I'm tired now, mammy. Hold me in your lap. "

And very seldom was the petition refused, although the wash-tub orthe ironing-table stood idle that it might be granted; for so wellhad great-hearted Mrs. Ginniss come to love the child, that shewould have been as unwilling as Teddy himself to remember that shehad not always been her own. 

Sitting thus in her mammy's lap one day, Cherry suddenly asked, --

"Where's the music, mammy?"

"The music, darlint? And what music do ye be manin'?"

"The music I heard one day before I went to heaven. Didn't you hearit?"

"An' whin did ye go to hivin, ye quare child?"

"Oh! I don't know. When I came back, I was sick in the bed. I wantthe music, mammy. "

"It's Jovarny she manes, the little crather, " said Mrs. Ginniss, andpromised, that if Cherry would lie on the bed, and let her "finishironing the lady's clothes all so pretty, " she should hear the musicas soon as Teddy and the organ-grinder came home. 

To this proposal, Cherry consented more willingly than her mammy haddared to expect; and when, after finishing the ironing of someintricate embroideries, the laundress turned to look, she found thechild had dropped quietly asleep. 

"An' all the betther fur yees, darlint, " said she. "Whin ye waken, ye'll think no more uv the music that well-nigh kilt yees afore. "

An hour later, Teddy's entrance aroused the sleeper, who, rollingover upon the bed with a pretty little gape, smiled upon him, saying, --

"Where's the music, Teddy? Mammy said you'd get it for me. "

"It's Jovarny she's afther wantin' to hear play on his grind-orgin;an' I towld her he'd coom whin yees did, " explained Mrs. Ginniss:and Teddy, delighted to be asked to do any thing for his littlesister, lost no time in running down stairs, and begging theItalian, who had just returned home, to play one of the prettiesttunes in his list, but on no account to touch the one that had sostrangely affected the little invalid upon a former occasion. 

The Italian very willingly complied, and was already in the midst ofa pretty waltz when Teddy re-appeared in his mother's room. Cherry'sdelight was unbounded; and when the whole list of tunes, with theexception of the cachuca, had been exhausted, she put her arms roundTeddy's neck, and kissed him, saying, --

"Thank you, little brother. I'll eat my supper for you now. "

And this, as Cherry had hardly been willing to eat any thing sinceher illness, was considered, both by Teddy and herself, as aremarkable proof of amiability and affection. 

The next day, before Teddy went away in the morning, he was obligedto promise that he would bring the music at night; and, as he randown stairs, he stopped to beg the organ-grinder to come home asearly as possible, and to come prepared to play for the littlesister's benefit. 

"Let her come down and see the organ and Pantalon, " said the Italianin his broken English; and Teddy eagerly cried, --

"Oh! may she?" and ran up stairs again with the invitation. But Mrs. Ginniss prudently declared that Cherry must not think of leaving herown room at present, while the stairs and entries were so cold; and"Thin agin, " said she, "maybe the bit moonkey ud scare her back intothe fayver as bad as iver. "

So, for a week or two longer, Cherry was obliged to content herselfwith an evening-concert through the floor; and upon these concertsthe whole of the day seemed to depend. Very soon the little girlbegan to have her favorites among the half-dozen airs she so oftenheard, and, little by little, learned to hum them all, giving themnames of her own. "Kathleen Mavourneen" she always called "Susan, "although quite unable to give any reason for so doing; and Teddy, who watched her constantly, noticed that she always remained verythoughtful, wearing a puzzled, anxious look, while hearing it. Aftera time, however, this dim association with the almost-forgotten pastwore away; and although Cherry still called the air "Susan, " andliked it better than any of the rest, it seemed to have become athing of the present instead of the past. 

At last, one warm day in April, when Giovanni had returned homeearlier than usual, and Teddy again brought an invitation to thebamb¡na, as he called Cherry, to visit him, Mrs. Ginniss reluctantlyconsented; and the little girl, wrapped in shawls and hood, withwarm stockings pulled over her shoes, was carried in Teddy's armsdown the stairs as she had been brought up in them six monthsbefore. The boy himself was the first to think of it, and, as hestooped to take the little figure in his arms, said, --

"You haven't been over the stairs, sissy, since Teddy brought you uplast fall. "

"Teddy didn't bring me up. I never came up, 'cause I never wasdown, " said Cherry resolutely; and the boy, who dreaded above allthings to awaken in her mind any recollection of the past, said nomore, but carefully wrapping the shawl about her, and promising hismother not to stay too long, carried her gently down the stairs, andto the door Giovanni opened as he heard them approach. 

"Welcome, little one!" said the Italian in his own language as theyentered; and Cherry smiled at the sound, and then looked troubledand thoughtful. 

The truth was, that 'Toinette's father and mother had often spokenboth Italian and French in her presence; and although the terriblefever had destroyed her memory of home and parents, and all thatwent before, the things that she had known in those forgotten daysstill awoke in her heart a vague sense of pain and loss, --an effortto recall something that seemed just vanishing away, as through thestrings of a broken and forsaken harp will sweep some vagrantbreeze, wakening the ghosts of its forgotten melodies to a brief andshadowy life, again to pass and be forgotten. 

So 'Toinette, still clinging to Teddy's neck, turned, and fixed hergreat eyes upon the Italian's dark face so earnestly and sopiteously, that he smiled, showing all his white teeth, and asked, --

"Does the little one know the language of my country?"

"No: of course she don't. I don't, " said Teddy, looking a littleanxiously into Cherry's face, and wondering in his own heart if shemight not have known Italian in that former life, of whose loves andinterests he had always been so jealous. 

Giovanni looked curiously at the two children. Cherry, in recoveringfrom her illness, was regaining the wonderful beauty, that, for atime, had seemed lost. The remnant of her golden hair spared byMother Winch's shears had fallen off after the first attack offever, and was now replaced by thick, short curls of a sunny brown, clustering about her white forehead with a careless grace far morebewitching than the elaborate ringlets Susan had been so proud ofmanufacturing; while long confinement to the house had rendered thedelicate complexion so pearly in its whiteness, so exquisite in itsrose-tints, that one could hardly believe it possible that flesh andblood should become so etherealized even while gaining health andstrength. 

The subtle eye of the Italian marked every point of this exquisiteloveliness, ran admiringly over the outlines of the graceful figure, the delicate hands and little feet, the classic curve of the lips, the thin nostrils and tiny ears; then returned to the clear, fulleyes, with their pencilled brows and heavy lashes, and smiled at theearnestness of the gaze that met his own. Then, from this lovely andpatrician face, the Italian's eyes wandered to Teddy's coarse andunformed features, and figure of uncouth strength. 

"Nightingales are not hatched from hens' eggs, " muttered Giovanni inhis native tongue. 

"Speak that some more; I like it, " said Cherry softly. 

"Yes; and you are like it, and, like all that belongs to my Italian, beautiful and graceful, " said Giovanni, dropping the liquid accentsas lovingly from his lips as if they had been a kiss. Then, in theimperfect English he generally spoke, he asked of Teddy, --

"Where did the child come from?"

"She's my little sister, " replied the boy doggedly. 

The Italian shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, muttering in his own tongue, --

"I never heard or saw any child above there in the first weeks of myliving here. But what affair is it of mine? The child I have lost issafe with the Holy Mother!"

He crossed himself, and muttered a prayer; then from behind thestove, where he lay warming himself, pulled a little creature, atsight of whom Cherry uttered a scream, and clung to Teddy. 

"It's the monkey, sissy; it's Jovarny's monkey; and his name isPantaloons, " explained Teddy. 

"Pantalon, " corrected the monkey's master; and snapping his fingers, and whistling to the monkey, he called him to his shoulder, and madehim go through a number of tricks and gestures, --some of them sodroll, that Cherry's terror ended in peals of laughter; and she soonleft Teddy's side to run and caper about the room in imitation ofthe monkey's antics. 

"Does she dance, the little one?" asked Giovanni, watching thechild's lithe movements admiringly. 

"Sure, and every step she takes is as good as dancing, " said Teddyevasively. 

"Let us see, then. "

And the Italian, arranging the stops of his organ, played the prettywaltz Cherry had so often heard from it, and liked so well. 

The child continued her frolicsome motions, unconsciously adaptingthem to the music, until she was moving in perfect harmony with it, although not in the step or figure of a waltz. 

"She was born to dance!" exclaimed Giovanni with enthusiasm; and, moving the stops of the organ, he passed, without pause, into thegay and airy movement of the cachuca. 

As the first tones struck the child's ear, she faltered; thenstopped, turned pale, and listened intently. 

"Whisht! That's the tune I told you not to play!" exclaimed Teddy. But Giovanni, his eyes fixed upon the child, did not hear or did notheed him, but played on; while Cherry, trembling, pale, her handsclasped, lips apart, and eyes fixed intently upon the musician, seemed shaken to the very soul by some strange and undefinedemotion. Suddenly a scarlet flush mounted to the roots of her hair, her eyes grew bright, her parted lips curved to a roguish smile;and, pointing her little foot, she spun away in the gracefulmovements of the dance, and continued it to the close, finishingwith a courtesy, and kiss of the hand, that made Giovanni drop thehandle of his organ, clasp his hands, and cry in Italian, --

"Bravo, bravo, picciola! Truly you were born to dance!"

But the child, suddenly losing the life and color that had sparkledthrough every line of face and figure, ran with a wild cry to Teddy, and, clasping him tight round the neck, burst into a flood of tears, crying, --

"Take me home, Teddy!-quick, quick! I want mamma!"

Mrs. Ginniss had taught her to say "mammy;" and Teddy rememberedwith dismay that she had never used the name "mamma, " except in thedelirium of her fever, when she was evidently addressing somedistant and beloved object. But still he chose to understand theappeal in his own way; and, hastily wrapping the shawls about thelittle figure, he raised it in his arms, saying soothingly, --

"Come, then; come to mammy, little sister. You didn't ought to havedanced and get all tired. "

"Good-by, little one, " said Giovanni somewhat ruefully. The childraised her head from Teddy's shoulder, and, smiling through hertears, said sweetly, --

"Good-by, 'Varny. It wasn't you made me cry, but because"--

"'Cause you was tired, little sister, " interposed Teddy hastily; andGiovanni looked at him craftily. 

"I'll come and see you another day, 'Varny; but I must go lie downnow, " continued Cherry, anxious to remove any wound her new friend'sfeelings might have received. And the organ-grinder smiled until heshowed all his white teeth, as he replied, --"Yes, and again andagain, --as often as you will, picciola. "

But Teddy, shaking his head disapprovingly, muttered, as he carriedhis little sister away, --

"No: it isn't good for you, sissy, to get so tired and worried. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE PINK-SILK DRESS. 

BUT, spite of Teddy's disapproval and his mother's doubts, neitherof them could resist the earnestness of Cherry's entreaties, dayafter day, to be allowed to "go down and see the music in 'Varny'sroom;" and it finally became quite a regular thing for Teddy, uponhis return home, to find his little sister ready shawled and hooded, and waiting for him to accompany her. 

As the summer came on, and whole streets-full of his patrons leftthe city, Giovanni became less regular in his hours of leavings orreturning home; often remaining in his room several hours of theday, smoking, sleeping, or training Pantalon in new accomplishments. 

So sure as she knew him to be at home, Cherry gave her foster-motherno peace until she had consented to allow her to visit him; and Mrs. Ginniss said to herself, "Sure, and it's no harm the little crathercan git uv man nor monkey nor music; an' what's the good uv crossin'her?"

So it finally came about that Cherry spent many more hours in thecompany of Giovanni, Pantalon, and the organ, than Teddy eitherknew, or would have liked, had his mother thought fit to tell him. 

At first, the conversation between the new friends was carried on inthe imperfect English used by both; but, very soon, Giovanni, noticing the facility with which the child adopted an occasionalword of Italian, set himself to teach her the language, andsucceeded beyond his expectations. Indeed it seemed to him that thesoft and liquid accents of the beloved tongue had never sounded tohim so sweet beneath Italian skies as now, when they fell from therosy lips and pure tones of the charming child whom he, with all whoapproached her, was learning to love with the best love of hisnature. 

Besides the Italian lessons, Giovanni taught his little pupil tosing several of the popular songs of his native city of Naples, andto perform several of his national dances; watching with an ever-newdelight the grace and ease of her movements, and the quickness withwhich she caught at his every hint and gesture. 

Occasionally, Cherry insisted upon making Pantalon join in thedance; and the somewhat sombre face of the Italian would ripple allover with laughter as he watched her efforts to subdue thecreature's motions to grace and harmony, and to cultivate in hisbestial brain her own innate love of those divine gifts. 

"You will never make him dance as if of heaven, as you do, picciola, " said he one day; and Cherry suddenly stood still, and, dropping the monkey's paws, came to her teacher's side, askingeagerly, --

"Have you been to heaven too? and did you see me dance there?"

"Padre Johannes says we all came from heaven; so I suppose I did, and perhaps Pantalon also, " said the Italian with a comical grimace:"but, if so, I have long forgotten what I saw there. Do you rememberheaven, picciola?"

"Yes; I don't now, " slowly replied the child with the weary andpuzzled look she so often wore. "Sometimes I do. I used to dance;and mamma-that wasn't mammy-was there: but there was a naughty ladythat slapped me; and there was a little man-why, it was Pantalon, wasn't it? Did Pantalon eat some cake that I-no, that some one gavehim? Oh! I don't know; and I am so tired! I guess I'll go see mammynow, and lie down on the bed. "

Giovanni did not try to detain the child, but, after closing thedoor behind her, remained looking at it as if he still saw theobject of his thoughts, while an expression of perplexity and doubtclouded the careless good-humor of his face. Presently, however, itcleared; and, with a significant gesture of the head, he muttered, --

"What then? Is it my business or my fault? Come, Pantalon: we shallsup. "

When Cherry appeared the next day in Giovanni's room, it was with asgay and untroubled a face as if no haunting memories had ever vexedher; and Giovanni, who liked her sunny mood much the best, wascareful not to awaken any other. He played for her to dance; he sangwith her; he told her stories of Italy, and the merry life he hadlived there with his wife and child. 

"And my little Julietta, like you, loved music and dancing, and sanglike the angels, " said he, smoothing Cherry's shining curls. 

"Did she? Then she sings in heaven, and is happy: and by and by, when we go there, we'll see her; won't we?"

The Italian shook his head. 

"You may, picciola; but the good God, if he takes me to heaven, mustmake me so changed, that Julietta could no longer know me, or I her. We men are not as little maidens. "

Then, with a sudden change of mood, the Italian snatched from itscase his cherished violin, and drew from it such joyous strains, that the child, clapping her hands, and skipping round the room, cried, --

"It laughs! the music laughs, and makes me laugh too! AndPantalon-see poor Pantalon try to laugh, and he can't!"

Giovanni stopped suddenly, and laid down his violin. A new thought, a sudden plan, had entered his head, and made his breath come quick, and his eyes grow bright. He looked attentively at the child for amoment, and then said, --

"Julietta used to wear such a beautiful dress, and go with me to thehouses of rich people to dance; but you dance better than she did, picciola. "

"Oh! let me go, and wear a beautiful dress. I don't like this dressa bit!" said Cherry, plucking nervously at the coarse and tawdrycalico frock Mrs. Ginniss had thought it quite a triumph to obtainand to make up. 

"I have saved two of Julietta's dresses for love of her. You shallsee them, " said the Italian; and from the box where he kept hisclothes he presently brought a small bundle, and, unfolding it, shook out two little frocks, --one of pink silk, covered withspangles; the other a gay brocade, upon whose white ground tinyrosebuds were dotted in a graceful pattern. Some long silkstockings, and white satin boots with red heels, and blue tassels atthe ankle, dropped from the bundle; and from one of the latterGiovanni drew a wreath of crushed and faded artificial roses. 

"All these were given her by the beautiful march‚sa for whom she wasnamed. Many times we have been to play and dance before her pal zzo;and she, sending for us in, has given the little one a dress or awreath, or a handful of confetti, or a silver-piece in her hand. Itwas when the march‚sa died that our troubles began; and in threemonths more the little Julietta followed her, and Steph na (that wasmy wife) went from me, and--But see, picciola! is it not a prettydress? Let us put it upon you, and it shall dance the Romaika withyou as it once did with her. "

Nothing loath, Cherry hastened, with the help of the Italian, toarray herself in the pink-silk frock, and to exchange her coarseshoes for the silken hose and satin boots of the little lostJulietta. Although somewhat large, the clothes fitted better thanthose Cherry had taken off; and when, seizing the violin, Giovannidrew a long, warning note, the little dancer took her position, andpointed her tiny foot with so assured and graceful an air, that theItalian, nodding and smiling, cried with enthusiasm, --

"Ah, ah! See the little Taglioni! Why is she not upon the boards ofLa Sc la?"

What this might mean Cherry could not guess, nor greatly cared toknow. She understood that her friend was pleased, and her littleheart beat high with vanity and excitement. She danced as she hadnever danced before; and at the end, while Giovanni still applauded, and before she had regained her breath, the child was panting, --

"I want to go and dance for the rich ladies, like Julietta used todo, and wear her beautiful dresses, and have a wreath. "

"Why not, then?" exclaimed the Italian eagerly. "Only you must neversay so to the woman above there or the boy: they will not allow it. "

"Won't mammy and Teddy like it? Then I can't go. Oh, dear! Why won'tthey like it, 'Varny?"

"Because they can't dance, and they don't want you to be differentfrom them; and they will be afraid you will tire yourself. Theydon't know that it makes you well and happy to dance, and hearmusic, as it does me to make it. They are not like us, these peopleabove there. "

Cherry looked earnestly in his face, and her own suddenly flushedwhile she replied indignantly, --

"They're real good, 'Varny; and I love them same as I do you andPantalon. Don't you love them?"

"Oh! but I adore them, picciola; and I like well that you shouldplace me and Pantalon beside them. But surely they do not dance, orlove music, as we do. "

Cherry shut tight her lips, and shook her head with an uneasyexpression. 

"Mammy says she don't believe they dance in heaven: and Teddy saysit wasn't there I used to learn; for I never went anywhere but tomammy's room since I was borned. "

"But they do dance in heaven, and sing, and listen to music; and itis because you came from heaven so little while ago that youremember, and they have forgotten, " said Giovanni positively. "Andit is right that you should love these things; and it is right thatyou should go with me, and say nothing to them till we come back. Iwill ask the good woman that I may take you for a walk in a day ortwo and I will carry the pretty dress and the violin; and, when weare away from the house, you shall put it on, and we will go anddance for the rich people a little while; and some one shall giveyou beautiful things, and much money, as they did Julietta; and thenwe will come home, and bring it all to the mammy, and she will be sohappy, and see that it is a good thing, after all, to dance. "

"Yes, yes; that will be splendid!" cried Cherry, clapping her handsand jumping up and down. "I will save every bit of the candy, andall the beautiful dresses, and the roses, and every thing, and bringthem to mammy. "

"And the money, that she may buy bread and clothes and wood, and nothave to work so hard for them herself, " suggested Giovanni artfully. 

"Yes, Teddy gives her money; and she calls him her brave, good boy. So she'll call me too, pretty soon; won't she?"

"Truly will she; but remember always, picciola, that she nor Teddymust know any thing of this, or they will prevent it all. You won'ttell them?"

"No; I won't tell, " said Cherry, shuttling her lips very tight, andshaking her head a great many times. "Only we must go very quick, orelse I might forget; and, when I opened my mouth, it might jump outbefore I knew. "

"We will go to-morrow if it is fine, " said Giovanni, after a momentof consideration; and Cherry, after changing her clothes, returnedhome so full of mystery and importance, that unless Mrs. Ginniss hadbeen more than usually busy, and Teddy obliged to hurry with hissupper and go directly out again, one or the other must havesuspected that something very mysterious was working in the mind oftheir little pet. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

BEGINNING A NEW LIFE. 

As if to favor Giovanni's plot, it chanced, that, in the morning ofthe next day, Mrs. Ginniss received a sudden summons to the bedsideof Ann Dolan, the friend whose advice had led to Teddy's beingplaced in his present situation. 

The messenger had reported that Ann was "very bad wid her heart, an'the life was knocked out intirely, sure:" and Mrs. Ginniss feltherself bound to hasten to the help of her friend, should she stillbe alive; or to see that she was "waked dacent" if dead. Just as shewas wondering if it was best to take Cherry with her, or to leaveher locked up alone until her return, Giovanni appeared at the door, his face disposed in its most winning smile, and his manner asrespectful as if he had been addressing the march‚sa who had beenhis own and his daughter's patron. 

"Will my good neighbor allow that the little girl go for a walk withme this fine morning?" asked he. "I would like to show her theflowers and the swans in the gardens of the city. "

"An' will you take the monkey an' the grind-orgin the day?" askedMrs. Ginniss doubtfully. 

"Indeed, no! I go to a walk to enjoy the fine time, and to see theflowers and the swans, " explained Giovanni in his best English, andwith a proportion of bows and smiles; while Cherry stood by, herlittle face full of surprise and mystery, not unmingled with alittle shame as she felt that her good mammy was being deceived andmisled by the wily Italian. 

"Faith, thin, Mr. Jovarny, it's very perlite ye are iver an' always;but I don't jist feel aisy wid the child out uv my sight. Mabbeshe'd better wait till night, when Teddy can take her out. "

"Oh, let me go, mammy! I want to go with 'Varny, and I'll bringyou"--

"Yes; we'll get the pretty flowers to bring to mammy, she wouldsay, " interrupted the Italian hastily; and Mrs. Ginniss, lookingdown at the little anxious face and pleading eyes, found her betterjudgment suddenly converted into a desire to please her littledarling at any rate, and to see her smile again in her own sunnyfashion. 

"Sure, an' ye shall go, 'vourneen, if it's that bad ye're wantin'it, " said she, stooping to take the child in her arms; and, asCherry kissed her again and again, she added, --

"An' it's well ye don't ask the heart out uv me body; for it's interyer hand I'd have to give it, colleen bawn. "

Giovanni looked on, his half-shut, black eyes glittering, and a wilysmile wrinkling his sallow cheek. 

"Every one has his day, " muttered he in Italian, "Your's to-day, good woman; mine to-morrow. "

Half an hour later, Cherry, dressed as neatly as her foster-mother'shumble means and taste would allow, and her face glowing withpleasure and excitement, skipped out of the door of thetenement-house, looking like the fairy princess in a pantomime asshe suddenly emerges from the hovel where she has been hidden. 

Giovanni followed, carrying a bundle, and his violin wrapped inpapers. These, he explained to Mrs. Ginniss, were only some mattershe had to leave with a friend as he went along; but he should not gointo any house, or take the little girl anywhere but for the walk hehad mentioned. 

"Faix, an' it's mighty ginteel ye are, anyway, Misther Jovarny, "said the Irishwoman, watching the pair from the window of her atticas they walked slowly up the street. "But I'm afther wishin' I'dsaid no whin I said yis. Nor yet I couldn't tell why, more than thatTeddy'll be mad to hear she's been wid him. But the b'y hasn't sinsewhin it's about the little sisther he's talkin'. He thinks theground isn't good enough for her to walk on, nor goold bright enoughfor her to wear. "

So saying, Mrs. Ginniss closed the window, and, throwing a littleshawl over her head, locked the door, leaving the key underneath, and hurried away to her sick friend, with whom she staid till nearlynight. 

Giovanni and Cherry, meantime, walked gayly on, chatting, now of thewonderful things about them, now of the yet more wonderful scenesthey were to visit. At a confectioner's shop, in a shady by-street, they stopped to rest for a while; and the Italian provided hislittle guest with ice-creams, cakes, and candies, to her heart'scontent. 

"I like these better than potatoes and pork-meat. I used to eatthese in heaven, " said the little girl, pausing to look at amacaroon, and then finishing it with a relish. 

The Italian laughed. 

"Canary-birds do not feed with crows, " said he. "When we are rich, picciola, you shall never eat worse than this. "

"Shall we be rich soon, 'Varny?" asked the child eagerly. 

"Upon the moment almost, if you will dance and laugh, and look sopretty as you can, always. "

"But we needn't stop to be very rich before we go and carry some ofthe nice things to mammy, " rejoined Cherry anxiously. 

"No, no, indeed! We will but make a little turn in the country, andcome back princes. But mind you this, picciola: I am to be yourfather now, or all the same; and I shall tell every one that you aremy own little girl: so you must never say, 'Not so. '"

"But mammy said my father was dead, and Teddy said so too. He wasMichael darlint. "

"I doubt not that Signor Michaelli died, and has gone to glory; butI strangely doubt if he were thy father, picciola, " said the Italianwith a grave smile. "However that may be, forget that you have everhad other father than me, and call me so always: 'Mio padre, ' youmust say, and no more 'Varny. Also, too, you must speak in Italian, as I shall to you; and never, as you do now, in English. "

"But mammy and Teddy don't know Italian, " said Cherry, beginning tolook a little troubled. 

"'In Rome, do as the Romans do. ' When you are again with the womanand boy, speak as they speak: with me, speak as I speak. "

Giovanni said this more decidedly than he had ever spoken before, and Cherry looked quickly up at him. 

"Is that the way you talk because you want to make believe you aremy father?" asked she. 

A sudden smile shot across the Italian's face, lighting its darkfeatures like a gleam of sunshine sweeping across a pine-cladmountain-land. 

"Shame were it to me, dear little heart, if to be thy father were tomake thee less happy than thou hast been with those others, " said hesoftly in Italian, and using the form of address, which, in almostevery language but the English, marks a different and more tenderrelation from that indicated by the more formal plural pronoun. 

"You will be happy with me if we do not soon revisit these people weleave behind?" asked he. 

The child's eyes grew large and deep as she fixed them upon hisface, and presently asked, --

"Are you going with me to try to find heaven again?"

"Perhaps: who knows, picciola? The heaven you miss may come to youmore easily if you go to seek it. At any rate, I will carry thee nofarther from it. But come: we must get to our journey. "

Leaving the confectioner's shop, Giovanni lingered no longer in thegay streets, or even upon the fresh green grass of the Common, whereCherry would have staid to play all day. Hurrying across it, andthrough some crowded streets, the Italian entered a largestation-house, where stood the train of cars, already half filledwith passengers; while the engine, puffing and panting withimpatience, seemed unwilling to wait a moment longer. 

Leaving Cherry in the ladies' room, the Italian bought his tickets, and reclaimed from the baggage-room, where he had left it, hisorgan, with Pantalon chained to the top of it. Then, calling thechild, he hurried with her into the cars, and selected a seat behindthe door, in the evident wish of being seen as little as possible. 

"Now, then, Ciriegia mia, we go to seek our fortune, " said he, asthe train left the station, and began to rush through the suburbs ofthe city, scattering little dirty children, vagrant dogs, leisurelypigs, and dawdling carriages driven by honest old ladies, from itstrack. 

Cherry never had ridden in the cars before; and she clung tight tothe sleeve of her companion, afraid to move, or even to speak, untilhe laughingly asked, --

"It does not fear, the poor little one, does it?"

"No, I guess not, 'Varny, " replied the child doubtfully; but theItalian sharply said, --

"What is this 'Varny you say? I am mio padre. "

"I forgot. Won't I tumble out of this carriage, my father, it goesso quick?"

"Fear nothing, figlia mia. You are safe with me and with Pantalon, "said the Italian, drawing the little girl close to his side; whilethe monkey, crouching upon the organ at their feet, chattered hisown promises of protection and comfort. 

With 'Toinette, to live was to love and trust; and, clinging closeto her new guardian's side, she laid her little shining head uponhis breast, clinging with one hand to the lappet of his coat; and, laughing down at Pantalon, she fell presently asleep. 

At night the Italian left the train, and took lodgings at a hotelnear the centre of a large town. His little charge-tired, hungry, and sleepy-was very glad to have supper, and to be allowed to go tobed, where she slept soundly until summoned the next morning byGiovanni, who brought her some breakfast with his own hands, and, placing it upon the table, laid a bundle of clothes beside it. 

"Rise and eat, carissima, " said be gayly; "and then make thyself asbeautiful as the morning with these fine clothes. See, here areroses from the garden for a wreath! They are better than the others. When thou art ready, come out to me. "

He left the room; and 'Toinette, rising, made a hasty breakfast; andthen, putting on the brocade-silk dress, and placing upon her headthe wreath Giovanni had twisted of natural flowers for her, shepeeped into the glass, and laughed aloud at the fanciful andbeautiful image that met her eyes. 

"I am glad I look so pretty, " murmured she, with an innocent delightat her own beauty, that was not vanity, although, it might, ifuntrained, lead to it. 

"Come, Ciriegia, are you never ready?" called Giovanni from theother side of the door; and Cherry, running to open it, exclaimed inItalian, --

"Oh, see, my father! am I not beautiful?"

"Truly so; but you should not say it, bamb¡na. The charm of a maidenis her modesty, " said the Italian gravely. 

"But, if it is true, why mustn't I say so?" asked Cherry positively. 

"Many things that we know are never to be said, Ciriega. But come, now: you are to dance first for these people, and they will make nocharge for our beds and the miserable provender they have given us. "

As he spoke, Giovanni led the way to the lower hall of the hotel, where a number of men were lounging, smoking, or talking; whilethrough the open doors of the parlor and office were to be seen someladies and gentlemen, idling away the hour after breakfast, beforeproceeding to their business, their journey, or their amusement. 

Placing himself in the centre of the hall, Giovanni, with a bow tothe company, played a little prelude, and then struck into thelively strains of the cachuca. 

Cherry, who had stood looking at him, her head slightly bent, herlips apart, eyes and ears alert to catch the signal to begin, pointed her little foot at the precise moment, and, holding herdress in the tips of her slender fingers, slid into the movementwith a grace and accuracy never to be attained except by vigorouspractice, or a temperament as sensitive to time and tune, limbs assupple, and impulses as graceful, as were those of this gifted andunfortunate child. 

"See there!-the poor little thing!" exclaimed one of the ladies, whocame to the door of the drawing-room to see the performance. 

"How can you say poor little thing?" asked another. "Don't you seehow she enjoys it herself? That smile is not the artificial grimaceof a ballet-dancer; and no eyes ever sparkled so joyously to order. "

"Perhaps she does enjoy it; but all the more 'Poor little thing!'say I, " rejoined the first speaker, adding thoughtfully, "What sortof training for a woman is that?"

"Oh, well! but it is very pretty to see her; and she would probablybe running in the streets, or doing worse, if she did not dance; andso little as she is! It is equal to the theatre. "

The speaker drew out her purse as she spoke, and carelessly threw adollar-bill towards the child, who had finished her dance, and stoodlooking round with an innocent smile, as if asking for applauserather than reward. 

"Go and take it, carissima; and then hold your hand to the others;each will give you something, " said Giovanni in a low voice. 

"How much we shall have to carry to mammy!" exclaimed the childeagerly; and, as she gathered in her harvest, she chattered away, always in Italian, --

"And more, and more, and more! O my father! how many cents theygive me! What nice people they are! Let me dance some more for them;and let Pantalon come down, and let them see him. "

" No, no, child! These are not of those who would care for Pantalon. While you rest by and by, I shall take him and the organ, and goabout the streets; but your little feet are worth many Pantalons tome. Come, we will give them the tarantella as they have done sowell. "

Skipping to his side, with a childish grace more attractive than thestudied movements of the most accomplished actress, Cherry stuffedthe proceeds of her first attempt into the pocket of her guardian, and then, throwing herself into position, went through the wild andgrotesque movements of the tarantella, with a life and freshnessthat drew from the spectators a burst of applause and surprise. 

"That will do. We must not give them too much at once, lest thewonder come to an end. Make the pretty kiss of the hand, figlia mia, and run up the stairs to your own little room. "

Cherry obeyed, calling back, as she disappeared, "Tell them I willdance some more for them by and by if they want me to. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

WHOLESALE MURDER. 

IN the course of that day, Giovanni and his little danseuse visitedall the principal public places in the town, and also several of thebest private houses; and, at all, the performances of the childcalled forth the surprise, delight, and admiration of those whowitnessed them. Nor were more substantial proofs of their approvalwanting; so that at night, when Giovanni counted up his gains, hefound them so large, that he cried, while embracing poor wearylittle Cherry, --

"O blessed, blessed moment when thou didst cross my path, Ciriegiacarissima!"

"Now can't we go home to mammy? I am so tired, and my head feelssick!" moaned the child, laying the poor aching little head upon hisshoulder. 

Giovanni looked down at the pale face, and, meeting the languideyes, felt a pang of conscience and pity. 

"Thou art tired, bamb¡na povera mia, " said he kindly. "Another day, we will be more careful. Lie down now, and sleep for a while. We goagain in the steam-carriage to-night. "

Cherry climbed upon the bed without reply, and in a moment was fastasleep. The Italian drew the coverings about her, and stooped tokiss the pale cheek, where showed already a dark circle beneath theeye, and a painful contraction at the corner of the mouth. 

"Poveracita!" murmured he. "But soon we will have money enough to gohome to the father-land, and then all will be well with her as withme. "

Three hours later, he came to arouse the child, and prepare her torenew the journey. 

"Oh, I am so tired! I want to sleep some more so bad, 'Varny!-no, myfather, I mean. I don't want to go somewhere, " said she piteously, closing her eyes, and struggling to lay her head again upon thepillow. Giovanni hesitated for a moment; and then, never knowingthat the decision was one of life and death, the question of a wholefuture career, he determined to pursue his plan in spite of thatplaintive entreaty, and, hastily wrapping a shawl about the child, took her in his arms, and carried her down stairs. The organ andPantalon waited in the hall below; and Giovanni, setting Cherry uponher feet, shouldered the organ and, taking the little girl by thehand, led her out into the quiet street, where lay the light of afull moon, making the night more beautiful than day. Cherry's drowsyeyes flew wide open; and, looking up in Giovanni's face with eagerjoy, she cried, --

"Oh! now we're going back to heaven; aren't we, my father? It wasbright and still like this in heaven; and I saw a star, and-and thenthe naughty lady struck me"--

"Peace, little one! I know not of what you speak, nor any thing ofheaven, " said the Italian in a troubled voice; and the child, hurrying along at his side, raised her face silently to the summersky, seeking there, perhaps, the answer to the questions foreverstirring in her struggling soul. 

A little later, and the swift train, flying through the sleepingland, bore away the travellers; while Giovanni, settling himself aseasily as possible, laid the head of his little Ciriegia upon hisbreast, tenderly smoothed down her silky curls, and laid his handupon the bright eyes, that frightened him with the intensity oftheir gaze. 

"Sleep, carissima mia, sleep, " murmured he soothingly; "sleep, andforget thy weariness and thy memories. "

"I can't sleep now, my father. It seems to me that we are going toheaven; and I want to be awake to see-the lady"--

The words faltered, and died upon her lips. The beautiful image ofher mother, fading slowly from her memory, seemed already a visionso vague, that to name it were to lose it, --an idea too precious andtoo impalpable to put in words. The past, with all its love and joyand beauty, was becoming for our 'Toinette what we may fancy heavenis to a little baby, whose solemn eyes and earnest gaze seem foreverattempting to recall the visions of celestial beauty it has left forthe pale, sad skies, and mournful sounds of earth. 

On rushed the train through the quiet night, waking wild echoes inthe woods, and leaving them to whisper themselves again to sleepwhen it had passed; lighting dark valleys that the moonlight leftunlighted, with its whirling banner of flame and sparks, and itshundred blazing windows; moving across the holy calm of midnightlike some strange and troubled vision, some ugly nightmare, that forthe moment changes peace and rest to horror and affright, and thenpasses again to the dim and ghostly Dreamland, whose frontier crowdsour daily life on every hand, and whence forever peep and beckon themysteries that perplex and haunt the human mind. 

On and on and on, through misty lowland and shadowy wood, and overshining rivers, and through sleeping hamlets, and winding, snake-like, between great round hills and along deepmountain-gorges, until the wild, bright eyes that watched beneathCherry's matted curls grew soft and dim; and at last the white lidsfell, and the curve of the sad lips relaxed beneath the kiss ofGod's mildest messenger to man, --the spirit of sleep. 

As for Giovanni, he long had slumbered heavily; and even Pantalon, whose bright eyes were seldom known to close, was now curled upbeneath the organ-covering, dreaming, perhaps, of the nut-groves andspice-islands where he had once known liberty and youth. 

Just then it came, --a crash as if heaven and earth had met; a wild, deep cry, made up of all tones of human agony and fright; the shriekof escaping steam; the rending and splintering of wood and iron;destruction, terror, pain, and death, all mingled in one awfulmoment. Then those who had escaped unhurt began the sad and terribletask of withdrawing from the ruin the maimed and bleeding bodies ofthose who yet lived, the crushed remains and fragments of those whohad been killed in the moment of the encounter: and, in all thebewildering confusion of the scene, none had eyes for the littlechildish figure, that, hurled from the splintered car, lay for awhile stunned and shaken among the soft grass where it had fallen, and then, staggering to its feet, fled wildly away into the dimforest-land. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

DORA DARLING. 

THE sun was setting upon the day succeeding that of the greatrailroad accident, that, for weeks, filled the whole land withhorror and indignation, when a young girl, driving rapidly along acountry-road at a point about five miles distant from the scene ofthe disaster, met a child walking slowly toward her, whosedisordered dress, bare head, and wild, sweet face, attracted herattention and curiosity. 

Checking her spirited horse with some difficulty, the young girllooked back, and found that the child had stopped, and stoodwatching her. 

"See here, little girl!" called she. "Are you lost? Is any thing thematter with you?"

The child fixed her solemn eyes upon the face of the questioner, butmade no answer. 

"Come here, sissy! I want to talk to you; and I can't turn round tocome to you. Come here!"

The little girl slowly obeyed the kind command, and stood presentlybeside the wagon, her pale face upraised, her startled eyes intentlyfixed upon the clear and honest ones bent to meet them. 

"What is your name, little girl?"

"Sunshine, " said the child vaguely; and her eyes dropped from theface of her questioner to fix themselves upon the far horizon, wherehung already the evening-star, pale and trembling, as it had hungupon the evening of 'Toinette Legrange's birthday ten months before. Was it a sudden association with the star and the hour that hadsuggested to the heart of the desolate child this name, so longforgotten, once so appropriate, now so strange and sad?

"Sunshine?" replied the young girl wonderingly. "You don't look likeit a bit. Where do you belong? and where are you going?"

The child's eyes travelled back from Dreamland, and rested wistfullyupon the kind face above her. 

"I don't know, " said she sadly. "I want to go to heaven; but I'veforgot the way. "

"To heaven! You poor little thing, have you no home short of that?"

"I don't know. I wish I had some water. "

"You had better jump into the wagon, and come home with me, Sunshine, if that is your name. Something has got to be done for youright away. "

The child, still looking at her in that strange and solemn manner, asked suddenly, --

"Who are you?"

"I? Oh! I'm Dora Darling; and I live about five miles from here. Jump in quick; for it is growing dark, and we must be at home forsupper. "

As she spoke, she leaned down, and gave a hand to the little girl, who mechanically took it, and clambered into the carriage. Doralifted her to the seat, and held her there, with one arm about herwaist, saying kindly, --

"Hug right up to me, you poor little thing! and hold on tight. We'llbe at home in half an hour, or less. -Now, Pope!"

The impatient horse, feeling the loosened rein, and hearing his ownname, darted away at speed; whirling the light wagon along sorapidly, that the child clung convulsively to her new protector, murmuring, --

"I guess I shall spill out of this, and get kilt. "

"Oh, no, you won't, Sunshine! I shall hold you in. You're not Irish, are you?"

"What's that?"

"Why, Irish, you know. You said 'kilt' just now, instead of'killed, ' as we do. "

The child made no reply; but her head drooped upon Dora's shoulderyet more heavily, and her eyes closed. 

"Are you sick, little girl? or only tired?" asked Dora, lookinganxiously down into the colorless face, over which the eveningbreeze was gently strewing the tangled curls, as if to hide it frommortal view, while the poor, worn, spirit fled away to peace andrest. 

"Sunshine!" exclaimed Dora, gently moving the heavy head that stilldrooped lower and lower, until now the face was hidden from view. 

"She has fainted!" said Dora, looking anxiously about her. No houseand no person were in sight, nor any stream or pond of water; andthe young girl decided that the wisest course would be to drive homeas rapidly as possible, postponing all attempt to revive her littlepatient until her arrival there. 

Without checking the horse, she dragged from under the seat aquilted carriage-robe, and spread it in the bottom of the wagon, arranging a paper parcel as a pillow. Then, laying poor Sunshineupon this extemporized couch, she took off her own light shawl, andcovered her; leaving exposed only the face, white and lovely as themarble statue recumbent upon a little maiden's tomb. 

"Now, Pope!" cried Dora, with one touch of the whip upon the glossyhaunch of the powerful beast, who, at sound of that clear voice, neighed reply, and darted forward at the rate of twelve good milesan hour; so that, in considerably less than the promised time, Doraskilfully turned the corner from the road into a green country lane, and, a few moments after, stopped before the door of anold-fashioned one-story farm-house, painted red, with a long roofsloping to the ground at the back, an open well with a sweep andbucket, and a diamond-paned dairy-window swinging to and fro in thefaint breeze. Around the irregular door-stone, the grass grew closeand green; while nodding in at the window, and waving from the loweaves, and clambering upon the roof, a tangle of white andsweet-brier roses, of woodbine and maiden's-bower, lent a raregrace to the simple home, and loaded the air with a cloud ofdelicate perfume. 

A young man, lounging upon the doorstep, started to his feet as thewagon came dashing up the lane, and was going to open the gate ofthe barn-yard; but Dora stopped before the open door, and called tohim, --

"Karl! Come here, please. "

"Certainly. I was running out of the way for fear of being ground topowder beneath your chariot-wheels; for I said to myself, 'Surelythe driving is as the driving of Jehu, the son of Nimshi. '"

"I shouldn't have driven so fast; but-see here!"

She pulled away the shawl as she spoke, and showed to the young man, who now stood beside the carriage, the still inanimate form of thelittle waif at her feet. 

"Phew! What's that? and where did you get it?"

"A little girl that I met; lost, I think. I took her into the buggy, and then she fainted, and I laid her down, " rapidly explained Dora;adding, as she raised the little figure in her arms, --

"Take her in, and lay her on the bed in the rosy-room. "

"Poor little thing! She's not dead, is she, Dora?" asked the youngman softly, as he took the child in his arms and entered the house, followed by Dora. 

"Oh, no! I think not; only fainted. I suppose there's hot water, fora bath, in the kitchen. "

As she spoke, they entered the sitting-room, --a cool, shadyapartment, with a great beam crossing the ceilings, and deeprecesses to the windows, with seats in them. 

At the farther side, Dora threw open the door of a little bedroom, whose gay-papered walls and flowered chintz furniture, not to speakof a great sweet-brier bush tapping and scratching at the window, with all its thousand sharp little fingers, gave it a good right tobe called the rosy-room. Dora hastily drew away the brightcounterpane, and nodded to Karl, who laid the little form he carriedtenderly upon the bed. 

At this moment, another door into the sitting-room opened; and agirl, somewhat older than Dora, put in her head, looked about for amoment, and then came curiously toward the door of the rosy-room. 

"I thought I heard you, Dora, " said she. "What are you doing inhere? Why!-who's that?"

"O Kitty! can you warm a little of that broth we had for dinner, togive her? She's just starved, I really believe. And is there anyammonia in the house?-smelling-salts, you know. Didn't aunt havesome?" asked Dora rapidly. 

"I believe so. But where did you get this child? Who is she?"

"Run, Kitty, and get the salts first. We'll tell you afterward. "

"What shall I do, Dora?" interposed the young man; and Kitty ranupon her errand, while Dora promptly replied, --

"Open the window, and bring some cold water; and then a little wineor brandy, if we have any. "

"Enough for this time, at any rate, " said Karl, hurrying away, andreturning with both water and wine just as Kitty appeared with thesalts; but it was Dora who applied the remedies, and with a skilland steadiness that would have seemed absolutely marvellous to oneunacquainted with the young girl's previous history and training. 

"She's coming to herself. You'd better both go out of sight, and lether see only me. Kitty, will you look to the broth?" whispered Dora;and Karl, taking his sister by the sleeve, led her out, softlyclosing the door after them. 

"Dora does like to manage, I must say. Now, do tell me at last whothis child is, and where she came from, and what's going to be donewith her, " said Kitty as they reached the kitchen. "Why shouldn'tshe like to manage, when she can do it so well? I can tell you, MissKitty, if she hadn't man aged to some purpose on one occasion, youwouldn't have had a brother to-day to plague you. "

The girl's dark eyes grew moist as she turned them upon him, sayingwarmly, --

"I know it, Charley; and I would love her for that, if nothing else:but I can't forget she's almost a year younger than I am, and oughtnot to expect to take the lead in every thing. "

"Pooh, Kit-cat, don't be ridiculous! Get the soup, and put it overthe fire; and I'll tell you all I know about our little guest. "

"I let the fire go down when tea was ready, it is so warm to-night, "said Kitty, raking away the ashes in the open fireplace, and drawingtogether a few coals. 

"That will do. You only want a cupful or so at once, and you canwarm it in a saucepan over those coals. "

"Dear me! I guess I know how to do as much as that without telling. Sit down now, and let me hear about the child. "

So Karl dropped into the wooden arm-chair beside the hearth, andtold his story; while Kitty, bustling about, warmed the broth, movedthe tea-pot and covered dish of toast nearer to the remnant of fire, waved a few flies off the neat tea-table, and drove out an intrusivechicken, who, before going to roost, was evidently determined tosecure a dainty bit for supper from the saucer of bread and milk setin the corner for pussy. 

"If the broth is ready, I'll take it in, " said Karl, as his sisterremoved it from the fire. 

"Well, here it is; and do tell Dora to come to supper, or at leastcome yourself. I want to get cleared away some time. "

"I'll tell her, " said Karl briefly, as he took the bowl of broth, set it in a plate, and laid a silver spoon beside it. 

"How handy he is! just like a woman, " said Kitty to herself as herbrother left the room; and then, going out into the sink-room, shefinished washing and putting away the "milk-things, "-a processinterrupted by the arrival of Dora with her little charge. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A CHAMBER OF MEMORIES. 

"How is she now, Dora?" asked Karl, softly opening the door of therosy-room. 

"Better. You can come in if you want to. Have you got the broth?"

"Yes: here it is. "

"That's nice. Now hold her up, please, this way, while I feed her. See, little Sunshine! here is some nice broth for you. Take alittle, won't you?"

The pale lips slightly opened, and Dora deftly slipped the spoonbetween them. The effect was instantaneous; and, as the half-starvedchild tasted and smelled the nourishing food, she opened wide hereyes, and, fixing them upon the cup, nervously worked her lips, andhalf extended her poor little hands, wasted and paled by even twodays of privation and fatigue. 

"I tell you what, Dora, this child has had a mighty narrow chance ofit, " said Karl aside, as Dora patiently administered the broth, waiting a moment between each spoonful. 

"Yes, " replied she softly. "I am so glad I met her! it was a realprovidence. "

"For her?"

"For me as much, " returned Dora simply. "It is so pleasant to beable to do something again!"

"You miss your wounded and invalid soldiers, and find it very dullhere, " said Karl quickly, as he glanced sharply into the open faceof the young girl. 

"Hush, Karl! don't talk now: it will disturb her. Is tea ready?"

"Yes, and Kitty sent word for you to come. Run along, and I willstay with the chick till you come back. "

"No: I can't leave her yet. You go to supper, and perhaps, when youare done, I will leave you with her; or Kitty can stay, and I willclear away. "

"Won't you let me stay now?" asked the young man hesitatingly. 

"No. Here, take the bowl, and run along. "

"'Just as you say, not as I like, ' I suppose, " said Karl, laughing;and, taking the bowl, he went softly out. 

"Now, little girl, you feel better, don't you?" asked Dora cheerily, as she laid the heavy head back upon the pillow, and tenderlysmoothed away the tangled hair. 

"Si, signora, " murmured Giovanni's pupil. 

"What's that? I don't know what you mean. Say it again, won't you?"

But the child only fixed her dreamy eyes upon the face of thequestioner, with no effort at reply; and then the lids began slowlyto close. 

"Now, before you go to sleep, Sunshine, I am going to take you upstairs, and put you in my own bed, because I sha'n't want to leaveyou alone to-night; and no one sleeps here. Wait till I fold thisshawl round you, and then pull your arms about my neck. There: nowwe'll go. "

She lifted the child as she spoke, and carried her again into thefront entry, and up the square staircase to a cottage-chamber withwhite, scoured floor, common pine furniture, the cheapest of whiteearthern toilet-sets, and nothing of expense or luxury to be foundwithin its four whitewashed walls, and yet a room that gave one afeeling of satisfaction and peace not always inhabiting far widerand more costly chambers: for the little bed was artisticallycomposed, and covered with snow-white dimity, as was the tablebetween the windows, and the cushion of the wooden rocking-chair;while curtains of the same material, escaped from their tri-coloredfastenings, floated in upon the soft breeze like great sails, or thedraperies of twilight spirits departing before mortal presence. 

In the fireplace stood a large pitcher, filled with common flowers, fresh and odorous; and upon the high mantle-shelf, and all aroundthe room, was disposed a collection of the oddest ornaments thatever decked a young girl's sleeping-chamber. Among them we will butpause to mention two muskets, the one bent, the other splintered atthe stock; four swords, each more or less disabled; an officer'ssash; three sets of shoulder-straps; a string of army-buttons, eachwith a name written upon a strip of paper, and tied to the eye; twoor three dozen bone rings, of more or less elaborate workmanship, disposed upon the branches of a little tree carved of pine; a largecollection of crosses, hearts, clasped hands, dogs'-heads, and othertrinkets, in bone, some white, and some stained black; a carefuldrawing of a crooked and grotesque old negro, in a frame of carvedwood; and, finally, a suit of clothes hung against the wall in theposition of a human figure, consisting of a jaunty scarlet cap, witha little flag of the United States fastened to the front by anarmy-badge; a basque, skirt, and trousers of blue cloth, with a wornand clumsy pair of boots below. From a belt fastened across thewaist hung a little barrel, a flask, and by a wide ribbon of red, white and blue, a boatswain's silver whistle. 

Singular ornaments, we have said, for a young girl's sleeping-room, and yet, in this case, touchingly appropriate and harmonious: forthey were the keepsakes given to the daughter of the regiment by thesix hundred brave men, who each loved her as his own; they were themementoes of a year in Dora Darling's life, of such vividexperiences that it threatened to make all the years that shouldcome after pale and vapid in comparison. 

Just now, however, all the girl's strong sympathies were aroused andglowing; and as she tenderly cared for the child so strangely placedwithin her hands, and finally laid her to sleep in theclover-scented sheets of the fair white bed, she felt happier thanshe had for months before. 

A light tap at the door, and Kitty entered. 

"I'll stay with her while you go and eat supper. Charles said he'dcome; but I'd like well enough to sit down a little while. My!-she'spretty-looking; isn't she?"

"The prettiest child I ever saw, " replied Dora, with her usualdecision; and then the two girls stood for a moment looking down atthe delicate little face, where, since the food and broth Dora hadadministered, a bright color showed itself upon the cheeks and lips;while the short, thick curls, carefully brushed, clustered aroundthe white forehead, defining its classic shape, and contrasting withits pearly tints. 

"Who can she be?" asked Kitty in a whisper. 

"Some sort of foreigner, --French maybe, or perhaps Italian. She hastalked considerably since I gave her the broth; but I can't make outa word she says. She spoke English when I first met her; but I don'tbelieve she knows much of it, " said Dora thoughtfully. 

"There is something sewed up in a little bag, and hung round herneck, " added she, "just such as some of our foreign volunteershad, --a sort of charm, you know, to keep them from being struck bythe evil eye. That shows that her friends must have beenforeigners. "

"Yes; and Catholics too, likely enough, " said Kitty rathercontemptuously; adding, after a pause, --

"Well, you go down, and I'll sit by her a while. If she sleeps assound as this, I don't suppose I need stay a great while. There'sthe supper-dishes to do. "

"I'll wash them, of course; but, if you want to come down, you mightleave the door open at the head of the back stairs, and I shouldhear if she called or cried. And, now I think of it, I have a letterto show Karl and you. I got it at the post-office. "

"From Mr. Brown?" asked Kitty quickly. 

"No, from a Mr. Burroughs; a man I never heard of in my life tillto-day. But come down in a few minutes, and I will read it to you. "

"Well, don't read it till I come. "

"No: I won't. " And Dora quietly went out of the room, leaving Kittyto swing backward and forward in the white-cushioned rocking-chair, her dark eyes wandering half contemptuously, half enviously, overDora's collection of treasures, with an occasional glance at thesleeping child. 

CHAPTER XX. 

A LETTER AND AN OFFER. 

IN the kitchen, Dora found Karl waiting for her; and, while she eather supper with the healthy relish of a young and vigorous creature, she gave her cousin an account of all the circumstances attendingher meeting with the little girl, whom she described again as aforeigner, and probably French. 

"And what's to be done with her, Dora?" asked the young man rathergravely, when she had finished. 

"Why, when she is well enough to tell who she is, and where she camefrom, --that is, if she can talk English at all, --we can return her toher friends; or, if they are not to be discovered, I will keep hermyself. That is, "-and the young girl paused suddenly, the bloodrushing to her face, as she added, --" that is, if you and Kitty arewilling. It is your house, not mine; though I'm afraid I am apt toforget. "

Karl looked at her reproachfully. 

"When I brought you here, Dora Darling, I brought you home; and whenmy mother died, not yet a year ago, did she not bid us live togetheras brother and sisters, in love and harmony?"

"Yes; but"--

"But what, Dora?"

"I am afraid sometimes I behave too much as if it were my ownhouse, " faltered Dora. 

"And so it is your own house, just as it is my own and Kitty's own. Have either of us ever made you feel that there was any difference, or that you had less right here than we?"

Dora made no reply; and, while Karl still waited for one thestaircase-door opened softly, and Kitty appeared. 

"The child is fast asleep, " said she: "so I thought I would comedown and hear the letter. "

"What letter?" asked Karl a little impatiently. 

"Oh! I haven't told you. Here it is. "

And Dora drew from her pocket, and held toward him, a large whiteenvelope, boldly directed to "Miss DORA DARLING, care of Capt. Charles Windsor"

"That's nonsense. I have beaten my sword into a ploughshare now, andam only plain mister, " said Capt. Karl, glancing at the direction. 

"Well, read the letter, do; I'm dying to hear it, " said Kittyimpatiently; and her brother, with an affectation of extreme haste, unfolded the thick, large sheet of note-paper and read aloud:--

"Having been requested to communicate with Miss Darling upon amatter of importance, Mr. Thomas Burroughs will do himself the honorof calling upon her, probably in the afternoon of Thursday, Aug. 25. 

"CINCINNATI, Aug. 20. "

"Thursday, 25th! Why, that is to-morrow!" exclaimed Karl, as hefinished reading. 

"Dated Cincinnati, you see! It is some message from Mr. Brown. Helives about twenty miles from Cincinnati, " said Kitty eagerly. 

"I don't think so. Why should Mr. Brown send a message when hewrites to me so often?" replied Dora with simplicity. 

"I should think he did. I suppose you expected a letter thisafternoon, and that was what made you so bent upon driving to townin all the heat. "

"It wasn't very hot, and you know we needed these things from theshop. "

"From the grocery-store, do you mean?" asked Kitty sharply. 

"Yes. "

"Why can't you talk as we do, then? You have been here long enoughnow, I should think. "

"Because she knows how to talk better, Miss Kit, " said Karlgood-humoredly. "Calling a shop a store is an Americanism, likecalling a station-house a d‚p“t, or trousers pants. "

"Well, I thought we were Americans, Dora and all, " retorted Kitty. 

"Mercy, child! don't let us plunge from philology into ethnology. Iprefer to speculate upon Mr. Thomas Burroughs. Who is he? and whatdoes he want of our Dora?"

"To marry her, I suppose, or to ask her to marry Mr. Brown, " snappedKitty. 

"Perhaps he wants to ask my good word toward marrying you, "suggested Dora, coloring deeply. 

"No such good luck as that, eh, Kitty?" said Karl with a laugh. 

"Good luck! I'm sure I'm in no hurry to be married; and, though Ihaven't had Dora's chances of seeing all sorts of men, I dare say Ishall get as good a husband in the end, " replied Kitty loftily. 

"But, contemplating for one moment the idea that it may not be anoffer of marriage that Mr. Thomas Burroughs means by a 'matter ofimportance, ' let us consider what else it can be, " said Karl with aquizzical smile. 

"Perhaps he wants your ideas upon the campaign in Western Virginia, and a report of the general's real motives and intentions, "suggested Dora gayly. 

"Perhaps he wants to engage his winter's butter; though I don'tbelieve Dora is the one to ask about that, " said Kitty. 

"Now, Kitty! I'm sure I made up the last, and you said it was asnice as you could do yourself. "

"Yes; but you turned all the buttermilk into the pig's pail insteadof saving it for biscuits. "

"So I did. Well, as dear old Picter used to say, 'What's the use oblibin' if you've got trew larnin'?'"

"O Dora! how can you, how can you!-you cruel, cruel girl, how canyou speak of him!" cried Kitty in a passion of anger and grief; and, pushing back her chair so violently as to upset it, she rushed outof the room. 

"Oh, I am so sorry!" exclaimed Dora in great distress; and wouldhave followed her, had not Karl held her back. 

"Don't go, dear; it will be of no use: she will not let you into herroom. Poor Kitty! she loved her mother so passionately, and hernature is so intense! We must make great excuses, Dora, for oursister's little inequalities of temper: I think her great loss is atthe bottom of all. "

Dora looked thoughtful, and presently said slowly, "I know it, Karl;but it does seem to me rather unjust that she should hate poor Pic'smemory so bitterly even now. He did not know any more than I that hehad small-pox when he came back that time from New York; and whenKitty told him that Aunt Lucy had taken it from him, and was verysick, he felt so badly, that I think it prevented his getting well. "

"O Dora, don't say that! Kitty could not have blamed him openly. "

"I don't know what she said; but, from that day, he grew worse, anddied without being able to bid me good-by, --Pic, who brought me awayfrom those cruel people, and cared for me as if I had been hischild. O dear, dear old Pic!"

She did not cry; she very seldom did: but she clasped her handstightly together, and looked so white and wild, that Karl came toher, and, taking her in his arms, would have soothed and caressedher like a little child, had not she repulsed him. 

"Please not, dear Karl! I must bear my griefs alone for I am alonein all the world. "

It was the bitterest sentence Dora had ever spoken, and her cousinlooked at her in dismay. 

"If Picter could have given the disease to me instead of to aunt, and he and I could have journeyed on together into another world aswe had through this, and left your mother to Kitty and you!"continued Dora; while in her eyes, and about her white lips, quivered a passion of grief far beyond any tears, --far beyond, thankGod! any grief that eyes and lips so young are often called toexpress. And as it rose and swelled in her girl heart, and shook herstrong young soul, Dora uttered in one word all the bitterness ofher orphaned life. 

"Mother!" cried she, and clinched her hands above the sharp painthat seemed to suffocate her, the pain we call heart-ache, and mightsometimes more justly call heart-break. 

Karl looked at her, and his gay young face grew strong, and full ofmeaning. He folded her again in his arms, and said, --

"Dora, I had not meant to speak yet; but I cannot see you so, orhear you say such words. Do not you know, cousin, that there isnothing in all the world I love like you; and that, while I live, you can never be alone; and, while I have a home, you can never wantone, or be other than its head and centre? Dora, marry me, and Iwill make you forget all other loves in the excess of mine. " Doraallowed her head to droop upon his shoulder, and a sudden sense ofpeace and rest fell temptingly upon her spirit. 

"Dora, Dora Darling always, even when you are all my Dora!"whispered Karl; but Dora released herself from his arms, and stoodupright. Her face was strong again now, although very white; and shesaid, --

"Thank you, cousin. You are good and kind, as you always have been, and I am glad you love me as I love you; but what else you have saidwe will forget. I am too young to think of such things, and you willnot feel so to-morrow or next day. Be my brother, as you have been, and let me be sister to you and Kitty, as aunt told us. I wish Icould make Kitty love me. "

The young man would have persisted; but Dora, gravely shaking herhead, said, --

"Karl dear, you only distress me, and I want to be quiet. Do notspeak of this again for at least another year, and then, perhaps, you will not want to. "

"But in a year I may, if I do want to?" asked Karl eagerly. 

"I don't want to say that; for I don't know that I should want youto then, " said Dora, with such exquisite simplicity, that the youngman laughed outright, and said, --

"But you don't know that you sha'n't, do you, darling Dorelle?"

"I didn't say so. "

"No; but--Well, I won't insist; only I shall put down the date. Letme see: Aug. 24, isn't it?"

He took out his note-book, wrote a few words, and, glancing at Dorawith a suppressed smile, put it away again. Then, more seriously, hetook her hand, saying, --

"Only remember one thing, Dora; and that is, whatever may come inthe future, this house is your home as long as it is ours; and, while I live, there is always some one who loves you best of allGod's creatures. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

GIOVANNI'S ROOM. 

"OCHONE! an' it's weary work climbin' thim stairs, " groaned Mrs. Ginniss, pausing upon the landing outside the organ-grinder's door. 

"An' mabbe she's wid him still. Anyway, I'll see, and save thecoomin' down agin. "

With these words, Mrs. Ginniss gave a modest rap upon the door, and, as it remained unanswered, a somewhat louder one, calling at thesame time, --

"Misther Jovarny! Misther Jovarny, I say! Is it out yees still are?"

The question remaining unanswered, the good woman waited no longer, but, climbing the remaining flight of stairs took the key of herroom from the shelf in Teddy's closet where it had been left, andunlocked the door. 

"Cherry, darlint, be ye widin?" asked she, throwing it open; andthen, recollecting herself, added, --

"An' sure how could she, be, widout she kim in trew the kayhole?But, blissid Vargin! where would they be all the day long?"

So saying, Mrs. Ginniss threw up the window, and looked anxiouslydown the street in the direction where Giovanni and Cherry had thatmorning disappeared. 

Nothing was to be seen of them; but, just turning the corner, cameTeddy, his straw-hat pushed back upon his forehead, and his stepsslow and undecided. He was thinking wearily, as he often thought oflate, that the time had come when he could no longer withhold hislittle sister from the friends to whom she really belonged; and itwas not alone the heat of the August night that brought the greatdrops of perspiration to the boy's forehead, or drew the white linearound his mouth. 

"It's quicker nor that you'll stip, my b'y, whin you hear the littlesisther's not in yit, an' it's wid Jovarny she is, " muttered Mrs. Ginniss; and, half dreading the entrance of her son, she appliedherself so diligently to making a fire in preparation for supper, that she did not appear to notice him. 

"Good-evening, mother. Where's Cherry?" asked Teddy, throwinghimself wearily into a chair just inside the door. 

"An' is it yersilf, gossoon? An' it's the big hate is in itintirely. "

"Yes: it's hot enough. Where's Cherry?"

"Takin' a little walk, honey. You wouldn't be shuttin' the poorchild into the house this wedder, sure?"

"Taking a walk!-what, alone!" exclaimed Teddy, sitting upright verysuddenly. 

"Of coorse not. Misther Jovarny was perlite enough to ax her; an'she wor that wild to go, I couldn't say her no. "

"I wish you had said no, mother. I hate to let her be with thatfellow, anyway. I'd have taken her to walk myself, if I was twice astired. How long have they been gone?"

And Teddy, in his turn, looked anxiously out at the window, but sawnothing more than the squalid street weltering in the last rays ofthe August sun; a knot of children fighting in the gutter over thebody of a dead cat; an old-clothes man sauntering wearily along thepavement, and a dog, with lolling tongue and blood-shot eyes, following close at his heels. 

"How long have they been out? asked Teddy again, as he drew in hishead, and looked full at his mother, whose confusion struck him witha sudden dismay. 

"O mother!" cried he, "what is it? There's more than you're tellingme amiss. How long is she gone?"

"Sure an' I didn't mind the clock whin they wint, " said Mrs. Ginniss, still struggling to avoid the shock she felt approaching. 

"No, no; but you can tell! O mother! do speak out, for the love ofGod! I can see how scared you are, though you won't say it. Tell meright out all there is to tell. "

"An' it's no great there is to till, Teddy darlint; on'y thismornin', whin I was sint for to Ann Dolan (an' she that bad it'sdead we thought she wor one spell, but for Docther Wintworth), Jovarny kim up, an' axed might the child go for a walk to theGardens wid him; an' I jist puttin' on me shawl to go out, an' notwantin' to take the little crather in wid a sick woman, nor yet tolock the door on her, an' lave her to fret. So I says she might gowid him; and, whin she coom home, I tould Jovarny to open the doorwid the kay an' let her in, an' showed her the dinner on the shelfby: an' if it's harm that's coom to her, it's harder on me than onyersilf it'll fall; an' my heart is bruck, is bruck intirely. "

Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Ginniss fell into at chair, and gave way to the agitation and alarm she had so long suppressed;but Teddy, ordinarily so kind, and tender of his mother, stared ather blankly, and repeated, --

"This morning! How early this morning?"

"I wor jist afther washin' the bit breakfast-dishes, " sobbed Mrs. Ginniss. 

"Twelve hours or near!" exclaimed Teddy in dismay. "And is it to theGardens he said he'd take her?"

"Shure an' did he!"

"To the Public Gardens, the City Gardens, just by the Commons?"persisted Teddy. 

"Jist the Gardens wor all he said; an' towld me the shwans that worin it, an' the bit posies. "

"Yes: there's swans there, and posies enough, " muttered Teddy, and, snatching the hat he had thrown upon a chair as he entered, rushedout of the room and down the stairs at headlong speed. 

But, before he could possibly have reached the Garden, the sun hadset, all visitors were excluded, and the gate-keeper had gone home. Nothing daunted, Teddy scaled the high iron fence; ran rapidlythrough all the paths, arbors, nooks, and corners of the place; andfinally returned over the fence, just in time, to be collared by apoliceman, who had been watching him: but so sincere was the boy'stone and manner, as he assured the official that he was after noharm but was looking for his little sister, who had been taken awayfrom home, and, as he feared, lost, that the guardian of the publicpeace not only released him, but inquired with some interest intothe particulars of the case; saying that he had been likely tonotice any one remaining in the Garden longer than usual. 

Teddy, with anxious minuteness, described the appearance both of thelost child and the "organ-fellow, " as he called Giovanni; and gavethe particulars of their leaving home as his mother had given themto him. The policeman listened attentively, but shook his head atthe end. 

"Haven't seen any sich, " said he. "Them I-talian fellers is a badlot; and I shouldn't wonder if he'd took off the child to learn herto play a tambourine, and go round picking up croppers for him. You'd better wait till morning; and, if they don't turn up, hermother can go and tell the chief about it. "

"Chief of police?" asked Teddy. 

"Yes; but it ain't always he can do any thing. There was that littlegal, a year ago pretty nigh, belonged to a man by the name ofLegrange. She was lost, and they offered a reward of ten thousanddollars finally; but she warn't never heard from. You see, there'ssich a many children all about: and come to change their clothes, and crop their hair, it's hard to tell t'other from which, " said thepoliceman meditatively; and then, suddenly resuming his officialdignity, added, "You mustn't never get over that fence again, though: mind that, young man. "

"Thank you, sir, " said Teddy, turning away to hide the guiltyconfusion of his face; and, as he hurried home, he anxiouslyrevolved the idea of applying to the police for aid, should Cherryremain absent after the next morning. But Teddy knew something ofthe law, and had too often seen better hidden secrets than his ownferreted out and brought to the light by its searching finger, towish to trust himself within its grasp; at any rate, just yet. 

"If I find her, I'll give her up, and tell all, and never touch thereward; but how can I go and say she's lost again?" thought Teddy, with a sick heart. And when, running up the stairs, his quick eyescaught sight of his mother's face, his own turned so ghastly white, that she ran toward him, crying, --

"An' is it dead you've found her, Teddy?"

"Worse; for she's lost; and all that comes to her is on myshoulders, " said Teddy hoarsely, as he stood just within the door, looking hungrily about the room, as if he hoped, in some forgottencorner, to light upon his lost treasure. 

"Did Jovarny take his organ and the monkey?" asked he suddenly. 

"Sure, and he didn't; for I mind luckin' afther him going down thestreet. "

"Then he'll be back!" exclaimed the boy eagerly; but the next momentthe new hope died out of his face, and he muttered, --

"He might have taken them before. Anyway, I'll soon see;" and, running down the stairs, Teddy applied his sturdy shoulder and kneeto the rickety door of the Italian's room. Neither door nor lock wasfitted to withstand much force, and, with a sharp sound of rendingwood and breaking iron, they flew apart; and Teddy, stepping overthe threshold, glanced eagerly around. The room was stripped ofeverything except the poor furniture, which Teddy knew the Italianhad hired with it, and the wooden box where he had kept his clothes. Of this the key remained in the lock; and, the boy, lifting the lid, soon discovered that a few worthless rags were all that remained. 

"He's gone, and she with him!" groaned Teddy, dropping thebox-cover, and standing upright to look again through the desertedroom. His mother stood in the doorway. 

"Och, Teddy! an' it's desaved us intirely he has, --the black-heartedcrather; an' may the cuss O' Crom'ell stick to him day an' night, an' turn his sleep to wakin', an' his mate to pizen, till all I wishhim is wished out!"

"It's no good cursing or wishing, mother, " said Teddy bitterly. "Ifthere was, I'd curse myself the first; for it's on me it had oughtto fall. "

"Sorra a bit of that, thin, Teddy mavourneen; for iver an' always itwas yersilf that wor tinder an' careful uv her that's gone; an'yersilf it wor that saved the life of her, the night she first comehome to us; an' it's none but good that iver yees did her in all thedays of yer life; an', if there's any blame to be had betwixt us, it's on yer poor owld mother it should be laid, --her that loved thepurty darlint as if she'd been her own, an', if she's lost, willcarry a brucken heart to her grave wid mournin' afther her. O wurra, wurra, acushla machree! Och the heavy day an' the black night that'sin it! Holy Jasus, have mercy on us! Spake the good word for us, blissid Vargin! Saint Bridget (that's me own namesake), stip up an'intersade for us now, if iver; for black is the nade we have uvhelp. "

Falling upon her knees, and pulling a rosary of wooden beads fromher bosom, the Irish woman pursued her petitions, mingling them withtears and exclamations more or less pathetic and grotesque; whileTeddy, seated upon the Italian's empty box, his head between hishands, his elbows upon his knees, his eyes fixed steadily upon thefloor, gave up his young heart a prey to such remorse as might fitlypunish even a heavier crime than that of which his conscienceaccused him. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE CONFESSION. 

THE morning came, but brought no comfort. Mrs. Ginniss had crept upstairs, and, throwing herself upon the bed, had fallen asleep withthe tears still trickling down her honest face; but to Teddy'shaggard eyes no sleep had come, and he had only changed his positionby stretching himself upon the floor beside the box, his head uponhis arm, his aching eyeballs still shaping in the darkness the formand features of the little sister whom he had sullenly resolved waslost to him forever as punishment for his fault in concealing her. 

"If I'd brought her back, " thought he again and again, "they'd havelet me get seeing her once in a while; they couldn't have refused meso much; and maybe some day I'd have been a gentleman, and couldhave talked with her free and equal. But now she's lost to them andto me; and, when I tell the master, he'll call me a mean thief and aliar, and a rascal every way, and he'll never look at me again; andmother"--

Then he would wander away into dreary speculation upon what hisanother would say when the truth was made known to her, and shefound the boy on whom she had lavished her love and pride dishonoredand discarded by the master to whom he owed so much, and whosepatronage she had taken such pains to secure for him; and then, likethe weary burden of a never-ending song, would come again thethought, --

"But if I'd brought her back at the first!"

The bitter growth of the night, however, had borne fruit in aresolution firm as it was painful; and, when Teddy came up stairs tomake himself fit to go to the office, he was able to say some wordsof comfort to his mother, assuring her that no blame to her couldcome of what had happened, and that it was possible the child mightyet be found, as he should warn those of her loss who could usesurer means to search for her than any at their command. 

"An' is it the perlice ye're manin'?" asked Mrs. Ginniss. "Sure it'slittle they'd heed the loss o' poor folks like us, or look for onelittle child that's missin', whin there's more nor enough uv 'em tothe fore in ivery poor man's house. But niver a one like ours, Teddyb'y, --niver another purty darlint like her that's gone. "

Teddy made no reply to this, but, hastily swallowing some food, tookhis hat, and left the room. 

Upon the stairs he met the landlord, who, followed by afurniture-broker, entered the room of the organ-grinder. Going inafter them, Teddy learned, in answer to his eager questions, thatthe broker had, early in the morning of the previous day, received avisit from the Italian, who, announcing that he had no further usefor the furniture, paid what was owing for the rent of it, and madea bargain for a box he was about to leave behind him; but, as to hissubsequent movements, the man had no information to give, nor couldeven judge whether he intended leaving the city, or only the house. 

Thanking him or the information, Teddy went drearily on his way, more hopelessly convinced than ever that Giovanni had deliberatelystolen the child, and absconded with her. 

"Well, " muttered he, "all I've got to do now is to tell the master, and take what I'll get. If he finds the little-no: she's none ofthat, nor ever was-if he finds her, and takes her home to them thatlost her, I'll be content, if it's to prison, or to sweeping thestreets, or to be a slave in the South, he sends me. "

Arrived at the office, Teddy faithfully performed his morningduties, and then seated himself to wait for Mr. Barlow, who wasagain occupying Mr. Burroughs's office during that gentleman'sabsence in the West. While arranging upon his table some papers hewas to copy, Teddy suddenly remembered that other morning, nownearly a year ago, when Mr. Burroughs had laid upon his very tablethe picture and advertisement of the lost child; and all the monthsof guilty hesitation and concealment that since had passed seemed toroll back upon the boy's heart, crushing it into the very dust. Hethrew down the pen he had just taken up, and laid his head upon hisfolded arms, groaning aloud, --

"Oh! if I had told him then! if I had just told him that morning!"

The door of the office opened quickly; and Mr. Barlow, a grave andreserved young man, who had never taken much notice of Teddy, entered, and, as he passed to the inner room, glanced with somecuriosity at the boy, whose emotion was not to be quite concealed. 

"If you please, sir"--

"Well, Teddy?"

"I should like to send a letter to Mr. Burroughs. "

"Do you mean a letter from yourself?"

"Yes, sir. "

A slight smile crossed Mr. Barlow's face, as he replied a littlesneeringly, --

"I am afraid your business will have to wait till Mr. Burroughs'sreturn, my boy. "

"Don't you be sending him letters, sir?"

"I have; but, when I heard from him yesterday, he was about leavingCincinnati, and gave me no further address. He will be at home in aday or two. "

Mr. Barlow passed on, and Teddy stooped over his work, but to solittle purpose, that, on submitting it for inspection, he received asharp reproof for his negligence, and an order to do the wholeafresh. 

"What a Quixotism of Burroughs's to try to educate this stupidfellow!" muttered Mr. Barlow to a friend who lounged beside histable; and Teddy, hearing the criticism upon his patron, felt anadded weight fall upon his own conscience. 

"They laugh at him because I'm stupid, and I'm stupid because I'mthinking of what I've done. It's good that they'll soon be shut ofme altogether. Maybe I can sweep the crossings, or clean thegutters, " thought poor miserable Teddy, bending afresh to his task. 

Mr. Burroughs did not come so soon as expected; and Mr. Barlowbecame quite impatient of the constant inquiry addressed to him byTeddy as to the probable movements of his master. At last, aboutnoon of Friday, he walked into the office, looking more cheerful andlike his old self than he had been since the heavy sorrow had fallenupon the household so near to his heart. 

Mr. Barlow greeted him heartily, and, calling him into the inneroffice, closed the door; while Teddy remained without, his heartbeating with a sick hard throb, a tingling pain creeping from hisbrain to the ends of his icy fingers, and his whole frame tremblingwith agitation. 

It was no light task that he had set himself; and so he well knew. To stand before the man he loved and reverenced before all men andsay to him that he had been for months deliberately deceiving andinjuring him and his; to confess that he had not once, butpersistently, refused the only chance ever offered him of repaying, in some measure, the kindness and generosity of his patron; toacknowledge grateful, --oh! it was no light task that the boy had sethimself; and yet his resolution never faltered. 

Great acts are only great in the light of the actor's previoushistory and training; and perhaps the atonement Teddy nowcontemplated was for him as heroic as that of the martyred bishopwho held the hand that had signed the recantation steadily in theflame until it was consumed. 

The door of the office opened, and the two gentlemen were passingout together, when Teddy started up, --

"If you please, sir, might I speak with you by yourself?"

"Oh, yes! Teddy has been very anxious for an interview with you allthe week. I will go on, and expect you down there presently, " saidMr. Barlow. 

"Yes, in two minutes. Come in here, Teddy, and let us hear what youhave to say. "

Mr. Burroughs threw himself into the chair he had just quitted, andstirred the fire, saying good-humoredly, --

"Out with it, my boy! What's amiss?"

Teddy, standing beside the table, one clammy hand grasping the edgeof it, seemed to feel the floor heave beneath his feet, and thewhole room to reel and swim before his eyes. His tongue seemedparalyzed, his lips quivered, his voice came to his own ears strangeand hollow; but still he struggled on, resolute to reach the worst. 

"It's about the little girl that was lost, sir, your little cousinAntoinette. "

"'Toinette Legrange, cried Mr. Burroughs, his face suddenly growingearnest as he turned it upon the boy, and asked, --

"What is it? Have you heard of her?"

"Yes, sir. I found her in the street the night she was lost. She wasdressed in poor clothes, and her hair was cut off. I didn't know whoshe was; and I took her home to my mother, and asked her to keep herfor my little sister, because I never got one, and always wantedher. Then she was sick; and one day you told me she was lost, andshowed me the picture and the piece in the paper; and I knew it washer. Then I thought she was going to die, and I waited to know; and, when she got better, I waited a while longer; and at last she waswell, and I couldn't bear to part with her"--

"But she is safe now?" interrupted Mr. Burroughs, his look of sternreproach mingling with a sudden hope. 

"No, sir: she's lost!"

"What!"

Teddy's white lips tried again and again before they could form thewords, --

"She's lost again, sir! She went out walking with Jovarny, that'san organ-grinder, last Monday morning; and he has taken her off. "

"You miserable fellow! You had better have killed as well as stolenher!" exclaimed Mr. Burroughs. 

Teddy clung to the table, and reeled as if a physical blow hadfallen upon him. It was the first time in the four years they hadspent together that his master had spoken to him in anger, and now, --

"Five days ago! And what have you done in that time towards lookingfor her?" asked Mr. Burroughs sternly. 

"Nothing, sir. I wanted to write to you, but couldn't get anydirection. "

"And why didn't you tell Mr. Barlow, and let him set the police atwork? If you had warned him as soon as you discovered the loss, thisorgan-grinder might have been caught. Now he is perhaps in NewOrleans, perhaps halfway to Europe. Why didn't you tell Barlow, Isay?"

"Please, sir, I couldn't bear telling any one but you that I doneit, " said Teddy in a low voice. 

"Well, sir, and, now you have told me, you will please walk out ofthis office, and never enter it again. I did not imagine, that, inall these months, you were preparing such a pleasant surprise forme. One question, however: did your mother know who the child was?"

"No, sir: never. "

"Then you may thank her that I let you off so easily; but I neverdesire to see either of you again after to-day. Wait here for onehour, while I go with a detective to hear your mother's story and toget a description of this organ-grinder. At two o'clock, leave theoffice; and take with you whatever belongs to yourself, and nothingmore. "

Mechanically obeying his master's gesture, Teddy staggered out ofthe room. Mr. Burroughs followed him, and, locking the door of theinner office, put the key in his pocket, and went out. 

"He thinks I'm a thief!" was the bitter thought that darted throughTeddy's mind; and then, "And how could I steal more than when Istole her? He's right to lock up from me. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

TEDDY LOSES AND FINDS HIS HOME. 

AN hour later, Teddy, leaving behind him the books, papers, pictures, every thing that Mr. Burroughs had given him, and takingonly the few articles of his clothing which happened to be at theoffice, crept out of the door and down the stairs with the look of averitable thief. 

Choosing the least-frequented streets, and avoiding the recognitionof such of his acquaintance as chanced to meet him, he slunkhomeward, feeling a little less wretched, but infinitely moredegraded, than he had done before his confession. 

Burroughs knew, his mother knew, the police-officials knew, --howcould he tell who did not know?-of his shame and guilt. Every pairof eyes seemed to accuse him; every step seemed to pursue him; everydistant voice seemed to summon him to receive the punishment of hismisdoing; and it was as to a refuge that he at last hurried in atthe door and up the stairs of the tenement-house. 

At the upper landing, however, he paused. His mother!-oh the sorrowand the shame that he had brought upon her in payment for all herlove and effort, and the constant sacrifices she had made, eversince he could remember, to enable him to rise above his naturalstation, and to appear as well as his future associates! It cameback to him now, --not a new thought, but one intensified by the moreimmediate suffering of the last two hours. He leaned for a momentagainst the wall, and wiped his clammy brow, feeling that any suddendeath, any strange chance that could befall him, would be welcome, so that it swallowed up the coming moment, and spared him the sightof the misery he had wrought. 

Only a moment. Then the desperate courage that had carried himthrough his confession to his master gave him strength to open thedoor and enter. 

The ironing-table was spread, and upon a half-finished shirt lay alittle pile of money. Teddy knew that it was the wages owing himsince the last payment, and turned away his eyes with loathing. 

Mrs. Ginniss was lying upon the bed, her face buried in the pillow, sobbing heavily and wearily, as if exhausted by excessive emotion. 

Teddy closed the door softly, and stood looking at her, uncertainwhether she had heard him enter. In the room below, the little childof the new tenants sung, at her play, an air that Cherry had oftensung. 

Teddy listened, and, when the little song was done, cried out, --

"O mother! haven't you a word for me? I believe I'll go mad next. "

"Don't be spakin' to me, you bowld, bad b'y! It's niver a word Ihave for yees, or wants from yees!" sobbed Mrs. Ginniss. 

Teddy looked at her drearily for a moment; then softly seatedhimself, his hands folded listlessly in his lap, his eyes wanderingidly about the familiar room, and his mind journeying on and on inthe weary, mechanical manner of a mind over-wrought and stunned bylong-continued or excessive suffering. 

From the street below rose the hum and bustle of city life; from theroom that had been Giovanni's, the voice of the child, still singingat her play. In at the open window streamed the thick yellowsunshine of the August afternoon, and a great droning blue flybuzzed upon the pane. 

Teddy noted every sound; watched the motes dancing in the sunshine, the fly bouncing up and down the little window, the movements of thecat, who, rising from her nap, stretched every limb separately, yawned, lazily lapped at her saucer of milk, and then, seatingherself in the patch of lurid sunshine, with her tail curled roundher fore-paws, blinked drowsily for a few minutes, and then dozedoff again. 

But, whether he listened or whether he looked, it was but ear andeye that noted these familiar and homely sounds or sights. The mindstill journeyed on and on in that weary journey without beginning orend; that dull, heavy tramp through black night, with no hope ofever reaching morning; that vain flight from a pain not for onemoment to be forgotten or left behind; that numb consciousness of anevil, that, wait as we will, must sooner or later be met andrecognized. 

A long hour passed, and Mrs. Ginniss suddenly arose and confrontedher son. 

"If iver I larnt ye any thin', ye black-hearted b'y, what wor it?"

Teddy raised his heavy eyes to his mother's face, but made noanswer. 

"Worn't it to search iver an' always for the chance to do a goodturn to him as has done all for 'yees that yer own father could, an'more? Worn't that the lesson I've struv to larn ye this four yearback, Teddy Ginniss?"

"Yes, mother, " said the boy in a low voice. 

"An' haven't I towld ye, that, so as ye did it, my blessin' was widyees, an' so as ye turned yer back on it my cuss 'ud folly yees, an'the cuss uv God an' all his saints and angels?"

"Yes, mother. "

"An it's yersilf that's tuck heed uv me words, an' done yer best tokape 'em; isn't it, me fine lad?" pursued the mother with bitterirony. 

"I did always, mother, till"-began Teddy humbly; but his motherangrily interrupted him. 

"Alluz till ye got the chance to do contrairy, an' plaze yersilf athis expense. Sure, an' it wor mighty perlite uv yees to wait thatlong, an' it's greatly obleeged to yees he shud be. "

She waited a moment, standing before the boy, who, still seateddroopingly in the chair where he had first fallen, his heavy eyeslooking straight before him, offered neither reply nor remonstrance;while his mother, setting her hands upon her hips, looked scornfullyat him a moment longer, and then exclaimed, --

"An' have ye niver a word to say for yersilf, ye white-liveredcoward? Is there niver anudder lie on yer tongue like thim ye foundso handy this twelvemonth back? Git out uv me sight, ye spalpeen, and out uv me doors! Go find them as'll kape yees to stale richfolks' children, an' thin lie to the mother as bore yees, and thekind masther as tried to make a gintleman out uv a thafe. Begone, Isay, Teddy Ginniss, and quit pizenin' the air of an honest woman'sroom wid yer prisince!"

Teddy rose, and was leaving the room without a word, but at the doorturned back; looked long and wistfully at his mother, who had turnedaway, and affected not to see him; then slowly said, --

"Good-by, mother! It's worse nor you can I'm feeling. Good-by! Ifever I come to any good, I'll let you know; and, if I don't, you'reshut of me for always. "

The mother made no answer; and Teddy, lingering one moment on thethreshold to turn his sad eyes for the last time upon the familiarobjects that had surrounded him since childhood, went out, and downthe stairs. 

In the street he paused a moment, looking up and down, wonderingwhere he should first go, and how food and shelter for the comingnight were to be obtained. The question yet unsolved, he was walkingslowly on; when a voice far overhead called, --

"Teddy!-Teddy Ginniss! Come here, I say!"

It was his mother's voice; and, as he looked up, it was his mother'sface and hand summoning him. 

In the same forlorn, stunned way that he had come down, Teddyclimbed the stairs again, feeling as if his feet were shod withlead, or the terrible weight at his heart was too heavy to becarried a step farther. 

He pushed open the door of his mother's room, but never looked up orspoke, although he knew she stood close behind it. But, indeed, there could have been no time, had the boy wished to speak; foralready his mother's arms were around his neck, and her head uponhis stout shoulder, while the passionate tears fell like rain uponhis hands. 

"Ochone, ochone! An' it's me own an' only b'y yees are, an' must be, Teddy darlint; an' it's mesilf that 'ud be worse nor a haythin toturn yees inter the strate, so long as it's a roof an' a bit I haveleft for yees. An' sure, if ye've gone astray, it's the heart uvyees that's bruck wid frettin' afther it; an' there's a many as hasdone wuss, and niver a hape it harmed 'em here nor hereafter. An', if Michael wor here the day, it's himself 'ud say to pass it by; an'it wor little I should be plazin' his blissid sowl to turn yees offfor one fault. Kiss yer owld mother, honey, an' be her own b'yagain!"

"Thank you, mother, " said Teddy, still in the strange, low voice hehad used before; and, putting his arms round her neck, he met andreturned her hearty kiss, and then, without another word, went andshut himself into the little loft he called his own, and was seen nomore that night. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

MR. BURROUGHS'S BUSINESS. 

It was the afternoon of Thursday, Aug. 25: and Dora, sitting besidethe bed where her little charge lay sleeping heavily, heard therattle of wheels, and, peeping from the window, saw Karl jumpingfrom the wagon, followed more slowly by a tall, handsome younggentleman, whom she concluded to be Mr. Burroughs; her cousin havinggone to meet him at the railway-station, seven miles away. 

"He's good-looking enough for a colonel, " thought Dora, and thenstarted back, coloring a little; for Mr. Burroughs, in entering thehouse, had glanced up, and caught her eye. The next minute, Kittydarted into the room from her own chamber. 

"They've come! Did you see him? Isn't he a real beauty? I do love atall man!-He's as tall as Mr. Brown, and his whiskers are ever somuch prettier; but, then, Mr. Brown's a minister. My! How nice youlook, Dora! Go right down, and I'll stay with little Molly. "

Dora glanced involuntarily at the mirror, and caught the reflectionof a bright face, surrounded by heavy chestnut curls, and lightedwith clear hazel eyes, and flashing teeth, a head of queenly shapeand poise, and a firm, graceful figure, well set off by its whitedress, black bodice, and scarlet ribbons, --a charming picture, withthe quaintly decorated chamber for background, and the heavy blackframe of the old mirror for setting: and a brighter color washedinto the young girl's cheek as she recognized the fact; but she onlysaid, --

"Why do you call her Molly, Kitty?"

"Oh! just a fancy name. We must call her something, and can't findout her right name. "

"She called it Sunshine, " said Dora, bending to kiss the pale littleface upon the pillow as she passed. 

"Moonshine, more like, " replied Kitty. "She didn't mean it for aname, of course. You didn't understand. But come: your beau iswaiting. "

"Don't, Kitty, please!"

"I might as well begin. Every man is a beau that comes near you. Inever saw such luck!"

Dora opened her lips, closed them tightly, and left the room. Thenext moment she stood in the low doorway of the parlor, bowinggravely, but not shyly, to the stately gentleman, whose head grazedthe great white beam in the ceiling as he came forward to meet her. 

"Miss Darling, I presume, " said he. 

"Yes, sir; I am Dora Darling: and you are Mr. Burroughs; are younot?"

"At your service, " said the gentleman, bowing again; and, handingDora a chair, he took another for himself. 

"Won't you have some water, or a glass of milk, after your drive, Mr. Burroughs?" asked Dora with anxious hospitality; and, as thegentleman confessed to an inclination for some water, she trippedaway, and presently returned with a tumbler, which Mr. Burroughsvery willingly took from her slender fingers instead of a salver. 

"You know I was a vivandiŠre, sir, " said Dora, smiling frankly; "andI always think of people being thirsty and tired when they come inso. "

Mr. Burroughs smiled, too, as he handed back the empty glass. 

"I wish we had all turned our army experiences to as good account, "said he. 

"Were you in the army?" asked Dora with sudden animation. 

"Yes: I was lieutenant in the Massachusetts Sixth, and went throughBaltimore with them, " said Burroughs, tightening himself a little asthe associations of military drill came back upon him. 

"Oh! were you there? Wasn't it glorious to be the very first?"exclaimed Dora; and, with no further preamble, the two plunged intoa series of army reminiscences and gossip, that kept them busy untilKarl entered the room, saying, --

"Well, Dora, what do you think of Mr. Burroughs's news?"

"She has not heard it yet, " said Mr. Burroughs, laughing a little. "We have been so busy talking over our army experiences, that wehave not come to business. "

"I am glad you have not; for I want to see how Dora will take it:but you will be grieved, as well as pleased, little girl. "

"Yes, " pursued Mr. Burroughs. "I am sorry to inform Miss Dora, thatyour friend Col. Blank is dead. "

"Oh, Col. Blank dead!" exclaimed Dora, while a sudden shadow fellupon her bright face. 

"I am very, very sorry, " continued she. "Mr. Brown went to see himtwo months ago, and he was quite well then. "

"Yes: this was rather a sudden illness; a fever, I believe. Theytell me, that, since his wife died, he has never been very well, andat last was only ill three weeks. "

"I am so sorry!" said Dora again. "He was very kind to me always. "

"And no doubt died with feelings of affection and confidence foryou, Miss, Dora; since he has made you his heir. "

"Me!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone more of fright than ofpleasure. 

"Yes; and, although the property is not of any great available valueat present, I think, if properly managed, it may, in the future, become something very handsome, " said the lawyer. 

"But I am so sorry Col. Blank is dead! Why, on Cheat Mountain, heseemed so strong and well! He was never tired on the marches, andhardly ever rode, but walked at the head of the column so straightand soldierly!"

The two men glanced at each other, then at her, and gravely smiled. The regret was so unaffected, so unselfish, and so unworldly, thateach, after his own fashion, admired and marvelled at it. Mr. Burroughs was the first to speak; and, drawing a packet of papersfrom his pocket, he spread before Dora's sorrowful eyes a copy ofCol. Blank's will, a plan of the estate bequeathed by it to her, andan official letter from Mr. Ferrars, the principal executor. ThisMr. Ferrars, the lawyer informed his young client, was a personalfriend of his own, and had placed the matter in his hands, thinkingthat the news might be more satisfactorily arranged by an interviewthan by correspondence. 

"And, as I was coming East at the time, I could very convenientlycall to see you on my way home, " concluded Mr. Burroughs. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Dora meekly; and then, rather sadly, but verypatiently, listened while the lawyer described the property she hadinherited, and indicated the best course to pursue with regard toit. 

"You will perceive, Miss Dora, that the bulk of the estate consistsof this large tract of territory in Iowa, containing a great deal ofvaluable timber, a hundred or so common-sized farms of superb soil, and prairie-land enough to graze all the herds of the West. 

"Col. Blank had just invested all his property, except the estate inCincinnati, in the purchase of this tract, and was about to removethither, when Mrs. Blank died; and, as I said, he never seemed quitehimself after that event, and took no further steps towardemigration. The house in Cincinnati might sell, Mr. Ferrars thought, for three or four thousand dollars; enough, you see, to make abeginning at 'Outpost, ' as the colonel called it. "

"Did he name the Iowa farm Outpost?" asked Dora rather eagerly. 

"Yes: you see the name is written on this map of the estate. "

"Then we will call it so; won't we, Karl?"

"But you don't advise my cousin to emigrate to the backwoods, doyou, Mr. Burroughs?" asked Karl disapprovingly. 

"It is the only method of reaping any immediate benefit from herinheritance, " said the lawyer. "The territory is valuable, very; butwould not sell to-day for anything like the price paid by Col. Blank, who fancied its situation, and intended to live there. Theonly way to get back the money is to hold the land until bettertimes, or until emigration reaches the Des Moines more freely thanit has yet done. "

"I shall certainly go there and live, " said Dora with quietpositiveness. 

"You have decided?" asked Mr. Burroughs, looking into her face, andsmiling. 

"Quite, " said Dora. 

Karl looked too, saw the firm line of the young girl's rosy lips, and slightly raised his eyebrows. 

"It is settled, " said he with comic resignation. 

Dora returned his gaze wistfully. She could not, in presence of astranger, say what was in her heart: but she longed to let him knowthat this prospect of independence, of making a home of her own, ofassuming duties and pursuits of her own, was such a prospect as nofriend could wish her to forego; was the full and only cure for thebitterness of heart she had been unable to conceal from him upon theprevious evening, --a bitterness so foreign to the sweet and noblenature of the young girl, that it had affected her cousin's mindwith a sort of terror. 

Something of all she meant must have stood visibly in the clear eyesDora now fixed upon Karl; for, in meeting that gaze, the young manchanged color, and said hastily, --

"But if you will be happier, Dora; if you are not contented here-Itis a humdrum sort of life, I know. "

"Oh, no! not that; but I want to be doing something. I meansomething almost more than I can do, not ever so much less. I liketo feel as if I must use every bit of strength and courage I have, and then I always find more than I thought I had. "

Mr. Burroughs looked sharply at the young girl who made thisungirlish avowal. Was this utter simplicity? or was it an ingeniousaffectation? Was Dora Darling one of the noblest, or one of the mostcrafty, of womankind?

Tom Burroughs was a man of the world and of society, and flatteredhimself that neither man nor woman had art deeper than hispenetration; but as he rapidly scanned the broad brow, clear, level-glancing eyes, firm, sweet mouth, queenly head, and mien ofinnocent self-confidence, he asked himself again, --

"Is it the perfection of art, or can it be the perfection ofnature?"

But Karl was saying rather gloomily, --

"And what is to become of us, Dora?"

"Kitty and you?" asked Dora, open-eyed. "Why, of course, you are tocome too! Did you suppose I wanted to leave you? Of course, it isyour home and mine, just as this house has been: we are all onefamily, you know. "

"To be sure. Well, I fancy there will be something for me to do onyour Outpost farm. You must make me overseer. "

"No: you shall be confidential adviser; but I am going to overseeevery thing myself, and you must go on with your medical studies. "

"You are going to become practical farmer, then?" asked Mr. Burroughs, raising his eyebrows never so slightly. 

"Yes, sir; not to really work with my own hands out of doors, youknow, but to see to every thing. At first, I shan't understand muchabout it, I suppose; but I shall learn, and I shall be so happy!"

"And how soon will you be ready to go?" asked Mr. Burroughs. 

Dora considered for a moment, "To-day is Thursday. I think we mightstart Monday morning; couldn't we, Karl?"

"And meantime sell this place and furniture?" asked Mr. Windsor, smiling. 

"Not sell, but let the place. There is Jacob Minot would be glad tohire it, and a good tenant too. As for the furniture, we had bettercarry it with us. Shall we have to build a house when we get there, Mr. Burroughs?"

"Yes. Col. Blank had selected a site, and made some littlebeginning: I believe nothing more than having the land cleared and acellar dug, however. You will begin with a log-cabin; shall younot?"

"Yes: I suppose so. Well, Karl, mightn't we start on Monday?"

"Not in heavy marching order, I am afraid; but very soon, if you arequite determined. "

"Yes, quite; but what will Kitty think?" asked Dora suddenly. 

"Oh! I think she will like it. Here she comes, and we can ask her. "

The crisp rustle of muslin skirts swept down the stairs; and Mr. Burroughs, turning his head, saw standing in the doorway a tall, handsome brunette, with masses of black hair rolled away from a lowforehead, glancing black eyes, and ripe lips, showing just now thesparkle of white teeth between, as the young lady half waited for anintroduction before entering. 

"Mr. Burroughs, Kitty; my sister, sir, " said Karl, rising, andhanding a chair to Kitty, who, with rather too wide a sweep of herbright muslin skirts, seated herself, and said, half laughing, --

"I suppose you are through with your secrets by this time?"

"We were just wanting to tell you the new plan, and see how you willlike it, " said Dora quickly; for she felt an involuntary dread lestKitty should, in presence of this courteous stranger, say somethingto do herself discredit. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

MAN VERSUS DOG. 

Mr. Burroughs staid to tea, and, while it was being prepared, strolled with Karl about the little farm; looked at the Alderneycow, the Suffolk pigs, the span of Morgan horses named Pope andPagan; quietly sounded the depths of Capt. Karl's open and joyousnature, and made him talk of his cousin Dora, and reveal his loveand his hopes regarding her. 

"They will marry out there, and she will manage him, and make himvery happy, " thought Mr. Burroughs, returning toward the farmhouse, and admiring the long slope of the mossy roof, and the clingingmasses of woodbine creeping to the ridge-pole. 

"You won't make so picturesque a thing of your new home for severalyears to come, if ever, Mr. Windsor, " added he aloud. 

"No, I suppose not; but the genius of our people is more forbeginning than ending, and this old place was built by mygrandfather, " said the young man. 

"An excellent and most American reason for deserting it, " said Mr. Burroughs gravely; "and, if you are thinking of selling, I shouldlike the opportunity of becoming purchaser. This sort of thing isgoing out of the market, and I should like to secure a specimenbefore it is too late. It is same as a picture, except that it isstationary, and one must come to it instead of carrying it away intriumph. "

"I think we may like to sell; but I must consult my sister andcousin first, " said Karl rather gravely: for, after all, he did notjust like the tone assumed by this fine city gentleman in speakingof the place that had been a home to Karl and his ancestors for morethan a century. The quick tact of the lawyer perceived the slightwound he had given, and repaired it by carelessly saying, --

"And, besides the beauty of the place, I should be proud possessingany thing that had belonged to a grandfather. My family has been somigratory, that I can hardly say I had a grandfather or not:certainly I have not the remotest idea where he lived. "

Capt. Karl laughed. 

"Our family has been settled here since the days of the Pilgrims"said he; "and Kitty could show you a family chart, as large as atable-cloth, of which she is mightily proud, although I never couldsee any particular benefit it has been to us. "

"And Miss Dora-is she fond of recalling her ancestors and theirfame? or is she satisfied with her own?" asked Mr. Burroughs. 

"I don't believe it ever occurred to her that either she or theydeserved any, " said Karl, laughing. "You never knew a creature soentirely simple and self-forgetful in your life, and yet of so wideand noble a nature. She is never so happy as in doing good to otherpeople. "

"But likes to do it in her own way?" suggested the lawyerpleasantly. 

"Likes to do it in the best way, and her own way is sure to bethat, " replied Karl somewhat decidedly; and Mr. Burroughs smiled andbowed. 

In the, doorway, under the swinging branch of the tall sweetbrier, suddenly appeared Kitty, her brown face becoming flushed, and thebuttons of her under-sleeves not yet adjusted. 

"Tea is ready; will you please to walk in, Mr. Burroughs?" said she:and the guest followed, well pleased, to the wide, cool kitchen, with its white, scoured floor, its vine-shaded windows and open doorgiving a view of broad meadow-lands, with a brook curling crisplythrough them, and a dark pine-wood beyond. In the centre stood theneat tea-table, with its country dainties of rich cream, yellowbutter, custards, ripe peaches sliced and served with sugar, buttermilk-biscuit, and the fresh sponge-cake, on which Kitty justlyprided herself. 

"You see we are plain country-folks, and eat in the kitchen, Mr. Burroughs, " said she, with a little laugh, as they seatedthemselves. 

"Is this room called a kitchen? You amuse yourself by jesting withmy ignorance, " said Mr. Burroughs, looking about him with affectedsimplicity. "If ever I should live here, I would call this therefreshing-room; for I can imagine nothing more soothing to eyesweary of a summer sun than these vine-covered windows, and the coolgreens of that meadow and the pine-forest beyond. "

Kitty smiled a little vaguely, half inclined to insist upon thekitchen-side of the question; when Karl asked, in a disappointedtone, --

"Where is Dora? Isn't she coming?"

"Not yet. Molly waked up, and Dora is giving her some supper. Shesaid she would come as soon as she had done. You didn't know, Mr. Burroughs, that Dora has an adopted child, did you?"

"No, indeed. She is young to undertake such responsibility, " saidMr. Burroughs a little curiously. 

"This is a little foreigner too, that Dora picked up in the road. Noone knows who she may be, or what dreadful people may come after herany day. Dora is so queer!"

"Will you have a biscuit, Kitty? Mr. Burroughs, let me give you someof this peach? We shall be sorry to leave our peach-orchard behindin going to the West. I suppose, however, one can soon be startedthere. "

And Karl, determined not to allow Kitty the chance of making any ofher spiteful little speeches about Dora in presence of the visitor, kept the conversation upon purely impersonal topics, until they rosefrom table, and the two gentlemen strolled out upon the porch at thewestern door; while Kitty ran up to call Dora, whom she foundsitting beside the bed, with Sunshine's head lying upon her arm. 

"Isn't she asleep?" whispered Kitty. 

The child half opened her eyes, and murmured drowsily, --

"I want to ride on the elephant. It's my little wife. "

"What did she say, Dora?"

"Hush! She is out of her head, I think. She has been saying I washer little wife, " whispered Dora. 

"Well, that's English, anyway, " replied Kitty, staring at the child. "What do you suppose she is?"

"I don't know. There, pet, there! Hus-h!" As she spoke, Doracarefully withdrew her arm from under the little head, where, in theAugust night, the hair clung in moist golden spirals, and a soft dewstood upon the white forehead. 

"I'll stay and fan her for a while longer, she looks so warm, "whispered Dora. 

"No, no! come down and eat your supper, and help clear away. Charleyasked Mr. Burroughs to stay all night, and I guess he will. Isn't hereal splendid? Come down, and talk about him. "

Sunshine slept soundly; and Dora, half reluctantly, suffered herselfto be led away by her cousin, closing the door softly behind her, and leaving the little child to dreams of a home so far away, andyet so near; of a vanished past, that, even in this moment, stretched a detaining hand from out the darkness, groping for herown; of human love immortal as heaven, and yet, for the moment, lesstrustworthy than the instinct of the brutes: for if Mr. ThomasBurroughs, instead of being a highly cultivated and intellectualman, had been a dog of only average intelligence, 'Toinette Legrangewould already have been discovered and, before another sunset, theslow agony devouring her mother's heart would have been relieved. 

But to each of us our gifts; and Mr. Burroughs, never suspecting howdeficient were his own, strolled with his host beneath the trees, until the appearance of the young ladies upon the porch; when hejoined them, and resumed his conversation with Dora. From armymatters, the talk soon wandered to the new prospects of Col. Blank'sheiress; and Mr. Burroughs found himself first amused, then animatedand interested, quite beyond his wont, in the young girl's plans andexpectations. 

It was late when the party separated; and as the guest closed thedoor of the rosy-room, and cast an admiring glance over its neatappointments, he muttered to himself, --

"What a bright, fresh little room! and what a brighter, fresherlittle girl!-as different from thy city friends, Tom Burroughs, asthe cream she pours is from the chalky composition of the hotels. Thou dost half persuade me to turn Hoosier, and help thee convertthe wilderness to a blooming garden, O darlingest of Darlings!"

And as the young man, with a half-smile upon his lips, set sail forthe vague and beautiful shores of Dreamland, a bright, sweet facelighted by two earnest eyes, seemed to herald him the way, and joinitself to all his fairest fancies. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

MRS. GINNISS HAS A VISITOR. 

HEAVILY went the days in the lowly home of Mrs. Ginniss and her son. Teddy sought early and late for employment, disdaining nothing, however humble, whereby he might earn a few cents, and working asdiligently at street-sweeping, dust-gathering, errand-running, orhorse-holding, as he had ever done in the way of gaining aneducation under the kind tuition of his late master. 

Every night he brought home some small sum, and silently placed itin his mother's hand; nor, though she urged it, would he retain apenny for himself, or indulge in any of the small luxuries he had informer days enjoyed so much. 

"Go buy a wather-million, honey, or get an ice-crame; sure it'snothin' at all ye're atin', " the fond mother would say: but Teddyalways shook his head, or, if the matter were urged, took his capand went out, always with the weary step that had become habitual tohim, and returned no more until bedtime. 

"It's frettin' himsilf to his grave the crather is, " said poor Mrs. Ginniss, and tried in many a motherly way to make home pleasant toher boy, and to re-awaken the ambition that seemed quite dead in hisheart. No more reading aloud now, of which he had been so fond; nomore recitals of interesting or humorous scenes in office or street;no more wise opinions upon public events: all the boy's boyishconceit and self-esteem, germs in a strong character of worthy self--respect, seemed crushed out of him. Patient, humble, silent, onecould hardly recognize in this Teddy Ginniss that other Teddy, whosecheery voice, frequent laugh, positive opinions and wishes, andgood-humored self-satisfaction, had been the leading features of hismodest home. 

Poor Mrs. Ginniss longed to be contradicted or instructed or laughedat once more, and fought against her son's submissive respect asanother mother might have done against disobedience or insolence. 

"Can't ye be mad nor yet be merry at nothin', Teddy?" asked sheimpatiently one day. 

"I'm thinking I'll never be merry again, mother, " said Teddy sadly, as he left the room. 

It was in the afternoon of the same day, that Mrs. Ginniss, sittingat her sewing in melancholy mood enough, heard a little tap at herdoor, and, opening it, found upon the threshold a lady, elegant inher simple dress of gray, who asked, --

"Are you Mrs. Ginniss?"

"Yes, ma'am; I'm that same, " said the laundress, staring strangelyat the lovely face framed in a shower of feathery golden ringlets, and lighted by large violet eyes as sad as they were sweet. 

"Will ye be plazed to walk in, ma'am?" continued she. "It's but apoor place for the likes uv yees. "

The lady made no reply, but, gliding into the room, stood for amoment looking about it, and then turning to the Irish woman, whostill regarded her in the same awestruck manner, said piteously, --

"I am her mother!"

"Sure an' I knowed it the minute I sot eyes on ye; for it's the sameswate face, an' eyes that's worse nor cryin, ye've got; an' the sameway of a born lady, so quite an' so grand. Och! it wor a purtydarlint, it wor; an' it's me own heart that's sore for her the day, forbye your'n that's her borned mother; and, if it wor my own lifethat 'ud fetch her back to yees"--

But here the long breath on which Mrs. Ginniss had started came toan end, and with it the impulse of consolation and self-defence thathad so far sustained her; and with a wild cry of "Wurra, wurra! ochthe black day that's in it!" she sank upon a chair, and buried herhead in her apron, sobbing loudly. 

The visitor, hardly regarding her, still stood in the centre of thelittle room, her sad eyes wandering over its humble furniture andadornments as if each one were a relic. 

"Are there some little things of hers, clothes or playthings orbooks, --any thing she touched or loved?" asked she presently in ahushed voice. 

Mrs. Ginniss, still crying, rose, and opened a drawer in the pinebureau, which, with a looking-glass and some vases of blue chinaupon it, stood as the ornamental piece of furniture of the place. 

"Here they bees, ivery one uv 'em, and poor enough for her, an' yitthe bist we could git, " said she. 

More as a bird, long restrained and suddenly set free, would darttoward the tree where nest and young awaited it, than in theordinary mode of human movement, the mother, so long hungering forsmallest tidings of her child, darted upon this sudden mine ofwealth, and, bending low, seemed to caress each object with her eyesbefore touching it. Then tearing off her gloves, she laid her whitefingers softly upon the coarse garments, the broken toys, the fewworn books, and bits of paper covered with pencil-marks, the stripof gay patchwork with the needle still sticking in it, and thelittle brass thimble upon it. 

At one end of the drawer stood a little pair of slippers, with someslightly soiled white stockings rolled up and laid within them. Atsight of these, a low cry-it might have been of pain, it might havebeen of joy-crept from between the pale lips of the mother; and, reverently lifting the little shoes, she kissed them again andagain, in an eager, longing fashion, as one might kiss the lips of adying child whom human love may yet recall to human life. 

"Thim's the little shlippers that Teddy saved his bit uvspinding-money till he could buy for her, bekase he said the fut uvher wor too purty to put in sich sthrong shoe's as I'd got; and thinit was mesilf that saved the white little shtockings out uv me tayan' sugar; an' it's like a little fairy (save me for spakin' theword) that she lucked in 'em. "

Pressing the little shoes close to her bosom with both hands, themother turned those mournful eyes upon the speaker, listening toevery word, and, at the end, said eagerly, --

"Tell me some more! Tell me every thing she said and did! Oh! wasshe happy?"

The word had grown so strange upon her lips and in her heart, that, as she said it, all the tense chords, so long attuned to grief, thrilled with a sharp discord; and, turning yet paler than before, she sank upon a chair, and, leaning her forehead on the edge of theopen drawer, wept such tears as, pray God, happy mothers, you and Imay never weep. 

"O my baby, my baby! O my little child!" moaned she again and again, until the tender heart of the Irish woman could endure no longer;and, coming to the side of her guest, she knelt beside her, and puther arms about the slender figure that shook with every sob, anddrew the bright head to rest upon her own shoulder. 

"O ye poor darlint! ye poor, young crather, that's got the blacksorrer atin' inter yer heart, all the same as if ye wor owld an'mane an' oogly, like mesilf!-it's none but Him aboov as kin comfortyees. Blissid Vargin, as was a moother yersilf, an' knowed amoother's pains an' a moother's love, an' all the ins an' outs uv amoother's heart, luck down on this young moother an' help her, an'spake to thim as can help her betther nor yees, an' give back herchild; bekase ye mind the time yer own Howly Child wor lost, an' yesought him sorrerin'; an' ye mind the joy an' the comfort that worin it whin he was foun'. Och Mother of Jasus! hear us this day, ifniver again. "

As the passionate prayer ended, the lady raised her head, and kissedthe tear-stained cheek of the petitioner. 

"Thank you, " said she. "I know that you were good to her, and thatshe loved you; but, oh! did she forget me so soon?"

Alas poor human heart whose purest impulses are tinged withselfishness! You who have lost your nearest and dearest, can you sayfrom your inmost soul that you would be content to know yourself andall of earth forgotten, or that it is sorrow to you to fancy that alingering memory, a faint regret for the love you so lavished, stains the perfection of heavenly bliss?

Tact is not a matter of breeding; and Chesterfield or Machiavellicould have found no better answer than that of Mrs. Ginniss:--

"Sure, honey, it wor alluz she remembered yees, an' longed for yees;though the little crather wor that yoong, an' the faver had so poother about, that she didn' know what it wor she wanted nor missed;but it wor 'mother' as wor writ in the blue eyes uv her as plain asprentin'. "

"And was she very, very sick?" asked the sad voice again. 

"The sickest crather that iver coom back from hivin's gate, " repliedthe other; and then, seating herself beside her visitor, she beganat the beginning, and gave a long detail of the circumstancesattending Cherry's first appearance in the garret, and hersubsequent illness and convalescence. Then came the story of heracquaintance with Giovanni; her passion for dancing and singing withhim; and finally their flight, and the consternation and sorrow ofher adopted mother. 

Mrs. Legrange listened to every thing with the most profoundattention, asking now and then a question, or uttering anexclamation; even smiling faintly at mention of the child's gracefuldancing and sweet voice in singing. 

"Yes, she had an extraordinary ear for music, " murmured she; "and tothink of her remembering being called Cerito!"

Nor did the mother fail to notice how the whole coarse fabric of theIrish woman's story was embroidered with a golden thread of love andadmiration, and even reverence, for the exquisite little creatureshe had cherished and cared for so tenderly. 

"Yes, you loved her; and I love you for it, and will always be yourfriend. But Teddy?" asked she at last; for Mrs. Ginniss, through thewhole story, had carefully avoided all mention of her son, except inthe most casual and general fashion. Now, however, she boldlyanswered, --

"An' its mesilf loved the purty crather well; but my love kim nonearer the love the b'y had for her than the light of a tallercandle does to the sun in hiven. He loved her that sthrong, that itmed him do a mane thing in kapin' her whin he knowed who she wor;but sure it's betther ter sin fer love than ter sin fer sin's sake. "

Mrs. Legrange smiled sadly. To her it had seemed, from the first, small matter of surprise, however great of regret, that Teddy shouldhave found 'Toinette's attractions irresistible; or that, havingonce appropriated her as his little sister, he should have found italmost impossible to relinquish her. 

She had not, therefore, shared at all in the indignation of hercousin and husband toward the boy, and had even solicited the formerto retain him in his employ. But Mr. Burroughs, kind, generous, andforbearing as he was, cherished implacable ideas of integrity andhonor, and never forgave an offence against either, whether infriend or servant; so that his cousin had finally withdrawn herrequest, asking, instead, that he should conduct her to Mrs. Ginniss's dwelling, and leave the rest to her. This the young manhad consented to do; and, as Mrs. Legrange would not allow him towait for her, he had privately instructed James to do so, and hadnot left the outer door until he saw that faithful servitor uponguard. 

Just what were her own intentions with regard to Teddy, or hismother, Mrs. Legrange did not herself know; and, once arrived in theroom where 'Toinette had lived out the weary months since her loss, all other ideas had faded and disappeared before the memories thereconfronting her. Now, however, the sweet and generous nature of thewoman re-asserted itself, and she kindly said, --

"Yes: I see how great Teddy's temptation was, and I cannot wonderthat he yielded to it. Any one would have found it hard to part with'Toinette; and he, poor boy! could not know how I was suffering. Itwould have been different if you had known who she was. "

"Indade an' it would. One moother can fale fer another; but thesechildhren hasn't the sinse till they gits the sorrer. Small fearthat Teddy'll iver go asthray agin from light-heartedness. "

"Does he feel very sorry, then?" asked Mrs. Legrange timidly. 

"Sorry isn't the word, ma'am. It's his own heart as he consumes dayan' night, " said Mrs. Ginniss gloomily. 

"Because she is lost, or because he kept her in the first place?"asked the lady. 

"It's hard tellin', an' he niver spakin' whin he can help it; but Ibelave it's all together. He wor sich a bowld b'y, an' so sthrongfor risin' in the world; an' wor alluz sayin' as he'd be a gintlemanafore he died, an' readin' his bit books and writins, an' tillin' meabout the way the counthry wor goin'; an', right or wrong, it's hewor ready to guide the whole of 'em. An', sure, it wor wondherful tosee the sinse that wor in him when he get spakin' of thim things;an' one day, whin I said to him, --

"'Sure, Teddy, an', if it's one or tither of 'em is Prisident, whatdiffer'll it make to us?' An' he says, says he, 'Whist, moother! ferone day, mabbe, it's I'll be the Prisident mesilf; an' what way 'udthat be fer me moother to be talkin'?'

"But now it's no sich talk ye'll git out uv him, an' niver a laughnor a joke, nor the bit bowld ways he used to have wid him. An' och, honey! if ye've lost yer purty darlint, it's I've lost me b'y thatwor as mooch to me; an' it's I'm the heavy-hearted woman, this' dayan' alluz. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

TEDDY FINDS A NEW PATRON. 

TEDDY, dragging his heavy feet up the stairs in the stiflingSeptember twilight, paused suddenly to listen to a murmur of voicesin his mother's room. 

Some one was speaking; and the pure, clear tone sent a thrillthrough his veins like the shock of an electric battery. No voicebut one had ever sounded like that to him; and, springing up theremaining stairs, Teddy threw open the door of the chamber, andlooked eagerly about it. 

The one for whom he looked was not there; but, instead, a lady, whose fragile loveliness reminded him so strangely of the littlesister as she had looked in her long days of convalescence, that hestood still, staring dumbly. 

"An' where's yer manners, Teddy Ginniss? Couldn' ye see the ladyforenenst ye, widout starin' like a stuck pig?-It's dazed he is, ma'am, wid seein' the likes uv yees in this poor place. "

"Come here, Teddy; I am waiting to see you, " said the lady. Andagain the pure, silvery tones tingled along Teddy's nerves with asharp, sweet thrill. 

"O ma'am! are you her mother?" cried he breathlessly. 

"Yes, I am her mother, and have come to see you, who loved her sowell, and your good mother, who cared for her when she wasmotherless"--

The sweet voice faltered, and Teddy broke in, --

"And you needn't be afraid to say the worst that can be said, ma'am. I've said it all before; and you can't hate me worse than I hatemyself. "

"Hate you, my poor boy? I only pity you; for I have heard, and cansee, how much you suffer. I cannot wonder that you should love herso well; and, when you knew who she was, I dare say you were meaningto restore her, so soon as you could bring yourself to it. "

"Indeed I was, ma'am. I can take God to witness that I was, " saidTeddy solemnly, his eyes brimming, and his face working with thestrong emotion he tried so hard to subdue. 

"I am sure of it; and I love you more for the love you bore her thanI blame you for the fault that love led you into. " She paused amoment; and then the insatiate mother pride and love burst out, demanding sympathy. 

"She was a lovely child, wasn't she, Teddy?" asked she with atremulous smile. 

The boy's rough face lighted, as if by reflection from her own, ashe replied, --

"O ma'am! it's so good of you to let me talk about her! There wasnever another like her in all the world, I believe. I used to takeher walking Sundays, and look at all the children we met (some ofthem rich folks' children, and dressed all out in their best); butthere was never one could hold a candle to my little sister. Oh! andI hope you'll forgive me that word, ma'am; for I know it's nobusiness I had ever to call her so, or think of her so; but I was soproud of her!"

"I don't need to forgive you, Teddy. It shows how much you lovedher; and that is what I like to think best. "

"But if you please, ma'am, will you tell me what is doing aboutlooking for her?" asked Teddy eagerly. 

"Very little now, " answered the lady sadly. "The police tracedGiovanni, the Italian organ-grinder, to the station, where he tookthe cars for the West. At Springfield, a man answering to hisdescription, with a little girl, staid all night; and next day thechild danced-in the streets. "

The mother's face grew deadly pale as she said the last words, andshe paused a moment. Teddy turned away his head, and Mrs. Ginnissgroaned aloud. Mrs. Legrange went on hurriedly:--

"Where they went afterwards is not yet discovered; but they arelooking everywhere. It seems so strange"--

She fell into a momentary revery, thinking, as she thought so many, many times in every day, how hard and strange it seemed that no clewcould be found to her lost darling beyond the terrible day that sawher dancing in the public streets, --an ignominy, that, to the lady'ssensitive mind, seemed almost equivalent to death. 

Perhaps it would have been kinder had her husband and cousin toldher the worst they knew or suspected, and allowed her to mourn herchild as dead. The acute detective in whose hands the new clew hadbeen placed had not only traced the fugitives to Springfield, asMrs. Legrange had said, but had ascertained at what hour they leftthe hotel for the railway-station. It was impossible, however, todiscover for what point the Italian had purchased tickets, as thestation-master had no recollection of him, and the baggage-masterwas sure he had seen "no sich lot" as was described to him. 

And, from Springfield, a man may take passage to almost any point inthe Union. One startling fact remained, and upon this fact the wholereport of the detective turned. 

The train leaving Springfield for Albany upon the night whenGiovanni left that town, encountered, at a certain point, anothertrain, which, by some incomprehensible stupidity, was supposed tohave passed that point half an hour before. 

Consequences as usual, --frightful loss of life; a game of give andtake in the newspapers, as to who should bear the blame, finallyresulting in a service of plate to one party, and a donation inmoney to the other; several lawsuits brought by enterprisingwidowers who demand consolation for the loss of their wives; byother men, who, having skulked the draft, now found themselves minusboth legs and glory; by spinsters whose bandboxes had been crushed, and by young ladies whose beauty had suffered damage from brokennoses and scattered teeth. 

But, among all these sufferers, not one remembered seeing an Italianorgan-grinder with a little girl until, at the very last, a smallboy was found, who averred, that, on the morning after the disaster, he had seen a sort of box, with a little creature chained to the topof it, floating down the river; and that the little creature hadseemed very much scared, and kept laughing, and showing all histeeth; and that they had gone on and out of sight. And that was allhe knew about it. 

The river!-what use to question those dark and swollen waters? whatuse to demand of them the bright form, that, it might be, sleptbeneath them?-it might be, had been washed piecemeal to the ocean?

At the brink of that river, mournful and terrible as Styx, river ofthe dead, ended, that night, the story of many a life; and why notthat of the child so strangely lost, so nearly recovered, and now, perhaps, lost again forever?

"We have found her, I am afraid, Tom, " said Mr. Legrange to hiscousin, as the detective closed his report, and his two hearerslooked at each other. "But, " added the father, "keep on; keep everyengine at work; search everywhere; spend any amount of money that isneedful; leave no chance untried. Remember, the reward is alwaysready. " And, when they were alone, he added, --

"But, Tom, don't tell her. She can't bear it as we can. Poor littleSunshine!" And, to show how well he bore it, the father hid hisface, and sobbed like a woman. 

"No, I won't say any thing, " said Tom Burroughs in a strange, chokedvoice. And so we come back to Mrs. Legrange wistfully saying, "Itseems so strange"--

And then, with the patience of a woman, she put aside her own greatgrief, and added, --

"But, Teddy, I am going to do something for you; and what shall itbe? You wish to be educated; do you not?"

"O ma'am! but I've give it up now. "

Mrs. Legrange smiled at the sudden enthusiasm and the sudden blankupon the boy's face, and answered, almost gayly, --

"But I have not given it up for you, Teddy. -By the way, Mrs. Ginniss, is that your son's real name?-his whole name, I mean?"

"It's short for Taodoor, I'm thinkin', ma'am; but joost Teddy wealluz calls it. "

"Ah, yes! Theodore. That is a very nice name, and will sound better, when he comes to be a lawyer or doctor or minister, than Teddy. Don't you think so?"

"Ye're right, ma'am: it's a dale the dacenter name uv the two; an'Taodoor I'll call him iver an' always, " said Mrs. Ginnisscomplacently. 

"I was thinking more of what other people would call him, " said Mrs. Legrange, smiling a little. "Some friends of mine are interested ina school and college at the West, --somewhere in Ohio, I believe. Itis a very fine school and the West is the place for a young man whomeans to rise. So, Theodore, if you would like to go, I shall bevery happy to see to all your expenses until you graduate, and tohelp you about settling in a profession, or in trade, as you like. "

Teddy's healthy face turned deadly white; and, although his lipstrembled violently, not a word came from between them. But Mrs. Ginniss, raising hands and eyes to heaven, called down such a showerof blessings from so many and varied sources, in such an inimitablebrogue, that the pen refuses to transcribe her rhapsody, as Mrs. Legrange failed to comprehend more than the half of it. 

"I am glad you are pleased; and it pleases me as much as it canyou, " said she, half frightened at the Celtic vehemence of theother's manner and language. 

"I can't say what I want to, ma'am, " spoke a low voice beside her;"but if you'll believe I'm grateful, and wait till some time when Ican show it better than I can now-that time will come, if we bothlive. And when I'm a man, if she isn't found first, I'll go theworld round but I'll find her, and Jovarny too: I'll promise that. "

A wan smile played over the lovely face, as Mrs. Legrange, layingher hand upon the boy's, said kindly, --

"If she is not found before then, Teddy, I shall not be here to knowit. "

Then going to the drawer, still standing open, she said, --

"May I have some of these little things, Mrs. Ginniss; not all, --forI know that you love them too, --but some of them?"

So Mrs. Ginniss made a package of the relics; and Teddy asked andobtained the privilege of carrying it home for his new friend, whileJames stalked discontentedly behind. 

Upon the way, Mrs. Legrange said quietly, "I left a little money inthe drawer, Theodore. It is to buy you some new clothes, andwhatever else you and your mother need most. And I have just thoughtof something else. How would your mother like living in thecountry?"

"Very much, ma'am, I think. Her father had a farm in Ireland, andshe is mighty fond of telling about it. "

"Well, Mr. Legrange has recently made me a present of a nice oldfarmhouse somewhere in the western part of the State, thinking Imight like to go there for a few weeks in the summer. It is a lovelyplace, they say; and, if your mother would like it, she might gothere and keep the house for me. A man is going to take care of thefarm, and he could board with her. "

"That would be first-rate, ma'am, " said Teddy enthusiastically. "Butyou're doing too much for us entirely. "

"You were kind to her, Teddy; and I cannot do too much for you, "said Mrs. Legrange, lowering her veil. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

WELCOME HOME. 

"TIME they was here, ain't it, miss?" asked Mehitable Ross, wipingthe flour from her bare arms, and coming out upon the step of thedoor. 

"Yes, " said Dora: "I expect them every moment. Is tea all ready?"

"All but the short-cakes. I hain't put them down to bake yet, because they're best when they're first done. But the cold meat issliced, and the strawberries dished, and the johnny-cake a-baking. "

"Well, keep them all as nice as you can; and I will walk out alittle, and meet the wagon. "

"Take Argus along, you'd better, case you should meet one of themtiger-cats Silas told on. "

Dora smiled, but called, "Argus!" and at the word a great hound cameleaping from one of the out-buildings, and fawned upon his youngmistress; then, with stately step and uplifted head, followed heralong the faint track worn by the wheels of the ox-cart in theshort, sweet grass of the prairie. 

The young girl walked slowly, and, at the distance of some rods fromthe house, stopped, and, leaning against the stem of a greatchestnut-tree, stood looking earnestly down the path as it woundinto the forest, and out of sight. Then her eyes turned slowly back, and lingered with a strange and solemn joy upon the scene she hadjust left; while from her full heart came one whispered word thattold the whole story of her emotion, --

"Home!"

For this was Outpost, Dora's inheritance from her friend and father, Col. Blank; and she felt to-night, as she waited to welcome home thefamily whose head she had become, that her duties andresponsibilities were indeed solemn and onerous. Not too much so, however, for the courage and strength the young girl felt within hersoul, --the energy and will so long without an adequate field ofaction. 

"Plenty to do, and, thank God, plenty of health and strength to doit. Experience will come of itself, " thought Dora; and from herthrobbing heart went up a "song without words, " of joy and praiseand high resolve. 

It was June now; but the house at Outpost had only been ready foroccupancy a week or so. The family had left Massachusetts about thefirst of October in the previous autumn, and had spent the winter inCincinnati; Dora having been reluctantly convinced of the folly ofproceeding to Iowa at that season. With the opening of spring, however, she had made a journey thither, escorted by CharlesWindsor, and accompanied by Seth and Mehitable Ross, --a sturdyNew-England couple, who were very glad, in emigrating to the West, to avail themselves of the offers made by Dora, who engaged the manas principal workman upon the new farm, and his wife as assistant inthe labors of the house. 

The site selected by Col. Blank proved a very satisfactory one. ButDora rejected his plans of a house, submitted to her by Mr. Ferrars, as too expensive, and too elaborate for the style of living sheproposed; and chose, instead, a simple log-cabin, divided into fourrooms, with another at a little distance for the accommodation ofRoss and his wife, who were also to keep whatever additional workmenshould be required upon the place. 

These buildings, neatly and substantially formed of logs from theneighboring wood, were placed at the top of a natural lawn halfenclosed by primeval forest; while at its foot nearly a quarter of amile away, wound the blue waters of the Des Moines; and beyond it, swept to the horizon, mile after mile of prairie, limitless, apparently, as ocean, and, like ocean, solemnly beautiful in itsloneliness and calm. 

The house faced south; and eastward from its door, across the lawnand into the rustling wood, wound the faint wheel-track, leadingback to civilization, ease, and safety: but Dora, standing beneaththe chestnut-tree, fixed her dreamy eyes upon the setting sun, and, half smiling at her own fancy, thought, --

"I wonder if God doesn't make the western sky so beautiful just todraw us toward it. There is so much to do here, and so few to doit!"

A distant noise in the forest attracted her attention; and Argus, who had been dreaming at the feet of his mistress, started up with ashort bark. 

"Hush, Argus! It's the wagon; don't you know?" explained Dora, asshe hastened down the path, and, at the distance of a few hundredrods, caught sight of the black heads of Pope and Pagan, and, thenext moment, of the wagon and its occupants. 

These were Karl, Kitty, and Sunshine, the two last of whom hadremained all the spring in Cincinnati, while Karl and Dora hadvibrated between that city and Outpost; for Dora, while choosing tosuperintend the building of her house and opening of the farmoperations in person, had not wished to expose her cousin or thedelicate child to such discomforts as she cheerfully and even gaylybore for herself. 

Kitty, moreover, had found the change from her native seclusion to agay city very pleasant; and had made so many acquaintances inCincinnati, that she declared it was a great deal worse than leavinghome to abandon them all. 

"Oho! here's the general come to meet us! Whoa, Pope! don't you seeyour mistress? Now, then!" shouted Karl; while Kitty cried, --

"O Dora! I'm so glad to see you alive!" And little Sunshine, jumpingup and down in the front of the wagon, exclaimed, --

"Dora's come! Dora's come! Karlo said we'd come to Dora by and by!"

"O you little darling! if Dora isn't glad to see you again! Kitty, how do you do? I'm so glad to see you!"

She had jumped into the wagon as she spoke; and, after giving Kittya hearty kiss and hug, she took Sunshine in her arms, and buried herface in the child's sunny curls. 

"Am I your own little girl, Dora? and do you love me same as youalways did?" asked Sunshine anxiously. "Kitty said you'd so much tothink about now, that maybe you wouldn't care for us. "

"Oh! Kitty never meant that, dear, " said Dora quickly; and Kitty, with rather a forced laugh, added, --

"Of course I didn't. It was only a joke, Molly. You talked so muchabout Dora, I wanted to plague you a little. "

The child looked earnestly at her for a moment; and then, puttingher arms about Dora's neck, hid her face upon her bosom, murmuring, --

"I'm glad I've got Dora again!"

"Well, now everybody else is attended to, hasn't the general a wordfor his humble orderly?" asked Karl, turning to smile over hisshoulder at the group behind. 

"Why, you jealous old Karl! you know you've only been away twoweeks, and the girls I have not seen for almost as many months:besides, I told you not to call me general, and yourself orderly. "

"Oh! that reminds me of a new name for pet. You know she persists incalling me Karlo; so I have given her the title of Dolce: and thetwo of us together are going some day to paint pictures far fairerthan those of our great original. "

"Carlo Dolce? Yes: Mr. Brown told me about him once, and said hisname only meant sweet Charley, " said Dora simply. 

"I wonder, then, that you should have left it for Sunshine todiscover how appropriate the name is to me, " said Karl with mockgravity. 

"I'll call you sweet Charley if you like; only it must be at alltimes, and before all persons, " said Dora roguishly. 

"No, I thank you, " replied her cousin, laughing. "Fancy ParsonBrown's face if he should hear such a title, or Seth's astonishmentif you told him to call sweet Charley to dinner! But isn't Dolce apretty name? Let us really adopt it for her. "

"Well, if she likes; but I shall call her Sunshine still sometimes. "

"What say, pet? will you have Dolce for a name?" asked Karl, turningto pinch the little ear peeping from Sunshine's curls. 

"I don't know; would you, Dora?" asked the child, gravelydeliberating. 

"Yes: I think it is pretty. "

"And Kitty sha'n't call me Molly any more; shall she?"

"Don't you like Molly?"

"No: because that man in Cincinnati asked me if my last name wasCoddle; and it ain't. "

"Oh, dear! what an odd little thing she is!" exclaimed Kitty. "Itwas Mr. Thomson, Dora; and he is so witty, you know! And one day heasked the child if her name wasn't Miss Molly Coddle, just for ajoke, you see; and we all laughed: but she ran away; and, when Iwent to my room, there she was crying, and wouldn't come down againfor ever so long. She's a regular little fuss-bunch about suchthings. "

"Very strange, when you and I are so fond of being ridiculed andlaughed at!" remarked Karl gravely; and Sunshine whispered, --

"Am I a fuss-bunch, Dora?"

Dora did not answer, except by a little pat upon the child's rosycheek, as she exclaimed, --

"Here we are! Look, Kitty! that is home; and we must bid each otherwelcome, since there is no one to do it for us both exceptMehitable, and I don't believe she will think of it. "

"Well, I must say, Dora, you've got things to going a great dealbetter than I should expect, " said Kitty graciously, as she lookedabout her. "Why, that sweetbrier beside the door, and the white rosethe other side, are just like ours at home; and the woodbine growingup the corner too!"

"They came from the old home, every one of them, " said Dora, smilinghappily. "I wrote in the spring, and asked Mr. Burroughs to be sokind as to ask whoever lives in the house to take up a little rootof each of the roses, and send them to me by express. You know hesaid, when we left, that we should have any thing we liked from theplace, then or afterwards. So he wrote such a pleasant note, andsaid he had sold the house to a cousin of his, a Mr. Legrange, whohad made a present of it to his wife; but I could have the slips allthe same: and next day, to be sure, they came, all nicely packed inmatting, and some other plants with them. Karl brought them out andset them in April; and they are growing beautifully, you see. Wasn'tMr. Burroughs good?"

Kitty did not answer. She was bending low over the sweetbrier, andinhaling the fragrance of its leaves. Karl and Sunshine had drivento the barn, and the girls remained alone. Dora glanced sharply ather cousin once, and then was turning away, when Kitty detained her, and said in a low voice, --

"My mother planted that sweetbrier, and used to call it herMarnie-bush, after me. "

"I know it, " said Dora softly. 

"And that was the reason you brought it here. And I have been crossto you so much! But I did love her so, Dora! oh, you don't know howmuch I loved my mother! That is the reason I never will let any onecall me Marnie now. It was the name she always called me, thoughKitty belongs to me too; but she said it so softly! And to think youshould bring the Marnie-bush all the way from Massachusetts!"

"I thought you would like it, dear, " said Dora absently; while hereyes grew dim and vague, and around her mouth settled the white, hard line, that, in her reticent nature, showed an emotion no lessintense because it was suppressed. 

Then her arm stole round Kitty's waist, and she whispered in herear, --

"We two motherless girls ought to feel for each other, and love eachother better than those who never knew what it is; shouldn't we, Kitty?"

"We should that, Dora, " returned her cousin with emphasis; "and Idon't believe I shall forget again right away. Let us begin fromnow, and see how good we can be to each other. "

Dora's kisses, except for Sunshine, were almost as rare as hertears; but she gave one now to Kitty, who accepted it as sufficientanswer to her proposition. 

At this moment, Mehitable, who had, at the appearance of the wagon, rushed home to give a finishing touch to her toilet, was seencrossing the little interval between the two houses with anelaborate air of unconsciousness of observation, and carrying alarge white handkerchief by its exact centre. 

"My!-how fine we look!" whispered Kitty. 

"This is my cousin, Miss Windsor, Mehitable, " said Dora simply. "Ibelieve you didn't see her in Cincinnati?"

"No: she was away when we was there. -Happy to make youracquaintance, Miss Windsor. How do you like out here?"

"Well, I don't know yet. I never tried keeping house in a log-cabin. You'll have to show me how, I expect, " said Kitty rather loftily. 

"Lor! I guess you know as much as I do about it. I never see alog-cabin in my life till we come out here. My father had afust-rate house, cla'borded and shingled, and all, down in Maine;and we alluz had a plenty to do with of every sort: so I hain't noexperience at all in this sort of way. "

"But you have a way of getting on without it that is almost as good. I don't know what I should have done without Mehitable, Kitty; and Idare say she will help you very much by telling all the ingeniousways she has contrived to make our rude accommodations answer. Youknow, as we are all beginning together, each must help on the other;and we must all keep up our courage, and try to be contented. "

"Well, I must say I never see one that kep' up her own courage, andeverybody else's, like her, since I was born into the world, " saidMehitable, turning confidentially to Kitty. "Talk of my helping her!Lor! if it hadn't been for her, I never would have stopped here overnight, in the world. Why, the first night, I didn't do nothing butroar the whole night long. Mr. Ross he said I'd raise the river if Ididn't stop: but in the morning down come Miss Dora, looking sobright and sunshiny, that I couldn't somehow open my head to say Iwouldn't stop; and then she begun to talk"--

"Mehitable, the short-cake is done. Will you speak to Mr. Windsor?"called Dora from within; and Kitty entered, saying, --

"How nice the tea-table looks!-just like home, Dora; the old Indiachina and all. "

"It is home, Kit-cat. Here is Karl, and here is little Sunshine. Come, friends, and let us sit down to our first meal in the newhouse, " said Dora: and Kitty, subduing a little feeling of fallendignity, seated herself at the side of the table; leaving the headfor Dora, who colored a little, but took it quietly. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

LIFE AT OUTPOST. 

AND now began for each member of the family at Outpost a new andactive life. 

Kitty, who, young as she was, had already achieved reputation as anotable housekeeper, found quite enough to attend to in domesticmatters, and, with Mehitable's help and counsel, soon had all theinterests and nearly all the comforts of New-England farm-lifeestablished in her Western home. Even the marigolds her mother hadalways raised as a flavoring to broths; and the catnip, motherwort, peppermint, and tansy, grown and dried as sovereign remedies in caseof illness; and the parsley, sage, and marjoram, to be used invarious branches of cookery, --flourished in their garden-bed underKitty's fostering care; while poor Silas Ross was fairly worried, inspite of himself, into digging and roofing an ice-cellar in theintervals of his more important duties. 

"Now we'll see, another summer, if we can't have some butter that'slike butter, and not like soft-soap, " remarked Kitty complacently, when the unhappy Silas announced his task complete. 

"And now I hope I can sleep in my bed o' nights without hearing'Ice-house, ice-house!' till I'm sick o' the sound of ice, " mutteredSilas, walking away. 

It is not to be averred, however, that all this thrift wasestablished without much commotion or many stormy scenes; and, notunfrequently, Mehitable Ross announced to her husband that "shewouldn't stan' it nohow, to be nosed round this way by a gal not soold as herself!" And Kitty "declared to gracious" that she "neversaw such a topping piece as that Hitty Ross since she was born;"and, if "folks undertook to work for other folks, they ought to bewilling to do the way they were told;" and she'd "rather do thewhole alone than keep round after that contrary creature, seeingthat she didn't get the upper-hands as soon as her back was turned!"

But Dora, without appearing to listen or to look, heard all and sawall. Dora, cheerful, energetic, and calm, knew how to heal, withoutappearing to notice the wound; had a faculty, all her own, ofleading the mind, vexed with a thousand trifles, to thecontemplation of some aim so grand, some thought so high, some loveor beauty so serene, that it turned back to daily life calm andrefreshed, and strengthened to do or to endure, with new courage. 

"Somehow I felt ashamed of jawing so about that wash, when Dora camein, and put her hands into the tub, and, while she was rubbing away, began to tell what a crop of corn we're going to have; and how thefolks down South, the freedmen and all, might have plenty to eat, ifevery one did as well as we're doing, " said Mehitable to herhusband. 

"Yes, " replied Seth: "she stood by me there in the sun as much as anhour, and told the cutest story you ever heard about the Injinsbelieving that corn is a live creter, and appeared once, in theshape of a young man named Odahmin, to one of the Injin chiefscalled Hiawatha; and they had a wrastle. Hiawatha beat, and killedthe other feller, and buried him up in the ground; but he hadn'tmore 'n got him under 'fore up he come agin, or ruther someInjin-corn come up: but they called the green leaves his clothes;and the tossel atop, his plume; and the sprouts was his hands, eachholding an ear of corn, that he give to Hiawatha, just as a fellerthat's whipped gives another his hat, you know. "

"Do the Injins believe all that now?" asked Mehitablecontemptuously. 

"They do so. But, I tell you, I never knew how those two rows gothoed while she was talking: they seemed to slip right along somehow;and, after she was gone, the time seemed dreadful short tillsundown, I was thinking so busy of what she said. "

"Guess you'd been cross 'cause that cultivator didn't come; hadn'tyou?" asked Mehitable slyly. 

"Yes: I felt real mad all the morning about it, and was prettygrumpy to Windsor; for I thought he might as well have sent a weekago. But, by George! I'd like to see the feller that 'ud be grumpyto her. "

"Well, Dora, " Kitty was saying at the same moment, "I'm glad you'vegot home; for the first thing isn't ready for supper, and I've justdone ironing. That Hit went off home an hour ago; said her headached, and she'd got to get the men's supper. I do declare, I'd liketo shake that woman till her teeth rattled; and I believe I'll do itsome day!"

"How beautifully the clothes look, Kitty! I think they bleach evenwhiter here than they used to in the old drying yard. But I am sorryyou ironed that white waist of mine: I was going to do it myself. Now, Sunshine, come and tell Aunt Kitty about the woodchuck and herbaby that we saw; and how we caught little chucky, as you calledhim; and all the rest. "

"Dear me! I can't stop. Well, come and sit in my lap, Dolly, andtell if you want to. Dora, do sit and rest a minute: you look alltired out. "

"Oh, no! but Karl is, I am afraid. He walked away out behind thewheat-lot this afternoon to see to setting some traps for the poorlittle things that come to eat it. I never saw such a boy when thereis any thing to be done. He goes right at it, no matter what liesbetween. "

"You're right there, Dora; and he always was so from a child. Well, Dolly, what's the story?"

"Don't call me Dolly, please, " said the little girl coaxingly. 

"Well, Dolce, then, " said Kitty, smiling with renewed good-nature. And while Sunshine, all unconsciously, completed by her prattle thecure that Dora had begun, the latter quietly and rapidly finishedthe preparations for tea. 

As for Sunshine, never did a child so well deserve her name. In thehouse or on the prairie, running with Argus, walking demurely besideKarl, or riding behind Dora upon the stout little pony reserved forthe use of the young mistress of the place, it was always as a gleamof veritable sunshine that she came; and no heart so dark, or temperso gloomy, as to resist her sweet influence. Constant exercise andfresh air, proper food, and the rigid sanitary laws established byDora, had brought to the child's cheek a richer bloom than it hadever known before; while her blue eyes seemed two sparklingfountains of joy, and a vivid life danced and glittered even amongher sunny curls. Lithe and straight, and strong of limb too, grewour slender little Cerito; and, although every motion was still oneof grace, it was now the assured grace of strength, instead of thatof fragility. She danced too, but it was with the west wind, who, rough companion that he was, whirled her round and round in hisstrong arms, or tossed her hair in a bright cloud across her face;while he snatched her hat, and sent it spinning into the prairie; orkissed the laugh from her lips, and carried it away to the wildwoods to mock at the singing-birds. Argus too-what friends he andthe child, who at first had been afraid of him, became before thesummer was through! What talks they held! How merrily they laughedtogether! and how serenely Argus listened while Sunshine told himlong histories of imaginary wanderings among the clouds, inenchanted forests, or "away beyond the blue up in the sky"!Confidences these; for, as the narrator whispered, --

"Dora doesn't like dream-stories, and Kitty says, 'Oh, nonsense!'and Karlo laughs: so you mustn't tell a word, old Argus. " And Argus, wagging his tail, and blinking his bright brown eyes, promised neverto tell, and faithfully kept the promise. 

Perhaps it was a vague sense of loneliness in these fancies; perhapsit was the lingering longing for something she had lost even fromher memory, and yet not wholly from her heart, where, as we allknow, linger loves for which we no longer have a name or a thought;perhaps it was only the dim reflex of that agony consuming hermother's heart, and the earnestness with which it longed for her:but something there was, that, at intervals, cast a sudden shadowover Sunshine's heart; something that made her pale and still, anddeepened the dimples at the corners of her mouth, until each mighthave held a tear. At these times, she would always steal away byherself if possible; sometimes, and especially if the stars wereout, to sit with folded hands, gazing at the sky; sometimes to lieupon her little bed, her eyes fixed on vacancy, until the brighttears gathered, and rolled slowly down her cheeks: but, oftenest ofall, she would call Argus, and, with one hand upon his glossy head, wander away to the dim forest, and seated at the foot of one ofthose patriarchal trees, the hound lying close beside her, wouldtalk to him as she never talked to human ears. 

Once, Karl, returning from an expedition to a distant part of thefarm, saw her thus, and half in fun, half in curiosity, crept upbehind the great oak at whose foot she sat, and listened. 

"And up there in heaven, Argus, " she was saying, "it's all sobeautiful! and no one ever speaks loud or cross; and every one hasshining white clothes, and flowers on their heads; and some one isthere-I don't know-I guess it's an angel; but she's got soft hands, and such pretty shiny hair, and eyes all full of loving me. I dreamabout her sometimes; but I don't know who she is: and you mustn'ttell, Argus. Sometimes I want to die, so as to go to heaven and lookfor her. Argus, do you want to go to heaven?"

The brown eyes said that Argus wished whatever she did; and Sunshinecontinued:--

"Well, some day we'll go. I don't know just how; I don't believewe'd find the way if we went now: but some day I shall know, andthen I'll tell you. Sometimes I feel so lonesome, Argus! oh, sodreadful homesick! but I don't now. You're a real little comforter, Argus. That's what Dora called me the other night when Kitty wascross: and Dora cried a little when she came to bed, and didn't knowI was awake; and I kissed her just so, Argus, and so. "

In the game of romps and kisses that ensued, Karl stole away, and, after repeating the child's prattle to Dora, said thoughtfully, --

"There's something strange about her, Dora; something different fromany of us. She seems so finely and delicately made, and as if onerude jar might destroy the whole tone of her life. If ever acreature was formed of peculiar, instead of common clay, it isSunshine. "

"Yes, and she must be shielded accordingly, " said Dora. But, as shewalked on beside Karl, she vaguely wondered if there were notnatures as finely strung and as sensitive to suffering asSunshine's, but united with so reticent an exterior, and suchoutward strength, as never to gain the sympathy or appreciation sofreely bestowed upon the exquisite child. 

Such introspection, however, was no part of Dora's healthytemperament; and the next moment she had plunged into a talk uponfarm-matters with her cousin, and displayed such shrewdness andclear-sighted wisdom upon the subject, that Capt. Karl laughinglyexclaimed, as they entered the house, --

"O general! why weren't you born a man?"

CHAPTER XXX. 

KITTY IN THE WOODS. 

LEFT to his own guidance, Capt. Karl would have asked no better lifethan to follow Dora about the farm, or fulfil for her such duties asshe could not conveniently perform for herself. Nor was he evertroubled, as a man of less sweet and genial temper might have been, by fears, lest, in thus attending upon his cousin's pleasure, hesacrificed somewhat of manly dignity and the awful supremacy of thesterner sex. "Dora knows" had become to Karl a sufficientexplanation of every thing, either in the character or theadministration of the girl-farmer, however mysterious it might seemto others; and to defer to Dora's judgment and wishes was perhapspleasanter and safer in the eyes of the young man than to attempt toconsult his own. 

But, pleasant though this life might be to both, it came by no meanswithin the scope of Dora's plans; and, so soon as the family werethoroughly settled at Outpost, Karl found himself urged byirresistible pressure to the pursuance of his medical studies. 

Five miles from Outpost, in the youthful town of Greenfield, wasalready established a respectable physician of the old school, who, troubled with certain qualms and doubts as to the ability of thesystem he had practised so many years to bear the scrutiny of thenew lights thrown upon it by the progress of science, was very gladto secure the services, and even advice, of a young man educated inthe best medical schools of the Eastern States; and not onlyconsented to take Karl into his office as student until the nominalterm of his studies should have expired, but offered him apartnership in his practice so soon as he should receive hisdiploma. 

The arrangement was accordingly made; and every morning afterbreakfast, Karl, often with a rueful face, often with an audibleprotest, mounted his horse, and rode to Greenfield, leaving thehousehold at Outpost to a long day of various occupations until hisreturn at night. 

Sometimes Dora, upon Max, her little Indian pony, would accompanyhim a few miles, or as far as his road led toward the scene of herown labors; but no Spartan dame or Roman matron could more sternlyhave resisted the young man's frequent entreaties to be allowed toaccompany her farther than the point at which their roads diverged. 

"No, sir! You to your work, and I to mine. Suppose I were to neglectthe farm, and come to sit in Dr. Gershom's office all day, " arguedthe fair young moralist, but found herself rather disconcerted byher pupil's gleeful laugh, as he replied, --

"Good, good! Try it once, do; and let me see if it would be so verybad. I think I could forgive you. "

"Suppose, then, instead of arguing any more with you, I jump Maxover this brook, and leave you where you are?" said Dora, a littlevexed; and, suiting the action to the word, she was off before hercousin could remonstrate. 

In the evening of the day when this little scene occurred, Karl, upon his return home, found Dora seated with Sunshine upon the grassunder the great chestnut-tree. 

"A letter for you, you horrid tyrant!" said he, taking one from hispocket, and tossing it into her lap. 

"She isn't; and you are a naughty old Karlo to say such names!"cried Sunshine, flashing her blue eyes indignantly upon the laughingface of the young man. 

"Such names as what, Dolce?" asked he, jumping from his horse, andtrying to catch the child, who evaded his grasp, and replied withdignity, --

"It isn't any consequence, Karlo. She isn't it, and you know sheisn't. "

"But it is of consequence; for I don't know what it is she isn't. Please tell me, mousey; won't you?"

"She isn't a tireout, you know she isn't, then. You sha'n't laugh!Dora, shall Karlo laugh at me? shall he?"

"No, dear, he won't; but you mustn't be a cross little girl if hedoes. Now run to the house, and tell Aunt Kitty that Karlo has comehome, and see if tea is ready. "

The child put up her lips for a kiss, bestowed a glance of dignifiedseverity upon the offender, and walked towards the house withmeasured steps for a little distance; then, with the frolicsomecaprice of a kitten, made a little caper in the air, and danced on, singing, in her clear, sweet voice, --"Dear, dear, what can thematter be? Karlo can't stay from here!"

"Funny child!" exclaimed the object of the stave. "A true littlewoman, with her loves and spites. Who is the letter from, Dolo?"

"Mr. Brown, " said Dora, slowly folding it, and rising from her seatunder the tree to return to the house. 

"Aha! Seems to me the parson is not so attentive as he used to be. Have you and he fallen out?"

"No, indeed! we are the best of friends; and, in proof of it, thisletter is to say he is coming to make a little visit at Outpost, ifconvenient to us. "

"And is it convenient?" asked Karl somewhat curtly. 

"Certainly; or, at least, we can make it so. Either you can take himinto your room, or Kitty can give him hers, and come into mine. "

Karl said nothing; but, as they walked toward the house, his faceremained unusually serious, and he seemed to be thinking deeply. Dora glanced at him once or twice, and at last asked abruptly, --

"Don't you want Mr. Brown to come, Karl?"

"Certainly, certainly, if you do. It is your own house, and you havea right to your own guests, " replied the young man coldly. 

Dora colored indignantly. 

"For shame, Karl! Did I ever say a thing like that to you in the oldhouse? and would you have been pleased if I had?"

"No, Dolo; and no again. But you never were a selfish fool, like me. Yes, I am glad Mr. Brown is coming; and I think I will stay atGreenfield while he is here. Then he can have my room. "

"No, no: that won't do at all. He comes to see us all; and, ofcourse, we can manage a room without turning you out. Kitty can comeinto mine"--

"Dora, what is the day of the month?"

"The 17th, I believe. "

"Yes, the 17th of August; and seven days more will bring the 24th ofAugust, Dora. "

"Of course. Do you suppose he will be here by that time?" asked Doraunconsciously. 

Karl looked at her in a sort of comic despair. 

"Dora, if you were not the most utterly truthful of girls, you wouldbe the most cruel of coquettes. "

Dora's eyes rose swiftly to his face, read it for a moment, and thenfell; while a sudden color dyed her own. 

"You remember the date now?" asked Karl, almost mockingly. "Seehere!" and, taking from his pocket the memorandum-book of a yearbefore, he opened it to a page bearing only the words, --

"Dora. Wednesday, Aug. 24. "

"O Karl! I thought"--

"Stop, general! It is I who must be officer of the day on thisoccasion; and I forbid one word. I only wished to let you see that Ihave not forgotten. And so Mr. Brown is coming to see us?"

Again Dora glanced in perplexity at her cousin's face, but, thistime, said not a word. Indeed, if she had wished, there was hardlytime; for Kitty, appearing at the door, called, --

"Come, folks, come! Supper is ready and cooling. "

"Coming, Kit-kat; and so is somebody else!" cried Karl. 

"Somebody? Christmas is coming, I suppose; but not just yet. Did youhear that over at Greenfield?" replied Kitty, resting her hands onher brother's shoulders, and graciously receiving his kiss ofgreeting. 

"It's not Christmas, but Parson Brown, who is coming; and I broughtthe news from Greenfield, although I did not know it until I arrivedhere, " said Karl. 

"Oh, a letter to Dora!" exclaimed Kitty quickly; and over her face, a moment before so bright, fell a scowling cloud, as she turnedaway, and busied herself with putting tea upon the table. 

The meal was rather a silent one. Kitty was decidedly sulky, Dorathoughtful, and Karl a little bitter in his forced gayety; so thatSunshine, sensitive as a mimosa, ate but little, and, creeping closeto Dora's side as they rose from the table, whispered, --

"What's the reason it isn't happier, Dora?"

"Aren't you happy, pet? Come and help me wash the teacups, and tellme how the kitties do to-day. Have you given them their milk?"

"I suppose you can do up these dishes without me. I got tea allalone; and I'd like to take my turn at a walk, or somethingpleasant, now, " said Kitty crossly. 

"Yes, do, Kitty. Dolce and I will do all that is to be done. Itisn't much, because you always clear up as you go along, " said Dora. 

"There's no need of leaving every thing round, the way some folksdo. Dolly, I do wish you'd set up your chair when you've done withit; and here's a mess of stuff"--

"Oh, don't throw it away, Kitty! It's my moss; and I'm going to makethe pussies a house of stones, and have it grow all over moss. Dorasaid I might--Oh, oh! you're real naughty and ugly now, KittyWindsor; and I sha'n't love you, and Argus shall bite you"--

But Kitty, with a contemptuous laugh, was already walking away, taking especial pains to tread upon the bits of bright moss as theylay scattered along the path. 

"Dora, see! I do hate-no, I dislike-Kitty, just as hard as I can;and I can't get any more pretty moss"--

The child was crying passionately; and Dora left every thing to takeher in her arms, and soothe and quiet her. 

"Aunt Kitty is very neat and nice, little Sunshine; and the moss hasearth clinging to it that might drop on the floor; and, besides, ittakes up room, and we have so little, --hardly more than a mouse hasin its nest. Oh! I never told you how I found a whole nest of micein one of my slippers once, --six little tiny fellows, no bigger thanyour thumb; and every one with two little black, beady eyes, and afunny little tail. "

"When was it? When you was a little teenty girl, like me? And wasyou afraid of the big mouse? What did you do with them?"

"Come, wipe the teaspoons, and I will tell you, " said Dora, goingback to her work; and, the April cloud having passed, the Sunshinewas as bright as ever. 

Karl, behind his newspaper, heard, saw, and understood the whole;and his mental comment might have seemed to some hearers but littleconnected with the scene that called it forth. It was simply, --

"Confound old Brown!"

Kitty, meantime, had walked rapidly towards the wood; but though thesunset-clouds were gorgeous, the lights and shadows of the forestrare and shifting, and the birds jubilant in their evening song, shesaw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing, except the tumult in herown heart. 

For, in the recesses of the wood, she paused, and throwing herselfupon the ground, her face hidden upon her arms, gave way to aparoxysm of tears. Then, rising to her feet as suddenly, she pacedup and down, her hands clinched before her, her black brows knit, and her mouth hard and sullen. 

"I can't help it, " muttered she: "it's the way I was made, and theway I shall die, I expect. I know I'm mean and hateful, and not halfas good as she; but--Oh! it's too bad, too bad!-it's cruel, and Ican't bear it! Mother loved me, --yes, she loved me best of everything; and that hateful Pic killed her: whose fault was that butDora's? Then Charlie-what does he care for me beside her? and, and--Well, perhaps Mr. Brown never would have noticed me at any rate;but, while she's round, he has no eyes for any one else. Even thechild, and the cats, and the dog, and the horses, every livingthing, loves her better than me; and now he's coming to court herright before my eyes! I wish I was dead! I wish I'd never been born!I'm not fit to live!"

She then threw herself again upon the ground, pressing her burningforehead against the cool moss, and grasping handfuls of the leavesrustling about her, while she wailed again and again, --

"I'm not fit to live, --not fit to live! Oh, I wish I was dead thisminute! O God! if you love me any better than the rest, let me die, let me die this minute; for I am not fit to live. "

"Then you cannot be fit to die, my child, " said a voice above her;and, starting up, Kitty found herself confronted by a tall, fine-looking man, of about thirty years of age; his handsome facejust now wearing an expression of sorrowful sternness as he fixedhis eyes upon Kitty's, which fell before them. 

"Mr. Brown!" stammered she. 

"Yes, Kitty: my journey has been more rapid than I could haveexpected; and I arrived at Greenfield about an hour ago. Finding youso near, I took a horse, and came out here to-night. You did nothear me approach; and, when I saw you through the trees, Idismounted, and came to ask you what was the matter. I heard onlyyour last words, and perhaps I should not have noticed them; yet, asa friend of you and yours, I will say again, Kitty, he who is notfit to live should feel himself most unfit to die, which is but tolive with all the passions that made life unendurable made oursforever. "

"Do you think so? If I should die now, should I feel just as badlywhen I came to in the other world?" asked Kitty with at startledlook. 

Mr. Brown smiled, as he answered, --

"I cannot think, Kitty, that your remorse or your sorrows can be asdeep as you fancy. Perhaps they are only trifling vexationsconnected with outside matters, not rising from real wrong within. But you won't want to hear a sermon before I even reach the house:so come and show me the way there, and tell me how you all are. "

"Dora is very well, " said Kitty, so crisply, that Mr. Brown glancedat her sharply, and walked on in silence. Presently he said, --

"You must not think, Kitty, that I mean to treat your troubleslightly, whatever they may be. Think about them a little longer byyourself; and in a day or two, if they still seem as unendurable, perhaps it will relieve you to talk to me as plainly as you choose. I shall be very glad to help you if I can, Kitty; very glad andwilling. You must look upon me as another brother. "

"Or a cousin, maybe, sir?" suggested Kitty, turning away her head. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE FOX UNDER THE ROBE. 

DORA sitting upon the doorstep, with Sunshine nestled close besideher, was quite astonished to see Mr. Brown appearing from the forestwith Kitty, as his letter had named no day for his arrival; and shehad not expected him so soon. 

She went to meet him, however, with a greeting of unaffectedcordiality; and as, while holding out her hand, she raised to hisher clear and steadfast eyes, the young man's somewhat serious facelighted with a sudden, happy glow, making it so handsome, thatKitty, eagerly watching the meeting, turned white to the very lips, and hastily passed on toward the house. 

"Come, Dolce, " said she, "I will put you to bed. Dora's lover hascome to see her, and she won't have a look for either of usto-night. "

"I love you, Kitty; and I don't mind if you did throw away my moss. I won't bring any more into the house. "

But Sunshine, well disposed as, through Dora's careful suggestions, she had become toward Kitty, was rather alarmed than pleased at thesudden embrace in which she found herself wrapped, and the eagerkisses, among which Kitty whispered, --

"O Dolce! do you, do you love poor Kitty a little? You're an angel, and I'm real sorry about the moss; but you can get some more, can'tyou? I'll help you hunt for it to-morrow while they're gone to walkor ride. They'll be off all day; but we won't mind. Do you love me, Dolly?"

"Yes, I do, Kitty; and I know a place where the moss is so thick, you can't step unless you put your foot on it. But I didn't, 'cause"--

"'Cause what, you darling?"

"'Cause the little creatures that live in the woods come and dancethere nights, and they wouldn't like it if it was dirty. "

"What creatures? The woodchucks?"

"Why, no, Aunt Kitty! the little girls and boys, or something. Theywhisper way off among the trees, and dance too, just when the sunsets. Didn't you ever see them skipping in and out among the treesjust as far off as you could look?"

"Those are shadows, Dolly; and the whispering in the trees is thewind. You mustn't have so many fancies, child, or by and by you'llget cracked. "

"Then you can boil me in milk, just as you did the teacup, " murmuredSunshine, half asleep. 

Kitty made no answer, but, smoothing the sheet over the little girl, went to seat herself at the open window. 

Far off upon the prairie she heard the night-winds come and go, --nowmoaning like some vast spirit wandering disquieted, now falling softand low as the breath of the sleeping earth; and the vague voice andthe cool touch seemed to quiet the fever of the young girl's heart, although she knew not how or why. 

Above, in the purple skies, stood all the host of heaven, lookingdown with solemn benediction upon the earth, lying peaceful andloving beneath their gaze; and even Kitty-poor, lonely, heartsickKitty-lifted her hot, tearful face toward them, and felt the holycalm descend upon her aching heart. 

Falling upon her knees, she raised her arms yearningly towardheaven; and her whole soul struggled upward in the cry, --

"Oh I wish I could, I wish I could, be good! O God! make me goodenough to die and go to where my mother is!"

A light step upon the stair, a gentle hand upon the latch, andstrange Kitty, perverse even among her best impulses, started up, and stood cold and silent in the darkness. 

"Kitty!" said Dora's voice softly. 

"Well. I'm here. "

"Won't you come down now? Sunshine is asleep; isn't she?"

"Yes. "

"Well, won't you come?"

"By and by: I've got to see to the beds. Where is Mr. Brown going tosleep?"

"I thought you might give him your room, and come in here. "

"Indeed I sha'n't!" replied Kitty in a strange voice. "He is nocompany of mine; and I don't want him even to look into my room. I'dnever sleep there again if he did once!"

"Well, then, we can make a bed for Karl on the floor, and Mr. Browncan have his bed, " said Dora quietly, seeing nothing deeper inKitty's refusal than a little impulse of perversity. 

Kitty made no reply; and Dora, groping her way toward where shestood, put an arm about her waist, saying, --

"Come, Kitty, come down with me. You're tired, I know; and it is toobad you have so much to do. To-morrow I will stay at home and helpyou. Karl can take a holiday, and show Mr. Brown over the farm. "

"What nonsense! I don't do any thing to hurt; and it would be prettywell for you to send Mr. Brown off with Karl, when he came here onpurpose to see you. "

"Oh, no, he didn't! He came to see us all; and he asked where youwere just now, when we came in. "

"And that was why you came to look for me; wasn't it?" asked Kittysuspiciously. 

"Not wholly. I had been thinking of it for some minutes. "

"But couldn't bear to leave long enough, " suggested Kitty; adding, however, "Well, I'll come. I suppose it is no more than polite, aslong as he's company. "

"Of course it isn't; and you know Mr. Brown is very ceremonious, "said Dora, so archly, that Kitty paused in smoothing her hair tosay, --

"Now, if you're going to make fun of me, Dora"--

"Oh, I'm not!-not a bit of it. There, now, you're nice enough forany thing. "

In the kitchen, besides Mr. Brown and Karl, the girls found Mr. AndMrs. Ross; Mehitable demurely seated in a corner, and knitting along woollen stocking; while Seth, under the skilful management ofMr. Brown, was giving quite an interesting description of life in aMaine logging-camp. 

"Do you ever have any trouble from wild beasts in that region?"asked the chaplain. 

"Waal, some. There's lots of b'ar about by spells; and once't in awhile a painter or a wild-cat-wolverines, some calls 'em out here. "

"Did you ever meet one yourself?"

"Which on 'em?"

"Either. Bears, for instance. "

"Yes, sir. I've took b'ar ever since I wor old enough to set atrap. "

"Did you ever have any trouble with one?"

"Waal, I don' know as I did. They was mostly pooty 'commodatin', "said Seth, drawing the back of his brown hand across his mouth tohide a self-complacent grin at the recollection of his own exploits. 

"Tell Mr. Brown 'bout the painter and Uncle 'Siah's Harnah, "suggested Mehitable in a low voice; and as Seth only stirred in hischair, and looked rather reprovingly at his wife, the guest added, --

"Yes, Mr. Ross, tell us that, by all means. "

"Ho! 'twa'n't much of a story; only the woman thinks consid'ableabout it, 'cause it wor a cousin of ourn that wor took off. "

"Indeed! and what were the circumstances?" politely insisted Mr. Brown. So Seth, tilting his chair upon its hind-legs, and crossinghis own, stuck his chin into the air; fixed his eyes upon theceiling, and began, in the inimitable nasal whining voice of aDown-East Yankee, the story narrated in the following chapter. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE PAINTER AND UNCLE 'SIAH'S HARNAH. 

"WHEN father settled up nigh the head-waters of the Penobscot, folkssaid we'd have to be mighty car'ful, or some o' the young ones wouldtumble over the jumping-off-place, we'd got so nigh. But Uncle 'Siahwent right along, and took up land furder on, whar there wa'n'tnothing but hemlock-trees and chipmunks for company, and no passingto keep the women-folks running to the winders. Thar was a good roadcut through the woods, and there was the river run within astone's-throw of both houses: so, one way and another, we gotback'ards and for'ards consid'able often, 'specially when the youngfolks begun to grow up. 

"Harnah wor Uncle 'Siah's second gal, and just as pooty as a picter. She looked suthin' like Dolcy, Dora's little adopted darter, youknow: but she wor alluz a-larfin', and gitting off her jokes; andhad a sort of a wicked look by spells, enough to make a feller'sflesh creep on his bones. "

"Lor', that's enough o' Harnah! She wa'n't so drefful different fromother folks. Git along to the story part on't, " interruptedMehitable, clicking her knitting-needles energetically. 

Seth looked at her a little indignantly for a moment, and then burstinto a loud laugh, --

"Lor'! I'd clear forgot how it used ter spite Hit to hear me praiseup Harnah. You see, sir, Mehitabul wor a sort o' cousin o' mymother's, and so come to live long of us when her father died: butshe never cottoned to Harnah very strong when she see how well Iliked her; though, now she's got me for her own man, I'd think"--

"But the panther, Mr. Ross, " interposed Dora, who saw, with womanlysympathy, the flush of mortification upon Mehitable's face: "do tellus about the panther. "

"Yes: I b'lieve my idees was kind o' wandering from the pint; butthat's nothing strange, if you knowed what an out-an-outer that galwas. Well, well, 'tain't no use a-crying over spilt milk, andby-gones may as well be stay-gones. 

"Sam Hedge, he was my uncle's hired man, and a plaguy smart fellertoo; good-looking, merry as a grig, a live Yankee for faculty, andpretty forehanded too, though he hadn't set up for himself then. Imore than suspicioned he'd ruther live with Uncle 'Siah, and seeHarnah from morning to night, than go off and take up land forhimself; or maybe he didn't feel as if he'd the peth to take righthold of new land all alone. Anyway, there he wor, and there hestuck, right squar in my way, do as much as I might to git him outon't. 

"Of course, you onderstand about being in my way means all along o'Harnah. We was both sweet on her, and no mistake; though nary one onus, nor, I believe, the gal herself, could ha' told which one shefavored. 

"Waal, to skip over all the rest (though there's the stuff for halfa dozen stories in it), I'll come to one night when I'd been up toUncle 'Siah's, and Harnah and Sam had come down to the crick to seeme off; for I'd come in my boat. I felt kind o' savage; for Harnahhad been mighty pooty with me all that evening; and I knew Sam hadcome down to the boat a purpose to go back to the house with her, and, 'fore they was half-way, she'd come right round, and be just asclever to him as she'd been before to me. "

"If you knew your cousin to be such a terrible little flirt as that, I shouldn't think you would have cared so much about her, Seth, "suggested Karl, laughing. 

"No more shouldn't I, cap'n, " replied Seth ruefully. "But somehow Icouldn't help it. I'd think it over nights, and say to myself, 'Youdarned fool! don't you see the gal's a-playing one of you off agint'other, and maybe don't care a pin for neither? Get shet of heronce for all, and be a man; can't ye?' And then I'd find I couldn't;and so it went till we come to that night, and stood there on theedge of the crick, --two on us ready to clinch and fight till onecried enough, and t'other a-laughing at us both. 

"So, all to once, Harnah says, says she, --

"'I do believe them harebells are blowed out by this time. Ain'tthey, boys?'

"'You and I'll go to-morrow and see, anyway, ' says Sam, speaking upquick, 'fore I got the chance. 

"'I'm a-going to see; and, if Harnah'll come too, all the better, 'says I, as pleasant as a bear with a sore head. 

"'Two's company, and three's a crowd; so you'd better stop to home, Seth, ' says Sam. 

"'Two's company, that's Harnah and me; and three's a crowd, that'syou: so, ef you don't like crowding nor being crowded, you'd betterstop to home yourself, ' says I. 

"'I believe I spoke first, Seth Ross, ' says Sam, pretty savage atlast. 

"'That don't make no difference, as I know on. Harnah was my cousinlong afore you was her father's hired man; and that puts me in mindyou hain't asked leave yet. Maybe the old man won't let you go. Whatyou going to do then?' asked I, dreadful kind of sneering; for Ifelt mad. 

"Sam he didn't say nothing; but he drew back, and doubled up hisfists. I caught the glint of his eye in the moonlight, and mydarnder riz. 

"'Come on, ' says I; 'I'm ready for you; and we'll fight it out likemen. The feller that's licked shall give up once for all. '

"But 'fore Sam could speak, or I could hit out as I wanted ter, Harnah come right in between us. I swow ef that gal didn't lookharnsome! Her eyes was wide open, and shining just like blue steelin the moonlight. Her cheeks and lips was white; and seemed to methe very curls of her hair shot out sparks, she was so mad. 

"'You'd better stop while there's time, ' says she, still and cold. 'If you strike one another, or if you ever fight, and I the cause, Iswear to God I never will speak a civil word to either one of youagain as long as I live. So now you know. 

"'As for the harebells, you sha'n't neither one of you go for 'em. Ef I want harebells, there's them that can get 'em for me, and notmake so much fuss about it neither. '

"She turned, and stepped off toward the house as if she'd got steelsprings in the soles of her feet. 

"Sam and I eyed each other. It seemed as if Harnah felt that look;for she turned all of a sudden, and come back. 

"'Sam, ' says she, p'inting up to the house, 'go home; and don't youspeak to me again to-night. Seth, get into your boat, and push heroff. You needn't come up to-morrow night. '

"We sort o' looked at one another and at her, and then meeched offthe way she told us, for all the world like two dogs that's got alicking, and been sent home 'fore the hunt was done. 

"I didn't sleep a great deal that night. Fact is, I was turning overin my own mind what Harnah had said about them as would githarebells for her, and not make so much fuss about it neither. 

"'I swow, ' says I, 'I'd like to clinch that feller, whoever he maybe, and not have Harnah nigh enough to interfere. ' Then I rec'lecteda Cap'n Harris, a British officer, that come down from Canady thesummer before, hunting and fishing, and had stopped a week or moreat Uncle 'Siah's, mostly for the sake of seeing Harnah, as I thoughtthen, and do now. Ever since, when Harnah didn't know how else toplague Sam and me, she'd set up to talk about 'real gentlemen, ' and'folks that knowed manners, ' and all sech stuff. Then she'd pretendshe'd got a letter from Cap'n Harris, and that he was coming agin, and all that. So now I got it in my head that Cap'n Harris wascoming, and that she meant he'd get the harebells. 

"'But I'll bet he won't, without a fight, anyway, ' says I, clinchingup my fist; and then I went to sleep quite comf'table. 

"Now, there wa'n't but one place, as I knew of, where harebells wasto be found; and Harnah had showed me that place herself the summerafore, and I had picked the flowers for her. So I made up my mind togo next day and see if they was in blow; and, if they was, to get abunch anyway, and take the resk of giving 'em to Harnah arterwards. 

"I couldn't git away in the morning nohow; for Hitty seemed to knowit was something about Harnah that was calling me, and contrived allsorts of business to keep me to hum: but, after dinner, I jist tookmy hat, and cleared out afore she knowed it, and, by the time shemissed me, was half a mile up the river. 

"'Twas a pooty day as ever you see; and as I rowed along, listeningto the water running by the boat, and the wind rustling in thetrees, I began to feel real sort of good, and didn't care half somuch about Sam or the British cap'n as I did when I started. When Icome to the landing at Uncle 'Siah's, I never stopped, though Ilooked with all my eyes for any signs of Harnah; but couldn't see noone but Sam going out to the cornfield, with a hoe on his shoulder. 

"'Good for you, Sam, ' says I to myself. 'Hard work's dreadfulwholesome for love-sickness. ' So I rowed along as merry as acricket, and pretty soon tied up my boat, and struck off into thewoods. It was consid'able of a walk; and I strolled along easy tillI came to the place whar the harebells growed, 'bout a mile and ahalf from the river. This was a high clift, covered with brush andtrees on one side, and on the other falling sheer down to a littledeep valley, with another clift rising opposite. These clifts joinedeach other at the two ends of the valley: so there was no gettinginto it anyway but down the faces of 'em, and that was as much as aman's neck was worth; but, fur's I know, no man had ever wanted to, nor ever tried to, till that day. 

"The harebells growed on the very edge of the fust clift, and alittle way down the face of it, and looked mighty pooty a-floatingin the wind. Harnah, who was kind of romantic, said they was theplume in the old clift's hat; and she called the place the Lovers'Rock, 'case, she said, the two clifts seemed taking hold of hands, and jist going to kiss. "

"That sounds like Harnah, anyway, " muttered Mehitablecontemptuously. 

"Yes, it's more uv an idee than you'd 'a been likely to git off, ain't it, Hit?" asked Seth with a malicious grin, and winking at thecompany. 

But Mehitable preserving a prudent silence, and only showing herfeelings by an accelerated movement of her knitting-needles, herhusband elevated his eyes again to the ceiling, recrossed his legs, and continued:--

"I scrambled up the back of the clift easy enough; and, sure enough, there was the posies, all in blow, and tossing their heads at me asif they knowed how pooty they was, and dared me not to say so. Somehow they made me think of Harnah; and I spoke right out, --

"'Yes, I know you be; and I hain't never said you ain't as pooty acretur as walks the airth: but I wish you wan't so awfulchangeable. '

"Then I laffed right out, to think I was talking to a lot of flowerssame as if they was a gal; and, when I done laffin', I went down onmy knees, and begun to pick 'em. But I hadn't more than got thefirst fist-ful when I heerd a groan, a sort uv a faint holler groan, that sounded as if it come right out uv the ground underneath me. Idropped the flowers, and riz right up on eend. My ha'r riz too; forI was scaart, I tell you. 'But, ' thinks I, ''twon't do to run awaythe fust lick:' so I held on, and pooty soon it come agin. This timeI listened sharp, and had my wits about me; so that, when it worthrough, I clim' right up to the top uv the ledge, and looked downinto the valley, hollerin'--

"'Who be you? Is any one thar?'

"A voice answered, faint and weak; but what it said, or whar it was, I couldn't for the life of me tell. 

"So I hollered agin, --

"'Whar be you, stranger? Holler as loud as you kin!'

"The voice answered back; and I heerd my own name, and, as Ithought, in a voice that turned me as sick and weak as a gal. 

"It was Harnah's voice; and my first idee was that she wor dead, andwor ha'nting me. 

"'Harnah!' says I, soft and low, 'is it you?'

"There wa'n't no answer, but another groan, and along of it acurious kind of noise, like a lot of cats all growling together. Iknowed that noise; and, afore it eended, I knowed whar it come from. And, all to once, the hull story come to me: Harnah was down thar ina painter's den; and the kittens was a-growling round her. The oldones must be away, or one of 'em would 'a been out to see to meafore this. 

"I hadn't the fust thing in the way of a we'pon with me; but therewas plenty of stones down in the hollow, and I cut a goodoak-sapling with my jack-knife. Then I sot myself to scramble downthe face of the clift; and, I tell you, I sweat before I got to thebottom. Ef it hadn't been for Harnah, I couldn't 'a done it; but, somehow or 'nother, I reached the bottom, and looked about me. Sureenough, close to my feet was the mouth of a cave, running right inunder the ledge, though not more than three foot high. I knelt downand peeked in, calling, --

"'Harnah, be you thar?'

"'Seth, is it you?' asked a voice very faint. 

"'Yes, my dear, it is, ' says I, 'and bound to get you out uv thisscrape about the quickest. What's a-keeping you in there?'

"'My leg is broke, and the horrid creature is lying on my feet!'says Harnah. 

"I didn't wait for no more questions, but crawled inter the hole. Adozen feet from the mouth, I come to a snarl of fur, and glary eyes, and snapping teeth, and savage growls, that I finally made out to bea couple of painter-kittens, not more'n a few days old, but savageenough for a hundred. They was snuggled close up to something: whatit was I couldn't at fust make out in the darkness; but putty soon Isee that it was a full-grown painter, lying stretched out at length. I started back, with all the blood in me pricking at my fingers'ends with the scare I'd got; but Harnah's voice from beyond says, --

"Don't be frightened at the old panther. She's dead. They fought, and one ran away; and this one is dead. '

"And is she a-lying on your feet, did you say? It's so dark in here, I can't see the fust thing, ' says I, feeling round for the critter'shead, and gitting my paws tore by the young ones, who, I must sayfor 'em, was mighty handy with their claws for their age. So saysI, --

"'Well, fust thing, I'll get red o' these little devils; and thenI'll drag out the karkiss, and see to you, my poor gal. '

"So I clinched the fust one by the throat, and, when he hung like arag, pitched him out, and grappled t'other; but he was a case, Itell you. Fight!--you'd ought ter have seen him!-and scratch andbite, and spit and yowl, till the whole woods rung with his uproar. I mastered him finally; but he'd done his work, and come nighbeating me even arter he was dead, as ye shall hear. 

"When the kittens was out of the way, I clinched the karkiss uv theold painter, and dragged it to'rst the mouth uv the cave. It worhard work; and, when I'd got part way, I left it lying, and squeezedby (for it most filled up the passage), and went to see how badHarnah might be hurt; for, when I spoke to her last, she hadn't madeno reply. Leaning over her, I felt round for her face, and had jisttouched her cold cheek, and called to her to know if she was alive, when I heerd jist over my head the awfulest roar that ever come outuv a creter's throat; and so loud, that it echoed through andthrough the cave enough to deaf you. The minute I heerd it, I knewwhat was tew pay, and give up for lost. It wor the man o' the housecome home in a hurry to see what them squalls uv the dying kittensmeant; and that's how I said they come nigh beating me even arterthey was dead. 

"Now, mister, what would you say a man had ought to have done insuch a fix as that?-run, or stay? Mind ye, I hadn't the fust thingin shape uv a we'pon, nor couldn't get hold even uv my stick, northe stones outside; and what could a feller do with his naked fists, shet up in a hole with a wild-cat?"

"It was a trying situation; but I don't believe you ran away, " saidMr. Brown good-humoredly. 

"Yer bet your life on that, stranger, " replied Seth with emphasis. "I hadn't no idee on't; though the only other chance seemed to be tojump down the critter's throat, and choke him, so's ter spile hisstomach for Harnah. 

"I looked to the mouth uv the cave, and thought, 'He won't get bythat karkiss very easy;' and then, all of a sudden, the strangestidee you ever heerd come acrost me, and I jumped as though I'd beenshot. It wor to play off one of the critters agin the other, andkeep the old painter out uv his den with the karkiss of his mate. 

"It wor a curus idee, now, worn't it; but they say a drowndingman'll clinch to a straw, and this wor worth the trying to a fellerin as tight a place as I. So I tumbled the old lady over as well asI could, and got her wedged inter the narrerest part uv the road, with her back rounded out, and her paws in, so's't I should have abetter chance for hanging on than the old feller outside 'ud havefor pulling. Then, with my jack-knife, I cut a slit in one of thefore-legs and one of the hind, to put my hands inter; and then Iheld on. 

"'Twa'n't but a minute arter I got fixed 'fore he wor down upon me, yelling and squalling enough ter make a man's blood run cold. Theycall 'em Injin Devils down our way; and I guess there ain't no kinduv devils make a wuss-soundin' noise. I jist shut my eyes, and laylow; for when I knowed that furce, wild creter wor within two footuv me, and nothing ter keep him off but a karkiss that he'd claw terpieces in ten minutes, I kinder wondered how I'd been sich a plaguyfool as to think uv the plan, and ter feel so pleased with it. 

"And didn't yer never mind, sir, when you've been laying out forsome great pull, you feel as if you'd got fixed fustrate, and wassure ter win, till the minute comes; and then, all ter once, yourgitting-ready seems no account somehow, and you feel downrightshamed uv what, a minute before, made you so chirk?"

"Yes, that is human nature, Seth; but it is well to remember thatcool precaution is worth more than excitement, after all, " said Mr. Brown. 

"Yes, sir, I suppose so now; but I didn't then. It only seemed to meas ef I was a darned fool, though I couldn't hev said what I'd oughtto hev done different ef I'd been ever so wise. Well, the crittercome, and he stuck his head in, snuffing and smelling for a minute;and then reached in one paw, jest as softly as you've seed apussy-cat feeling uv a ball uv yarn on the floor. Then he growled;for either he'd smelt or he'd seed me a-peekin' over the old woman'scorpse at him. Hokey! didn't I wish I'd a good gun handy jis' then, with sech a splendid chance to sight it! But I hadn't; and thar wasthe critter, growling and tearing away at the karkiss like mad: ferhe'd pooty much made up his mind by this time what sort o' game laybehind it, and he was bound to be at it. Any one would 'a thoughthis nateral feelings would 'a stood in the way some, seein' as 'tworhis own wife he wor clapper-clawin' at sich a rate; but they didn'tseem to a bit: and, I tell you, he made the fur fly 'thoutcon-sideration. The blood streamed down inter my face, and the smellof that and the flesh choked me. My arms wor straightened clean outwith holding on; and sometimes I could jest see the green eyes o'the painter, an' feel his hot breath, as he opened his jaws to hissand spit at me jis' like a big cat. I felt the eend uv all thingswor at hand; an', shettin' my eyes, I tried hard ter say a prayer, or somethin' good an' fittin'. I couldn't think o' none, hows'ever:so I jis' turned raound, and sez, 'Harnah! good-by, Harnah!' an'felt most as if I'd prayed; though she, poor gal! wor clean swowndedaway, and never heerd a word on't. 

"Jes' then, when my thoughts wor so took up that I'd act'ally mostforgot where I wor, and jes' held on to the critter kind o'mechanical-like, I heerd a shot, and then another. The painter heerd'em too, an' more than heerd 'em, I reckon; for, with a growl an' aroar that made me scringe, he let go the karkiss, an' backed hisselfout o' the hole 'thout never sayin good-by to me nor to the oldlady. 

"Next minute I heerd another shot, and then another; and then sechhorrid groans and screams, mixed up with growls and hisses from thepainter, that I knew he wor hit hard, an' like to die; and, ef Ishould say I wor sorry, it 'ud be a lie. Then I heerd feet climbingand scrambling down the rocks; and next I heerd a v'ice calling, kind o' frightened-like, --

"'Be you raound here, Harnah, or Seth?'

"'Yes, we be, ' says I, waking up all uv a sudden; for I'd lay sorto' stupid till then: but now I wor wide enough awake, and soon madeSam understand where we was, and what was to be done. He didn't saymuch, but worked away like a good feller, till he got out, fust themauled karkiss o' the painter, with the flesh all hanging from it instrips; then me, covered with blood, and looking wuss than a deadman, I expect; and finally Harnah, jes' coming to after her deadfaint. 

"We must git her out o' this horrid den 'fore she knows whar she is, or it'll skeer her to death, ' says I, as soon as I could speak. 'Buthow'll we do it?'

"'You look as if you b'longed here; so I reckon you'd better stopbehind, and I'll git Harnah out by myself, ' says Sam, laffin' in akind o' hard way. 

"I didn't say nothing; but I thought I wouldn't 'a took that time tolaff at a feller, nor yet to show a spite agin him, if I'd been Sam, and he me. 

"It's more nor I could do to justly tell you how we ever got thatgal up them rocks. I expect it wor more the hand o' God, so tospeak, than us that did it. Fust place, we tied our handkerchersraound her waist, fer a hold; and then Sam went ahead, pulling herafter him, and I sort o' helped behind, and clim' along as well's Icould; and bimby we got up, and laid Harnah down to rest among theharebells. When she got a little smarter, she told us how shethought she'd come and git 'em fer herself, and then pertend someone had given 'em to her, jest so's to plague us, and see what we'dsay. Then, whilst she was a-picking of 'em, she heerd a painter cryright clost to her, and was so scared, she sot out to run, and, fustshe knew, was over the edge of the clift, and rolling down the faceon't. When she got to the bottom, her leg was broke, and shecouldn't stir; and up to the top o' the rocks she see the painter'shead, with his green eyeballs a-glaring down at her, and his earslaid back, ready for a spring. What with the pain, and what with thescare, I expect the poor gal fainted. Anyways, the next thing sheknowed was finding herself in the cave with the two painter-kittensplaying round her, and the old one lying close to, moving his tailfrom side to side, and yawning till she could see all his whiteteeth and great red throat. Ef she wor scart afore, she didn't feelno better now, you'd better believe. But Harnah was a stout-heartedgal, with all her delicate ways; and she never stirred, no made asound, only lay still, and fixed her eyes as stiddy as she could onthose uv the great brute beside her. Pooty soon she see that he wora-looking at her; and pooty soon he began to make a purring sort ofnoise, like 'bout forty big tomcats tied up in one bag. Then Harnahspoke to him, like as she'd have coaxed a dog, and, arter a while, began to play with the cubs a little. One way and another, they'dgot to be 'mazin' good friends all raound, when a cry was heerdoutside; and the old man and the little ones pricked up their ears, and yowled in answer. It wor the old woman coming home, sure enough;and the minute she poked her snout inter the den, and see whatcompany her man had got while she wor gone, the trouble begun. Harnah, naterally, wor too much skeered to see justly what went on:but there were a big fight somehow; and she got a notion that theshe-painter wanted to fall afoul uv her, and that he wouldn't lether; and, like other married folks, from words they come to blows;and the upshot uv the hull was, that the old lady got the wust on't, and lay dead on the field uv action. 

"Whether the husband felt bad, or whether he wanted sunthin' to eat, or whether he had an engagement with another lady, I couldn't say;but, the minute he'd given the finishing blow to his wife, hecleared out, and didn't come back till the cubs called him to see tome. 

"Well, we got Harnah home somehow; and next day we come again, andskun the old tiger and the cubs; and I got a hull heap o' harebells. I was bound, that, after all the fuss, Harnah shouldn't lose herharebells; and she didn't. "

Seth was silent; and, tilting his chair a little farther back, crossed his hands above his chest, and began to whistle softly. Thecompany looked at him inquiringly; and, after a pause, Karl asked, --

"Well, what next, Seth?"

"Nothing, cap'n: that's all; except I didn't tell how Sam see megoing up the river, and suspicioned I wor a going to meet Harnah, and so dropped all, and followed on. What he brought his gun fer, Ididn't never ask him. "

"But Hannah-what became of her?"

"Oh! she was kind o' peeked a while, with her broken leg; but, arterthat, she was as well as ever. "

"Yes; but how did her love-affairs terminate?" persisted Karl. 

"Waal, she married Sam Hedge the next fall; and I guess theirlove-affairs turned out like other folkses a good deal, --lots o''lasses at fust, and, arter a while, lots o' vinegar: that's the wayo' married life. "

In delivering this sentiment, Seth bestowed a sidelong glance uponMehitable, far more merry than sincere in its expression; but she, tranquilly pursuing her knitting, let fall her retort, as if she hadnot perceived the sarcasm. 

"Oh, waal!" said she, "I don't know as I've any call to find faultwith merried life. Seth's made as good a husband as a gal has aright to expect that takes a feller out o' pity 'cause he's beenmittened by another gal. "

The laugh remained upon the feminine side of the argument, and theparty merrily separated for the night. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A GLEAM OF DAWN. 

ONCE more a summer sunset at the old farm-house among the BerkshireHills, where, for a hundred years, successive generations ofWindsors had been born and bred; once more we see the level raysglance from the diamond-paned, dairy casement, left ajar to admitthe fresh evening air; once more the airy banners of eglantine andmaiden's-bower float against the clear blue sky; once more we treadin fancy the green velvet of the turf, creeping over the very edgeof the irregular door-stone, worn smooth by feet that long sincehave travelled beyond earthly limits, and now tread celestial fieldsand sunny slopes of Paradise. Far across the meadow lies the shadowof the old house, --a strange, fantastic suggestion of a dwellingsvague and enticing as the gray turrets of the Castle of St. John, which, as the legend says, are to be shaped at twilight from thecrags and ravines of the lonely mountains, but vanish in thedaylight. And beside it, not vague, but clear and sharp, lay theshadow of the old well-sweep, like a giant finger, pointing, alwayspointing, now to the east, whence cometh light and hope, and thepromise of another day; and anon due west, as showing to the sadeyes that watched it the road to joy and comfort. 

Within the house, much was changed. The floors were covered withmatting, the walls with delicate paper-hangings; the old furniturereplaced with Indian couches and arm-chairs, whose shape andmaterial suggested luxurious ease and coolness. In the chamber thathad been Dora's, was wrought, perhaps, the greatest change of all;for to the rugged simplicity, and, so to speak, severity, of theyoung girl's surroundings, had succeeded the luxury, the exquisiterefinement, essential to the comfort of a woman born and bred in theinnermost sanctuary of modern civilization. The martial relics ofDora's camp-life had disappeared from the walls, no longer simplywhitewashed, but covered with a pearl-gray paper, over which trailedin graceful curves a mimic ivy-vine, colored like nature. Upon thishung a few choice pictures, --proof-engravings of Correggio's Cherubs;a Christ blessing Little Children; a Madonna, with sad, soft eyesresting upon the Holy Child, whose fixed gaze seemed to read his ownsublime destiny; and a Babes in the Wood. 

Over the fireplace, the rude sketch of the deformed negro wasreplaced by an exquisite painting, representing a little girl, --hersweet face framed in a shower of golden ringlets, her blue eyesfixed with a sort of wistful tenderness upon the beholder; thisexpression repeating itself in the lines of the curving mouth. Thedress was carefully copied from that worn by 'Toinette Legrange uponthe day she was lost; and the picture had been painted, soon afterher disappearance, by an artist friend of the family, who had sooften admired the beautiful child, that he found it easy toreproduce her face upon canvas; although his own knowledge of thecircumstances, and perhaps the haunting presence of the sad eyes ofthe mother, as she asked, "Oh! can you give me even a picture ofher?" had tinged the whole composition with a pathos not intended bythe artist, but indescribably touching to the spectator. 

Between the windows, in place of Dora's simple pine table, with itswhite drapery, its few plain books, and little work-box, stood atoilet-table, covered with the luxurious necessities of an elegantwoman's wardrobe. The dressing-case, the jewel-box, theperfume-bottles; the velvet-lined and delicately-scented mouchoirand glove boxes; the varied trifles, so idle in detail, so essentialto the whole, --all were there, and all evidently in constant use. 

Nor let us too harshly judge the mode of life, differ though it mayfrom our own, which regards these superfluities as essential, andcan hardly less dispense with them than with its daily bread. Theviolet, the anemone, the May-flower, a hundred sweet and hardyblossoms, thrive amid the chills and storms of early spring in themost exposed situations. But are not the exquisite tea-rose, thefragile garden-lily, or the cereus, that dies after one sweet nightof perfumed beauty, as true to their nature and to God's law? Didnot the same hand form the sparrow, who scatters the late snow fromhis wings, and gayly pecks the crumbs from our doorstep, and thehumming-bird, who waits for gorgeous summer noons to come and sipthe honey from our jessamine?

So let us, if we will, love Dora in the Spartan simplicity of hersoldierly adornments, and none the less love and cherish the womanwho now lies upon the very spot, where, but a year ago, lay littleSunshine, wavering between this life and a better. For some reasonunknown to herself, Mrs. Legrange had, from the first, felt a strongaffection for this chamber, haunted, though she knew it not, by thepresence of the beloved child; and she had taken much pleasure inits adornment; though, now that all was done, she rarely noticed thebeautiful articles collected about her, liking best of all to lie indreamy revery, recalling, day after day, with the minute fondness ofa woman's memory, the looks, the gestures, the careless words, thepretty, graceful ways, the artless fascinations, of her whom now sherarely named, holding her memory as something too sacred for commonspeech, too far withdrawn into her own heart to be lightly broughtto the surface. 

Thus lying in the twilight of this evening, dreamily watching thelong white curtains as they filled with the night-air and floatedout into the room like the shadowy sails of a bark anchored in someDreamland bay, and never guessing whose eyes had watched theirwaving but one short year before, when 'Toinette was first laid inDora's little bed, Mrs. Legrange heard her husband coming up thestairs, and rose to receive him, with a strange fluttering at herheart, --a sort of nervous hope and terror all in one, as if she hadknown him the bearer of great news, but could not yet determine itstenor. 

Mr. Legrange entered, holding a letter in his hand, and glancedtenderly, but with some surprise, at his wife, who stood with onehand pressing the white folds of her muslin wrapper convulsively toher bosom, the other outstretched toward him, a sudden hecticburning in her cheeks, and her eyes bright with feverish light. 

"Fanny! what is it?" exclaimed the husband, pausing upon thethreshold. 

"That letter-you have some news! O Paul, you have news of"--

Her voice died in a breathless flutter; and Mr. Legrange, cominghastily to her side, drew her to a seat, saying tenderly, --

"No, darling, no news of her, --not yet, at least. What made you fancyit? This is only a letter from your prot‚g‚ at Antioch College: atleast, I suppose so from the postmark. Do you care to read it now?"

Mrs. Legrange hid her face upon her husband's breast, tremblingnervously. 

"O Paul! when I heard you coming up the stairs, such a feeling cameover me! I seemed to feel some great revelation approaching. I wassure it was news of her. Paul, Paul, I cannot bear it; I cannotlive! My heart is broken; but it will not die, and let me rest. O myGod! how long?"

"Hush, dearest, hush! Your wild words are to me worse than the griefwe both suffer so keenly. But, my wife, have we not each other? andwould you kill me by your own despair? Will God be pleased, that, because he has taken away our Sunshine, we refuse all otherblessings, and disdain all other ties and obligations? Fanny, dearest, is it not an earnest duty with you to strive for strength?"

But the mother only moaned impatiently, --

"O Paul! do not try, do not talk: it is useless. When you let fallthat crystal vinaigrette this morning, did you tell it that its dutywas to be whole, and filled with perfume again? Do you tell thoseflowers that it is their duty to be fresh and sweet as they wereyesterday? or, if you did, would they heed you?"

"No, darling; for they have neither mind nor soul, " suggested thehusband significantly. 

"And mine are swallowed up in the sorrow that has swallowed allelse. O Paul! forgive me, and ask God to forgive me; but I cannot, Inever can, become resigned. I cannot live; I cannot wish or try tolive. A little while, and I shall see her. "

She spoke the last words softly, as to her own heart; and over herface passed such a look of solemn joy, such yearning tenderness, mingled with an infinite pathos, that the stronger and lesssensitive male organization stood awed and subdued before it. 

"Her love and grief are deeper than any words of mine can reach, "thought the husband, and, so, tenderly soothed her head upon hisbreast, and said no more for several minutes, until, to hissurprise, it was lifted, and the pale face looked into his with thepensive calmness under which it habitually hid its more intimateexpressions. 

"From whom did you say the letter came, Paul?" asked Mrs. Legrange. 

"From Theodore Ginniss, I believe. Will you read it now?" asked herhusband, in some surprise at the sudden transition: for no man everthoroughly comprehends a woman, no woman a man; and so is thedistinctive temperament of the sexes preserved. 

"Yes: I told him to write to me once in every month, and he is verypunctual. "

She opened the letter, and read aloud:--"DEAR MRS. LEGRANGE, --

"Since writing to you last month, I have been going on with mystudies under the Rev. Mr. Brown, as I then mentioned. I do not findthat it hurts me to study in the hot weather at all; and I haveenjoyed my vacation better this way than if I had been idle. 

"Part of the month, however, Mr. Brown has been away on a visit tosome friends in Iowa; and he says so much about the prairies, andthe great rivers, and the wild life out there, that I think I shouldlike to take the two remaining weeks of the vacation, and go and seethem, if you have no objection. I have a great plenty of money frommy last quarter's allowance, as I have only needed to spend a dollarand forty-five cents. Mr. Brown thinks I should come back fresher tomy studies for a little rest; though I do not feel the need of it, and am glad of every day's new chance of learning. 

"I hope you will excuse me, Mrs. Legrange, if it is too bold for meto say, but I do wish you could talk with Mr. Brown a little; he isso high in all his ideas, and seems to feel so strong about all thetroubles of this world, and puts what a man ought to live for somuch above the way he has to live!

"I took the liberty of talking with him about you, and about thegreat trouble I had helped to bring upon you; and what he said wasfirst-rate, though I cannot tell it again. I felt ever so muchbetter about my own doing wrong, and I could not help wishing youcould hear what he said about you. 

"This place is a great resort for invalids, and people who like tobe retired. The iron-springs, that give the name to the town, aresaid to be very strengthening; and the Neff House, near them, is abeautiful hotel in very romantic scenery, and quite still. It seemsto me that the ladies I see riding out from it on horseback gethealthier-looking every day. 

"I enclose a letter for mother, and will ask of you the favor toread it to her. I cannot tell you, Mrs. Legrange, how grateful Ifeel to you for making her so comfortable, as well as for what youare doing for me. And it is not only you I thank and remember everymorning and every night; but, with yours, I say the name of theangel that we both love so dear. "Yours respectfully, "THEODOREGINNISS. "

Mrs. Legrange slowly folded the letter, and looked at her husband, saying dreamily, --

"I should like to see this Mr. Brown. Perhaps he has some comfort forme; and that was what I felt approaching in that letter. "

Mr. Legrange smiled a little compassionately, and more than a littletenderly. 

"I am afraid, love, you would be disappointed. A man might seem amarvel of eloquence and wisdom to poor Theodore, while you wouldfind him a very commonplace, perhaps obtrusive individual. "

Mrs. Legrange slowly shook her head. 

"I feel just as if that man could give me comfort. I must see him. "

"Very well, dear: if it will give you the slightest pleasure, youshall certainly do so. Shall I send and invite him here? or do youthink the journey to Ohio would be a pleasant variety for you?Perhaps it might; and Teddy's elaborately artless recommendation ofthe Neff House and the iron-springs is worthy of some attention. "

"Yes: I will go there. I think I should like the journey, and Idon't object to trying the springs; and I should like to seeTheodore, and hear him talk about her. And I am sure I shall notfind Mr. Brown commonplace or obtrusive. "

"Very well, dear: it shall be as you say. When shall we go? It willbe very hot travelling now, I am afraid. "

"Oh, no! I don't mind. But I don't want to interfere with theWestern excursion Theodore so modestly suggests; nor do I wish to gowhile he is away. We will go in the middle of September, I think. "

"Yes, that will do, and will give you something to be thinking ofmeantime, " said Mr. Legrange, looking with satisfaction at thehealthy animation of his wife's face, as she re-read the portion ofTeddy's letter relating to Yellow Springs and the Neff House. 

"And now, " said she, "go and send Mrs. Ginniss up to me to hear herletter too, that is, if you please; for, you humor me so much, Iknow I am growing tyrannical in speech as well as in act. "

Mr. Legrange stooped to kiss his wife's cheek; and, to his eyes, thefaint smile with which she repaid the caress was the fair dawn of abrighter day. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE FIRST CHANCE. 

MR. BROWN had been a week at Outpost, and, at breakfast one morning, announced his departure for the succeeding day. 

"And if you feel able to ride so far, Dora, " continued he, "perhapsyou will show me the way to the curious mounds we heard of from Dr. Gershom. "

"They are full ten miles from here, he said, " remarked Kittydisapprovingly. 

"To-day is the 24th, isn't it, Dora? the 24th of August?" inquiredKarl; and Dora, if no other of his auditors, saw the connectionbetween this remark and the proposed long ride with Mr. Brown. 

"Yes, Karl; it is the 24th: and I think we can make a party for themounds, Mr. Brown. Kitty, wouldn't you like to go? and, Karl, can'tyou take a holiday? Sunshine might stay with Mehitable for once;mightn't she?"

"No; because she speaks too loud, and through her nose: but I'llstay with Argus and the woods, " said Sunshine quietly. 

"But have we horses enough?" asked Kitty with animation. 

"That is easily settled, " interposed Karl eagerly. "I will fixSunshine's pillion upon Major, and Dora can ride behind me. ThenKitty can take Max, and Mr. Brown will ride his own horse. "

"Oh! there is no need of Major's carrying double, " said Dorahastily. "Seth can spare Sally as well as not, and Kitty can rideher better than she can Max. "

At this decision, Kitty looked a little vexed, and Karl a littlediscomfited; while Mr. Brown bent over his plate to hide a suddengleam of humor in his dark eyes. As they all rose from table, Karlpassed close to his cousin, and whispered, --

"I want to speak to you before we go. "

Dora made no answer; nor, in the busy hour before they started, could her cousin find opportunity for a single private word. Nor washe more successful in the bold push made by him, so soon as they hadstarted, for the place beside Dora; for she, thinking just then ofsome important communication for Kitty's ear, reined her pony closeto that younger lady's, and good-humoredly desired him to ride onout of earshot. Karl obeyed the mandate with something less than hisusual amiability, and was riding on in advance of the whole party, when he found himself detained by Mr. Brown, who asked sometrifling, question about the road, and then attempted a conversationupon the crops and other ordinary topics for a few moments; until, unable to contend with the indifference, if not impatience, Karl wasat no trouble to conceal, he remained silent for a moment, and thensaid abruptly, --

"Windsor, this is not soldierly or manly. "

Karl looked at him, but made no reply. 

"We both know what is in the other's mind, " continued Mr. Brown, andwe know that we cannot both succeed; but that is no reason for illfeeling toward each other. If we were Don Quixotes, we might fight;if we were gamesters, we might throw for the first chance: but as weare, I trust, Christian gentlemen, we owe each other every kindlyfeeling short of a wish for success. "

"Yes: you can hardly expect that of me; and I'm sure I don't ofyou, " said Karl, half laughing. 

"No: that were inconsistent with a true earnestness of purpose, "said Mr. Brown. "And, after all, the girl we both love is no suchweakling as to accept a man simply because he asks her. She willdecide between us fairly and justly. "

"Then let me have the first chance, since you think it noadvantage, " said Karl impetuously. 

Mr. Brown smiled grimly. 

"Is there not some proverb about age before merit?" asked he. "Besides, you have had more than four years to ask your question in, and can very well wait a few hours longer. I came to Iowa on purposeto ask mine, and shall go away to-morrow. "

"I don't see, sir, but you saints are just as obstinate in gettingwhat you want as we sinners, " said the younger man petulantly. 

The chaplain laughed outright. 

"A man at thirty has seldom subdued his worldly passions andintentions to the degree of sainthood, " said he. "And I will notdeny that my heart is very much engaged in this matter. However, Iwill be generous, and you may take your chance first. "

He reined in his steed as he spoke, and, waiting beside the roaduntil the young ladies came up, made some remark to Kitty relatingto a question she had asked him concerning Virginian roads ascompared with those of the West, and, by turning into the trackbeside her, rather obliged Dora to ride forward to the turn of theroad, where Karl awaited her. But Kitty's satisfaction in thedecided intention Mr. Brown had shown of speaking to her was ratherdampened by perceiving how frequently his attention wandered fromwhat she was saying, and how earnestly his eyes were fixed upon thetwo figures riding briskly in advance. 

"If he can only look at Dora, why don't he go and ride with her?"muttered Kitty; and, as her companion turned his eyes inquiringlyupon her, she asked aloud, --

"Are you pretty quick at hearing, Mr. Brown?"

"Not especially. Why?"

"Oh! I thought you looked as if you would like to hear what Charlieis saying to Dora. "

"And you thought it was very rude of me to be so inattentive toyou, " added Mr. Brown, bending his dark eyes upon her with a smile. 

Kitty colored guiltily, and answered hastily, --

"Oh dear, no! I'm used to finding myself of no account beside Dora. "

Mr. Brown looked again at her, and then, with a sudden associationof ideas, asked, --

"Kitty, are you going to tell me, before I go away, what made youfeel so badly the day I came and found you in the wood?"

Again Kitty's face glowed beneath his gaze, and her bright blackeyes drooped in rare confusion. She was about to answer hastily andcoldly, but found herself checked by a softer impulse. Why shouldshe not tell him somewhat of the trouble at her heart, and so win atleast sympathy and pity, if nothing more? So she said in a lowvoice, --

"No one cares much for me, I think. "

"No one?-not your brother?"

Kitty raised her eyes to the far vista point where Karl and Doravanished into the forest, their horses moving close to each other'sside, and then brought them back to the face of her companion. Thelook was eloquent, and he said, --

"Yes; but by and by, perhaps, he will not be so engrossed. "

The young girl raised her head with a superb gesture. 

"To wait for by and by, when some one else has done with him, is notmy idea of love. "

Mr. Brown looked at her more attentively, and smiled. 

"I think the day will come when some man will love you first andbest of all, " said he, in a tone, not of flattery, but of honestadmiration, which fell like sunlight upon the waste places of poorKitty's heart. 

"Oh! I'm not good enough, or smart enough, or good-looking enough. He never will, " replied she hastily, and then colored crimson againat the meaning beneath her words. 

Again Mr. Brown keenly eyed her, and asked, --

"He? Do you mean some one in particular? No: forgive me. I have noright to ask such a question. I am only your friend, not a fatherconfessor. "

Kitty, dumb with confusion and a sudden terror, made no effort toreply; and, after a moment, Mr. Brown led the way to a quietconversation upon the young girl's previous life, her early pursuitsand affections, and finally to the passionate love and regret forher dead mother, in which he found the key to all she was and allshe might be. So employed, the psychological student even forgot hisown affairs, and for half an hour hardly remembered Dora riding onbeside Karl, who, like the cowardly bather, dallying first with onefoot and then the other in the water's edge, and losing all hiscourage before the final plunge, had talked with her of almost everything beneath the sun, and worn out his own patience and hers, before she said, turning her clear eyes full upon him, --

"Karl, be honest and straightforward. It is kinder to us both. "

The young man heaved a sigh of relief. 

"That's it, Dora. There isn't another such girl in the world. Don'tyou know, in camp I used to say I relied upon you for protection, and for making a man of me instead of an idle boy? O Dora! there'snothing you couldn't do with me. "

He spoke the last words in an imploring voice, and fixed his eyesupon her averted face. Then, as she did not speak, he went on:--

"It isn't any thing I can offer you, Dora, except the chance ofdoing good: I know that well enough. What I am, you know; but what Imight become to please you none of us can know. And I do love youso, Dora! I know it sounds bald and silly to say just those fewwords; but they mean so much to me! and I've meant it so long and soheartily! No; don't speak just yet: I want to make you feel first, if I can, how dreadfully in earnest I am. When I first saw you thereat your old home, and you took care of me so tenderly, and looked atme, so pityingly out of your great brown eyes, my heart warmed toyou; and then in camp, you know-O Dora Darling! you cannot say butyou knew how dearly I grew to love you even then: and when I foundyou were my own kin; and when you came to my own home, and my mothertook you to her heart, and thanked God for having given her anotherdaughter, and such a daughter; and when I saw your daily life amongus, and saw how noble, and how unselfish, and how true, and brave, you were through all the sorrow, and the trials, and the loneliness, and the petty spite and insults, you had to endure; and then here, where you are like a wise and gracious queen among her subjects, --ODora! what is there in you that does not call forth my highest love, my truest reverence? and what better could life do for me than togrant me the privilege of worshipping and following you all my days, and making myself into just what sort of man would suit you best?"

And the true-hearted young fellow felt his words strike home to hisown soul so earnestly that he could add to them nothing of the floodof tenderness and homage swelling there, but only looked at hiscousin piteously; while she, with drooping head and averted eyes, rode on for a few moments in silence, and then said softly, --

"I hoped, dear Karl, you would never speak of it again. We have beenso happy the last year!"--

"O Dora!" interposed the young man in a voice of agony, "never sayyou are going to refuse me! Happy! yes, I have been happy, because Ihave looked forward to this day, and thought it might be thebeginning of a life to which this has been but the gray dawn beforethe sunrise. You have been so kind to me, so frank and affectionate!and all the time you knew-oh! you must have known-what was in myheart. Yes; and, if it had not been for this meddling parson'svisit"--

"Hush, Karl!" interrupted Dora decisively. "I will not have youunjust or ungenerous to a man far nobler and purer and wiser thaneither you or I. Mr. Brown's visit has nothing to do with what I sayto-day; nor did I know, as you think I did, that you would again askme the question you asked a year ago. I only remembered it, when, last week, you reminded me of the date; and I only let you speakto-day, because it is better for us both to say out all that is inour hearts, and then to let the matter rest. "

She, paused a moment, and recommenced in a lower and more tendervoice:--

"I am so sorry, Karl, to give you pain! If the only trouble was thatI don't want to marry you, I wouldn't mind saying no; for I love youvery much: only I don't believe it is the way girls commonly lovethe men they marry. But it wouldn't be right. "

"Not right! Oh! why not right, Dora?"

"Because it would spoil both of us. You ask me to make any thing ofyou I like; but that is not the way. It is you yourself that mustmake a man of yourself. If I should try to do it, I should only makea puppet of you, and a conceited, tyrannical woman of myself. Itwould not be good for me to rule as you want me to do; and surely noman would deliberately say it would be good for him to be ruled, andthat by his wife. "

There was a touch of scorn in the tone of the last words; and Karl'scheck flushed hotly, as he said, --

"It's hard that you should despise me for loving you so well that Iam ready to forget pride and manly dignity, and every thing else, for the sake of it. "

"No; but, Karl, don't you see yourself what an injury such a lovemust be to you? Forget pride and manly dignity and self-respect doyou say? A true love, a good love, would make you cherish them asyou never did before; would make you claim and hold every inch ofmanhood that is in you, so that you might feel yourself worthy ofthat love. O, Karl! never again offer to put yourself under the footof any woman, but wait till you meet one whom you can hold by thehand, and lead along, keeping equal step with yourself, and bothpressing forward to a common goal. "

She turned her face upon him, all aglow with a noble enthusiasm farabove the maiden bashfulness that but now had held it averted, andextended her hand, saying, --

"Come, dear Karl, forget this idle dream. Be once more my brotherand my helper. Trust me, no one cares more for you so than I; notKitty herself. "

He took the hand, put it to his lips, then rode on silently. 

Dora's kind eyes sought his again and again, but vainly. His face, pale and somewhat stern gave no clew to the feelings within: themouth, more firmly set than its wont, seemed sealed to love forever. 

For the first time in all the interview, Dora found herself troubledand perplexed. Here was nothing to soothe, nothing to combat, nothing to answer or to silence; and her womanly sympathiesfluttered about this manly reticence like a humming-bird around aflower frozen into the heart of an iceberg. 

At last, she spoke; and her voice had grown almost caressing in itssoftness:--

"You're not angry with me, Karl?"

He glanced at her, then away. 

"Certainly not, Dora. On the contrary, I am much obliged to you. "

"Obliged to me!" exclaimed Dora; her feminine pique just touched atrifle. "What, for saying no?"

"For showing me that I am a fool. It was time I knew it, and I hadrather hear it from you than any one. Why should you care for me? Iam not a man to respect, like Mr. Brown, or one to admire, like Mr. Burroughs, --I suppose it will be one of them; but I only hope eitherone may give you half--No matter, wait here a moment in the shade. Iam going back to speak to Kitty. "

He sharply wheeled his horse as he spoke, and was gone. Dora lookedafter him in sorrowful perplexity, and then tears gathered in hereyes; but, before they could fall, the unswerving rectitudeunderlying her whole nature came to its relief, and she dashed themaway, murmuring, --

"But I was right. "

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE SECOND CHANCE. 

REINING up her horse under the shadow of a clump of trees, Dorawaited, as her cousin had requested, for his return; and so muchpre-occupied was she with her own thoughts, that she failed to hearthe quick footfalls of an approaching horse, until his riderslackened speed beside her, and Dora, looking up, saw that it wasMr. Brown. 

She grew a little pale, divining, not only from the presence of thechaplain, but from a joyous and significant light in the eyes thatencountered hers, what might be his errand; and though she had notfailed to foresee this moment, no man, and surely no woman, is everso prepared for the great crises of life that they fail to come atthe last with almost as much of a shock as if they came quiteunawares. 

She turned her horse into the track, and rode on, her eyes fixedupon the wide prairie-view, which seemed to dance and shimmer beforethem as if all Nature had suddenly grown as strange and unreal asshe felt herself. Her companion spoke, and in her ears his voicesounded as from some far mountain-cave, hollow, broken, and vague;and yet the words were far from momentous. 

"Dora, I must leave you to-morrow. "

"I am very sorry, sir, " faltered Dora; and Mr. Brown, glancing ather face, could not but notice its unwonted agitation. His ownwishes, and his sex, led him to misconstrue it; and, pressing, hishorse closer to her side, he said joyfully, --

"And so am I sorry, Dora; but I need not be gone long if you wishfor my return. "

Dora did not speak; indeed, she could not: for the wild dance of skyand plain, of prairie and forest, grew yet wilder; and in her earsthe voice of the chaplain mingled with a dizzy hum that almostdrowned the words. She grasped the horn of her saddle with bothhands, and only thought of saving herself from falling. The horsewas halted, an arm was about her waist, her head drawn to aresting-place upon a steady shoulder; and that strange, far-offvoice murmured, --

"My darling, my long-loved, long-sought treasure, calm yourself; behappy and secure in my love. Did you ever doubt that it was yours?"

He stooped to kiss her: but, at the motion, the virginal instinctsof the young girl's nature rallied to the defence; and, with asudden spring, Dora sat upright, her face very pale, but her eyesclear and steadfast as their wont. 

"Oh, sir, indeed you must not!" cried she, as pleadingly as a littlechild, who will not be caressed, yet knows not why he should refuse. 

"Must not, Dora?" persisted the lover gayly. "But why must I notkiss my own betrothed?"

"But I am not; I cannot be. Don't be angry, sir: I would have spokensooner; but I could not. I believe I was a little faint;" and Dora'seyes timidly sought those of the chaplain, who, meeting them, remembered many such a glance when his pupil had feared to displeasehim by inattention or disobedience. Again he thought to havediscovered the source of her refusal, and again he failed. 

"Dora, " said he gently, "you do not forget, that, some years ago, webore the relation of master and pupil; and you still regard me witha certain deference and reserve, which, perhaps, blinds you to thetrue relation existing between us now. Remember, dear, that I am yeta younger man; and although my profession may have induced a certaingravity of manner, contrasting, perhaps unpleasantly, with your gaycousins joyous demeanor, I have all, or more than all, of hisfervency of feeling; far more, I trust, of depth and steadfastnessin my love for you. "

"Please, Mr. Brown, " interposed Dora, "do not let us say any thingabout Karl. He is not concerned in this. "

"You are right, Dora, and I was wrong, " said Mr. Brown with a littleeffort of magnanimity. "But I was only trying to convince you thatmy love is quite as ardent, and quite as tender, as that of ayounger and gayer man could be. "

"Yes, sir, " said Dora timidly, as he paused for her assent. 

"Not 'Yes, sir, ' child!" exclaimed the chaplain impatiently. "Don'ttreat me with this distant respect and timid reverence. I am yourlover, your would-be comrade through life, as once through the lessearnest battles of war. Call me Frank, and look into my face andsmile as I have seen you smile on Karl. "

A quick smile dimpled Dora's cheek, and passed. 

"Not Karl, please, sir. "

"Dora, if you say 'sir' to me again, I'll kiss you. "

"Please not, Mr. Brown, " said Dora demurely, "until you quiteunderstand me. "

"Well then, let me quite understand you very quick; for I think Ishall exact the penalty, even without further offence. "

"But I cannot promise, --I cannot be what you said, " stammered Dora, half terrified, half confused. 

"Nay, darling, --I am going to always call you that, as expressiveboth of name and nature, --it is you who do not quite understandeither yourself or me. I do not expect, or even wish, you to professa love for me as ardent, open, and pronounced as my own: that wereto make you other than the modest and delicately reserved maiden Ihave loved so long. All I ask you to feel is, that you can trustyourself to my guidance through life; that you can place your futurein my hands, believing me capable of shaping it aright; that you canpromise to tread with me the path I have selected, sure that itshall be my care to remove from it all thorns, all obstacles thatmortal power may control, and that my arms shall bear you tenderlyover the rough places I cannot make smooth for you. 

"Dora, years ago I resolved that you should be my wife, God and youconsenting. I have waited until I thought you old enough to decidecalmly and wisely; but, through these years of waiting, I havecherished a hope, almost a certainty, of success, that has struckdeep roots among the very foundations of my life. You will not tearit away! Dora, you do not know me: you cannot guess at the ardor orthe power of a love I have never dared wholly to reveal even tomyself. Trust it, Dora: it cannot but make you happy. Give yourselfto me, dear child; and I will account to God for the preciouscharge. "

Never man was more in earnest, never was wooing at once so ferventand so lofty in its tone; and so Dora felt it. The temptation toyield, without further struggle, to the belief that Mr. Brown knewbetter what was good for her than she knew for herself, was verygreat; but, even while she hesitated, the inherent truthfulness ofher nature rose up, and cried, "No, no! you shall not do such wrongto me who am the Right!" and turning, with an effort, to meet thekeen eyes reading her face, she said, still timidly perhaps, butvery calmly, --

"I am but a simple girl, almost a child in some things, and you area wise and good man, learned in books and in the way of the world;but I must judge for myself, and must believe my own heart soonerthan you in such matters as these. Years ago, as you say, I was yourpupil, and you then nobly offered to adopt me as your child orsister. "

"As my future wife, Dora. I meant it from the very first, "interposed the chaplain impetuously. 

"I did not know that: perhaps it makes a difference. But, at anyrate, I promised then, that if I went home with Capt. Karl, and youwanted me afterward, I would come to you whenever you said so. "

"Yes, yes; that is quite true: well?" demanded Mr. Brown eagerly. 

"Well, sir, a promise is a promise; and, if you demand it now, Iwill come and live with you, or you can come, and live with me, --notas your wife, however, but as your sister and child and friend. "

"You will come and live with me, but not marry me!" exclaimed theyoung man, with a gleam of amusement at the unworldly proposallighting his dark eyes. 

"Yes, sir, " replied Dora, without looking up. 

To her infinite astonishment and dismay, she found herself suddenlyembraced, and a hearty kiss tingling upon her lips. 

"I am sorry if you don't like it, Dora; but I said I would if youcalled me 'sir' again; and you are so scrupulous about yourpromises, you cannot wish me to break mine. "

"Then I am afraid I must promise, if you do so again, to go back andride with Kitty all the rest of the way, " said Dora, as, withheightened color and a decided pout, she drew her left-hand rein sosharply as to wheel Max to the other side of the road. 

"Dora, I am afraid you are a little of a coquette, after all!"exclaimed the lover, gazing at her with admiration. 

"Oh, no indeed, Mr. Brown! I wouldn't be for the world! I said justwhat I meant to you. I always do. "

"But why, then, if you love me well enough to live with me assister, child, or friend, can't you also live with me as wife?"

"Because, sir, --oh, no! I didn't mean sir, --because"--

"Frank, I told you to call me. "

"Because, Frank, I don't love you that way. "

The answer was so explicit, so unembarrassed, and so quiet, that, for the first time, Mr. Brown believed it. 

"Not love me, Dora, when I love you so much!" exclaimed he indismay. 

"Not love you in a wife way, Frank, but a great deal in every otherway. And then I don't think we should be happy together if we weremarried. "

"And why not?" asked the young man, smiling in spite of himself atthe quiet opinion. 

"Because, as you said, you want me to put my life into your hands, and you will shape it; and you want me to set my feet in your path, and follow it with you; and you want me to trust my soul to you, andyou will guide it: but I could never do that, Mr. Brown; never forany man, I think. I could never forget that God has given me a life, and a path, and a soul, all my own, and not to be judged except byHim and myself: and I am afraid I should always be asking if yourguiding was in the same direction that I was meant to go; and, if Ithought it was not, I should be very unhappy, and should try to livemy own life, and not yours; and that would make trouble. "

"Yes, that would make trouble certainly, Dora, " said the chaplaingravely. "But are you sure that a young and comparatively unlearnedwoman like yourself would be a better judge of what was right andbest than a man of mature years, who has made the care of souls hisprofession and most earnest duty?"

"No, Mr. Brown, not if I judged for myself: but I think God hasespecial care of those, who, like me, have none else to guide them;and I think this voice in my heart is the surest teaching of all. "

The profound conviction of her tone was final; the simple faith ofher argument was unassailable: and Mr. Brown, skillful polemic thathe was, found himself silenced. 

After a moment, he said calmly, --

"Dora, you will not forget that this is, to me at least, a veryserious, indeed a vital matter. Is what you have just said thesolemn conviction of your own heart? or have you suffered yourselfto be misled by the tendency to self-esteem and perverseness I havesometimes had occasion to reprove in you? Have you thoroughlysearched your own heart to its deepest depths? and is not yourrefusal tinctured by the natural reluctance of a determined natureto yield to a love, which, in woman, must bring with it some degreeof dependence and deference?"

He looked almost severely into the pale face and earnest eyesupraised to his, and read there pain, anxiety, an humble appeal, butnot one trace of hesitation, not one shade of duplicity. 

"I have searched my own heart, Mr. Brown; and I am sure of itsanswer. I never, never, can be your wife, so long as we both live. "

"That is sufficient, Dora. I am rightly punished for building myhopes and my happiness upon the sandy foundations of an earthlylove. They perish, and leave me desolate; but, among the ruins, Iyet can say, 'It is rightly and justly done. '"

The bitter pain in his voice pierced to Dora's very heart, andwounded it almost as sorely as she had wounded his. The rare tearsoverflowed her eyes; and, pressing close to his side, she laid ahand upon his own, saying, --

"Oh, forgive me!-say you forgive me! Indeed, I must do and say whatconscience bids me, at all cost. "

"It is not for me to gainsay such a precept as that, " said thechaplain. 

"But I will come to you, and live as long as you want me. I will beeverything but wife. Say I may do this, or I shall never forgivemyself. Say I may make some amends for the pain I have given you. "

The young man laughed bitterly, then, turning suddenly, seized bothher hands, and looked deep into her eyes. 

"My poor child, " cried he, "my innocent lamb, who turns from theshepherd because she will not be guided, and yet is all unfit toguide herself! Do not even you, Dora, guileless and unworldly as youare, see how impossible it would be for a young and beautiful girlto live with a man who admires and loves her openly, without suchscandal, as should ruin both in the world's eyes, even if they savedtheir own souls unspotted?"

Dora snatched away her hands, and her whole face flamed with asudden shame. 

She was learning fast to-day in the book of human passion, suffering, and sin. 

Without comment upon her embarrassment, the chaplain went on:--

"No, Dora: I must lay aside the dream of four sweet years, and takeup my lonely life without disguise or embellishment. I cannotdispute your decision. I will not by one word or look urge you tochange it; for I too deeply respect the truthfulness of yourcharacter to dream that it is capable of change. I do not say that Iforgive you, for you have done nothing calling for forgiveness; andyet, if your tender heart should suffer, in thinking of mysuffering, remember always that what you have to-day said hasincreased my respect and esteem for you fourfold: and, if it hasalso added to the bitterness of my disappointment, I will not haveyou reproach yourself; for I would rather reverence you as the wifeof another than to claim you as my own, and know you untrue toyourself. And now, dear, the subject is closed utterly and forever. "

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

TREASURE-TROVE. 

IT was a balmy September evening, some weeks after Mr. Brown'sreturn to Ohio, when Karl, or, as he was now generally styled, Dr. Windsor, standing beside his horse, in the quiet Main Street ofGreenfield, saw Dr. Gershom riding lazily into town, accompanied bya sturdy, good-looking lad, also on horseback, whom Karl failed torecognize. 

"A new student, maybe, " thought he, and, taking his foot out of thestirrup, waited to see. 

"Hollo, Windsor, hold on a minute!" shouted Dr. Gershom as theyapproached. "Here's a young gentleman asking for you. "

Karl bowed, and began hastily to review his half-forgotten armyacquaintances; failing, however, to identify any of them with theyoung man now bowing to him, and taking a letter from hispocket-book. 

"Mr. Brown favored me with this letter of introduction to you, sir, "said he, holding it out. 

Karl glanced hastily at the few lines, and remembered an allusionthe chaplain had made to a particularly promising student of his, whom he thought of sending to travel a little in the West. So hefrankly smiled, extended his hand, and said, --

"Ah, yes! I have heard Mr. Brown speak of you, Mr. Ginniss; and I amvery happy to welcome you to our prairie life. I am just setting outfor home; and, if you please, we will ride along directly. "

"Better come in, boys, and have a glass of bitters to keep thenight-air off your stomachs. Got some of the real stuff right herein the office, " said the old doctor; but, both young men decliningthe proffered hospitality, he withdrew, grumbling, --

"You never'll make it work, Windsor, I tell you now! Such a dog'slife as a country doctor's isn't to be kept up without fuel. "

Karl laughed, and, turning to his new acquaintance, said, --

"So they told me in the army; but I got through without. I nevertasted spirit but once, and then I didn't like it. "

"I never have at all, " said Ginniss simply. "I gave my mother apromise, when I was twelve years old, that I never would; and Inever have. "

Karl nodded. 

"That's right, " said he; "and all the better for you to have hadsuch a mother. "

"You'd say that, Mr. Windsor, if you knew what she'd done for me. There ain't many such mothers in any class, " said the young manheartily. 

Karl looked at his new acquaintance with increasing favor, and foundsomething very attractive in his open, manly face, and the honestsmile with which he met his scrutiny. 

"I hope you'll stay with us some time, Mr. Ginniss, " said heheartily. 

"Thank you; but, I believe, only for one day. The journey was myprincipal object in coming; and I must be at Antioch College againin a week, or ten days at the outside. "

"Tell me about the life there. I was at old Harvard, and nevervisited any other college, " said Karl; and the young men foundplenty of conversation, until, in the soft twilight, they came uponthe pleasant slope and vine-clad buildings of Outpost. 

"Here is our house, or rather my cousin's house, " said Karl. "Youhave heard Mr. Brown speak of Dora?"

"Yes, before he went away, " said Ginniss significantly. 

"But not since his return?" asked Karl eagerly. 

"Very seldom. "

"Hem! Seth, will you take our horses round? Jump off, and come in, sir. This is my sister Kitty, Mr. Ginniss. A scholar of Mr. Brown's, Kitty: I dare say you remember his speaking of him. "

"Yes, indeed! Very happy to see you, Mr. Ginniss; walk in, " saidKitty, who, if she had never heard the line, certainly knew how toapply the idea, of, --"It is not the rose; but it has lived near therose. "

"Where is Dora?" asked Karl, glancing round the room where thepretty tea-table stood spread, and Dora's hat and gloves lay upon achair; but no other sign of her presence was to be found. 

"Why, " said Kitty, laughing a little, "Dolly took a fancy forrafting down the river on a log that she somehow managed to push offfrom the bank. Of course, she slipped off the first thing, and mighthave been drowned; but Argus got her out somehow, and Seth, hearingthe noise, ran down and brought her home. Of course, she wasdripping wet; and Dora has put her to bed. "

"Is it a sanitary or a disciplinary measure?" asked Karl: "because, if the latter, we shall have Dora out of spirits all the evening. She never punishes Dolce half so much as she does herself. "

"Well, I believe it is a little of both this time, " replied Kitty. "I think she'll be down to tea. You had better take Mr. Ginnissright into your bedroom, Charlie. Perhaps he'd like to wash hishands before tea. "

"Thank you; I should, if you please, " said the guest, and left theroom with his host. 

When they returned, Dora was waiting to receive them, somewhat paleand sad at having felt obliged to refuse Sunshine's entreaties to"get up, and be the 'bedientest little girl that ever was, " butcourteously attentive to the guest, and ready to be interested andsympathetic in hearing all Karl's little experiences of the day. Asfor Kitty, her careless inquiry on seating herself at the table, of, --

"How has Mr. Brown been since he got home?" may serve as index tothe course of her meditations. 

"How in the world came Dolce to undertake the rafting business?"asked Karl, when his sister's inquiries had been amply satisfied. 

"Why, poor little thing!" said Dora, laughing a little, "she thoughtshe had found the way to heaven. She noticed from the window howvery blue the river was, and, as she says, 'goldy all over inspots:' so she slipped out, and ran down there, forgetting for oncethat she is forbidden to do so. Standing on the brink, she saw thereflection of the little white clouds floating overhead, and wassuddenly possessed with an idea that this was heaven, or theentrance to it. So, as she told me, she thought she would float outon the log till she got to the middle, and then 'slip off, and fallright into heaven. '"

"How absurd!" said Kitty, laughing. 

"Not at all. She would certainly have reached heaven if she hadcarried out the plan, " said Karl. 

"Don't, please, " murmured Dora, with a little shiver. "Don't talk ofit. "

"That is like a little sister of mine; a little adopted sister, atleast. She was always talking of going to heaven, and planning toget there, " said the guest. 

Dora looked at him with pity in her honest eyes, and hastened toprevent Kitty's evident intention of questioning him further withregard to this "little sister. "

"It seems to be a natural instinct with children, " said she "to longfor heaven. Perhaps that is the reason they bring so much of heavento earth. "

"I'm afraid mothers of large and troublesome families would say thatearth would be better with less of heaven, " suggested Karl slyly;and the conversation suddenly veered to other topics. But allthrough the evening, and even after he had gone to rest, the mind ofTeddy Ginniss was haunted by the memory of the pretty child, soloved and mourned, and of whom this anecdote of the littleheaven-seeker so forcibly reminded him. 

"Whose child is this, I wonder?" thought he a dozen times: but, inthe hints he had solicited from Mr. Brown upon manners, none hadbeen more urgent than that forbidding inquisition into otherpeople's affairs; and indeed Teddy's natural tact and refinementwould have prevented his erring in this respect. So now he held hispeace, and slept unsatisfied. 

This may have been the reason of his rising unusually early, --infact, while the rosy clouds of dawn were yet in the sky, --and quietlyleaving the house with the purpose of a river-bath. Strolling somedistance down the bank, until the intervening trees shut off thehouse, he plunged in, and found himself much refreshed by a swim often minutes through waters gorgeous with the colors of thesunrise-sky; and, as he paused to notice them, Teddy muttered, --

"The poor little sister! She'd have done just the same if she'd beenhere. "

It was hardly time to return to the house when the young man stoodagain upon the bank; and he strolled on through the wood, at thispoint touching upon the river so closely, that a broken reflectionof the green foliage curved and shimmered along the fast-flowingwaves. 

Teddy looked at the water; he looked at the trees; he looked longand eagerly across the wide prairie that far westward imperceptiblymelted its dim green into the faint blue of the horizon, leavingbetween the two a belt of tender color, nameless, but inexpressiblytempting and suggestive to the eye. All this the lad saw, and, raising his face skyward, drew in a long draught of such air asnever reaches beyond the prairies. 

"Oh, but it's good!" exclaimed he, with more meaning to the simplephrase than many a man has put to an oration. And then he muttered, as he walked on, --

"If it wasn't for the thought that's always lying like a stone atthe bottom of my heart, there'd not be a happier fellow alive to-daythan I. Oh the little sister!-the little sister that I never shallforget, nor forgive myself for the loss of!"

And, from the cottonwood above his head, a mocking-bird, who hadperhaps caught the trick of grief from some neighbor whippoorwill, poured suddenly a flood of plaintive melody, that to the boy's warmIrish fancy seemed a lament over the loved and lost. 

He took off his hat, and looked up into the tree. 

"Heaven's blessings on you, birdy!" said he. "It's the very way I'dhave said it myself; but I didn't know how. "

The mocking-bird flew on; and Teddy followed, hoping for arepetition of the strain: but the capricious little songster onlytwittered promises of a coming happiness greater than any pleasurehis best efforts could afford, and darted away to the recesses ofthe forest, where was in progress an Art-Union matin‚e of such musicas all the wealth of all our cities cannot buy for us. 

Teddy followed for a while; and then, fearing that he should be lostin the trackless wood, turned his back upon the rising sun, andwalked, as be supposed, in the direction of the house, his eyes uponthe ground, his mind strangely busy with thoughts and memories ofthe life he had left so far behind, that, in the press and hurry ofhis present career, it sometimes seemed hardly to belong to him. 

"God and my lady have been very good to me, " thought the boy; "but Inever'll be as happy again as when the little sister put her armsabout my neck, and called me her dear Teddy, and kissed me with herown sweet mouth that maybe is dust and ashes now. No: I never'll behappy that way again. "

He raised his eyes as he spoke, and started back, pale andtrembling, fain to lean against the nearest tree for support underthe great shock. 

Not fifty feet from him, and bathed in the early sunlight that camesifting through the trees to greet her, stood a child, dressed in awhite robe, her sunny hair crowned with flowers, her little handholding sceptre-wise a long stalk with snow-white bells droopingfrom its under edge. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, and herslender feet gleamed white from the bed of moss that almost buriedthem. Still as a little statue, or a celestial vision printingitself in one never-to-be-forgotten moment upon the heart of thebeholder, she stood looking at him; and Teddy dropped upon hisknees, gasping, --

"It's out of glory you've come to comfort me, darling! and God everbless you for the same!"

The child looked at him with her starry eyes, and slowly smiled. 

"I knew you sometime, " said she. "Was it in heaven ?"

"No: it's better than ever I'll be, you know, in heaven, littlesister. Are you happy there, mavourneen?" asked Teddy timidly. 

"Oh! I haven't gone to heaven yet. I never could find the way, " saidthe child, with a troubled expression suddenly clouding her sweetface; and then she added musingly, --

"I thought I'd get there through the river last night; but I tumbledoff the log, and only got wet: and Dora said I was naughty; and so Ihad to go to bed, and not have some supper, only"--

"What's that, then!" shouted Teddy, springing to his feet, andholding out his hands toward her, though not yet daring to approach. " It's not the spirit of the little sister you are, but a livechild?"

"Yes, I'm alive; though, if I'd staid into the river, I wouldn'thave been, Dora says, " replied Sunshine quietly. 

"Oh! but the Lord in heaven look down on us this day, and keep mefrom going downright mad with the joy that's breaking my heart! Isit yourself it is, O little sister! is it yourself that's in it, andI alive to see it?"

He was at her feet now, his white face all bathed with tears, histrembling fingers timidly clasping her robe, his eyes raisedimploringly to those serenely bent upon him. 

"I knew you once and you was good to me, " said the child musingly;"but I got tired when I danced so much in the street. I don't everdance now, only with Argus. "

"But, little sister, are you just sure, it's yourself alive? Anddon't you mind I was Teddy, and we used to go walking in the Gardensand on the Commons; and there was the good mammy at home that usedto rock you on her lap, and warm the pretty little feet in herhands, and sing to you till you dropped asleep? Don't you mind themthings, Cherry darling?"

The child looked attentively in his face while he thus spoke, and atthe end nodded several times; while a light, like that of earliestdawn, began to glimmer in her eyes. 

"Tell me some more, " said she briefly. 

"And do you mind the picture-books I used to bring you home, and thestory of the Cock Robin you used to like so well to hear, and theskip-jack you played with, and the big doll that mammy made for you, and you called it Susan?"--

"O--h! Susan!" cried the child suddenly, and then stood all pale andtrembling, while her earnest eyes seemed searching in the past forsome dimly-remembered secret, which to lose was agony, to recallimpossible. 

"Susan!" said she softly again. "Yes, there was Susan, somewhere, and--Oh! tell me the rest, tell me who it was that loved me so!"

"Sure, it was Teddy loved you best of all, " said the boy longingly:for, though her eager eyes dwelt upon his face, it was not for himor his that the depths of her heart were stirring; and, with the oldthrill of jealous pain, he felt it so. 

But then from the remorse and bitterness of the fault he had neverceased to mourn rose a nobler purpose, a higher love. He took thechild in his arms, and kissed her tenderly, then released her, saying, --

"Good-by, little sister; for I never will call you so again, and younever more will call me brother. It's your own lady-mother, darling, that you're missing and mourning, --the own beautiful mother that lostyou two years ago, and has gone to heaven's gates looking for you, and never would have come back if you had not been found. It's yourown home, darling, that you have remembered for heaven; and it'swaiting for you, with father and mother, and joy and plenty, allready to receive you the minute you can get there. "

But it was too much for the fine organization and sensitivetemperament; and, as Teddy's words reached her heart in their fullmeaning, the child, with a long sobbing cry, fell forward into hisarms, utterly insensible. 

Teddy, not too much terrified for he had seen her thus before, raised the slender little figure in his arms, and carried it swiftlytoward the house, now just visible through a vista of the wood, but, before he reached it, met Dora coming to look for her little charge. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Ginniss. So you have caught my naughty runaway, "cried she gayly; but coming near enough to notice Sunshine'sdrooping figure, and Teddy's agitated face, she sprang forward, asking, --

"Is any thing the matter with her? Where did you find her, Mr. Ginniss?"

"She's fainted, ma'am; but it's with joy, and will never hurt her. It's you and I that will be the sufferers, I'm afraid, " said Teddy, with a sudden pang at his heart of love not yet cleansed of selfishjealousy. 

"Bring her to the house, please, as quickly as you can. Poor littledarling, she is so delicate!" said Dora, not yet caring to ask thisstrange news, but walking close beside Teddy, her hand clasping thatcold little one which swung nervelessly over his shoulder, her eyesanxiously watching the beautiful pale face, half hidden in theshowering curls. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

TEDDY'S PRIVILEGE. 

To Mr. Burroughs, smoking his cigar upon the piazza of the NeffHouse, came a white-jacketed waiter with a card. 

"The gentleman is waiting in the reception-room, sir, " said he. 

Mr. Burroughs paused to watch an unusually perfect ring of smokelazily floating above his head; then took the card, and read inpencil, --

"Theodore Ginniss would be glad to see Mr. Burroughs a moment onimportant business. "

"Indeed! Well, it is a republic, and this is the West; but onlyJack's bean-stalk parallels such a growth. " So said, in his ownheart, Teddy Ginniss's former master, as he drew two or three rapidwhiffs from the stump of his cigar, and then, throwing it into thegrass, strolled leisurely into the reception-room. 

"Ah, Ginniss! how are you?" inquired he of the pale and nervousyoung man, who stood up to receive him, half extending his hand, butdropping it quickly upon perceiving those of Burroughs immovable. 

"I am well, sir, thank you. "

"Want to see me on business, do you say?" continued the lawyercoolly. 

"Yes, sir. " And, as his true purpose and position came back to him, Teddy suddenly straightened himself, and grew as cool as the statelygentleman waiting with patient courtesy for his errand. 

"I thought, sir, I'd come to you first, as it was to you I first hadoccasion to speak of my fault in hiding her. 'Toinette is found, sir!"

"What! 'Toinette Legrange found! Teddy, your hand, my boy! Found byyou?"

"Yes, sir, " said Teddy, suffering his hand to be shaken. 

"But what I wanted most was to ask if you think it safe to tell Mrs. Legrange. "

"Oh! I'll see to that. Of course, it must be done very delicately. But where is the child now? and when did you find her?"

"If you please, Mr. Burroughs, I should like to tell the story firstto Mrs. Legrange, and I should like to tell her all myself. It was Ithat hurt her, or helped to hurt her; and I'd like to be the one togive her the great joy that's waiting for her. Besides, sir, " andTeddy's face grew white again, "though I did what was wrong enough, I never deny, I have suffered for it more, maybe, than you can thinkof; and this is all the amends I could ever want. Mrs. Legrange hasbeen very good to me, sir, and never blamed me, or spoke an unkindword, even at the first. "

"And I spoke a good many, you're thinking, " said Mr. Burroughskeenly. "Well, Teddy, I am a man, and Mrs. Legrange is a woman; andwomen look at matters more leniently and less exactly than we do. But you must not be satisfied with pity instead of justice; for thatwill be to encourage your self-esteem at the expense of yourmanhood. I do not deny that I never have recovered from my surpriseat finding you had so long deceived me; but the news you bring to--day makes amends for much: and, after I have heard the particulars, I may yet be able to forget the past, and feel to you as I used. "

But Teddy's bow, though respectful, was not humble; and he onlyasked in reply, --

"Where shall I find Mrs. Legrange, sir?"

"She walked down to the glen about half an hour ago. You may followher there, if you please; and, since you insist upon it as a right, I will leave you to break the news to her alone. But you willremember, I hope, that she is very delicate, --very easily startled. You will have to be exceedingly cautious. "

"Yes, sir;" and with a ceremonious bow the young man left the room, and the next minute was seen darting along the path to the glen. 

Mr. Burroughs looked after him appreciatively, and muttered, --

"A nice-looking fellow, and not without self-respect. I see noreason why, in half a dozen years, he should not enter his name atthe Suffolk bar itself, and stand as well as any man on the roll. But my little Sunshine! Confound the boy! why couldn't he have toldme where to find her?"

So Mr. Burroughs went back to the piazza, and tried to quiet himselfwith another cigar, but was too nervous to make any more rings;while Teddy sped away to the glen, and presently found himself in acool and cavernous retreat, which the sunlight only penetrated bydancing down with the waters that slid laughingly over a rock ledgeabove, and shook themselves into spray before they reached the poolbelow, then, after dimpling and sporting there for a moment, dancedmerrily away. At either hand, high walls of rock, half hid intrailing vines and clinging herbage, shut out the heat of day; and, through a thousand ever-changing peepholes among the swayingfoliage, the blue sky looked gayly down, and challenged those whohid in the glen to come forth, and dare the fervor of the mid-daysun. 

Under a tree near the foot of the fall sat Mrs. Legrange, her headleaning upon her hand, her book idle upon her lap, watching dreamilythe waters that swayed and ebbed, and paused and coquetted withevery flower or leaf that bent toward them; and yet in the end wenton, always on, as the idlest of us go, until through the merrybrook, the heedless fall, the sparkling stream, and stately river, we reach at last the ocean, calm, changeless, and eternal in itsunmoved depths. 

The lady looked up with a little start as she heard the approachingfootsteps, and then rose with extended hand, --

"Theodore!" said she kindly. "I am very glad to see you; and sogrown! You are much taller than in the spring. "

"Yes, ma'am: I believe so. I don't think I shall grow much more, "said Teddy, swallowing a great bunch in his throat that almostsuffocated him. 

"No? Why, you are not so very old, are you?" asked Mrs. Legrange, smiling a little. 

"Nearly eighteen, ma'am. "

"Oh, well! time enough for a good deal of growth, bodily and mental, yet. So you have been at the West?"

"Yes, ma'am, and have heard some curious things there, --some thingsthat I think will interest you. Have you ever thought of adopting alittle girl, ma'am?"

Mrs. Legrange sadly shook her head. 

"No, Theodore: I never wished to do that. She never could be anything like her to me, and it would seem like giving away her place. I had rather wait. "

"I am sorry, ma'am; for I saw a little girl, where I have been, thatI was going to speak of. "

"Was she a pretty child?"

"Very pretty, and looked like"--

"Theodore, don't say that, because I shall think either you haveforgotten or never learned her face. No child ever looked like her, "said the mother positively. 

"This little girl was very pretty though, " persisted Teddy. 

"How did she look?"

"She had great blue eyes (if you'll excuse, me, ma'am), just likeyours, with long brown eyelashes, and a great deal of bright hair, not just brown, nor yet just golden, but between the two; and alittle mouth very much curved; and pretty teeth; and a delicatecolor; and little hands with pretty finger-nails. "

"Theodore!"

Teddy, for the first time in his description, dared to raise hiseyes, but dropped them again. He could not meet the anguish in thoseother eyes so earnestly fixed upon him. 

"She was the adopted child of the people I visited in Iowa, "faltered he. 

"Theodore!" said Mrs. Legrange again; and then, in a breathlessfluttering voice, --

"Do not trifle with me; do not try to prepare my mind; and, oh! ForGod's sake, if it is a false hope, say so this instant! Is shefound?"

"I think it may be so, dear Mrs. Legrange!"

"No, but it is so! you know it! I see it in your eyes, I hear it inyour voice! You cannot hide it, you cannot deceive me! O my God! myGod!-to thee the first praise, the first thanks!"

She fell upon her knees, her face upraised to heaven; and nevermortal artist drew such a picture of ecstatic praise. And though inafter-years Theodore Ginniss wandered through the galleries wherethe world conserves her rarest gems of art, never did he findMadonna or Magdalen or saint to compare with the one picture hismemory treasured as the perfection of earthly loveliness, maderadiant with the purest heavenly bliss. 

"Now come!" exclaimed the mother, springing to her feet, and rapidlyleading the way along the narrow path. "You shall tell me all as wego. "

And the young man found it hard work to keep pace with the delicatewoman, as she flew rather than walked towards her child. 

"If you will wait here in your own room, I will bring her to you, "said Teddy, as he and Mrs. Legrange approached the hotel again. 

"Bring her! Where is she now? asked the mother, looking at him indismay. 

"I left them at the other hotel, thinking, if I brought her directlyhere, we might meet you before you were told, " explained Teddy. 

"Who is with her?"

"Dora Darling, the young lady who adopted her, --the one I told you ofas living in Iowa. "

"Yes, yes; and she has come all the way to bring my child to me! No, I cannot wait: I will come with you. "

So Mr. Burroughs, still sitting upon the piazza, saw his cousinhastening by, and came to join her. 

"Yes, come, Tom! come to-oh, to see Sunshine again!" and Mrs. Legrange turned her flushed face away, to hide the hystericalagitation she could not quite suppress. 

"Take my arm, Fanny; and do not walk so fast. You will hurtyourself, " said Mr. Burroughs kindly. 

"No, no: nothing can hurt me now. I must go fast: if I had wings, Ishould fly!"

"Here is the house. Will you wait in the parlor till I bring herdown?" asked Teddy, leading the way up the steps of the principalhotel at Yellow Springs. 

"No: take me to the room where they are waiting. I want to see herwithout preparation, " said Mrs. Legrange. 

So the whole party followed Teddy up the stairs to a door, where hepaused and knocked. A low voice said, --

"Come in!" and the opening door showed Dora seated upon a low chair, with Sunshine clasped in her arms, and fast asleep. She made amotion to rise upon seeing the visitors; but Mrs. Legrange, liftingher finger as imploring silence softly advanced, and bent withclasped hands and eager eyes over the sleeping child. Then, with thegraceful instinct of a woman who knows and pities the wound in theheart of her less fortunate rival, she put her arms about Dora andthe child, embracing both, and pressed her lips lightly upon Dora'scheek, devouringly upon Sunshine's lips. 

Dora started as if she had been stung, and a sudden tremor crossedthe rigid calm of her demeanor. She had schooled herself toindifference, to neglect or to civil thanks worse than either: butthis unexpected tenderness, this sisterly recognition, went straightthrough all its defences to her quivering heart; and she looked uppiteously into the lovely face bent over her, whispering, --

"I am so glad you have found her! but I have nothing left half sodear. "

There was no reply; for Sunshine, without sound or movement, suddenly opened her eyes, and fixed them upon her mother's face, while deep in their blue depths grew a glad smile, breaking at last, like a veritable sungleam, all over her face, as, holding out herarms, she eagerly said, --

"I've come to heaven while I was asleep; and you're the angel thatloves me so dearly well. I know you by your eyes. "

"The mother clasped her own, --as who shall blame her?-and Dora's armsand Dora's heart were empty, robbed of the nestling they hadcherished, --empty, as she said to herself, turning from the sight ofthat maternal bliss, of the best love she had ever known, or couldever hope. "

Mr. Burroughs, who liked character-reading, watched her narrowly;and when, presently, the whole party returned to Mrs. Legrange'shotel, he quietly walked beside Dora, lingering a little, anddetaining her out of hearing of Mrs. Legrange and Teddy, who walkedon with Sunshine between them. 

"Is virtue its own reward, Miss Dora?" asked he abruptly, whenalmost half the distance between the two hotels was passed. 

Dora looked at him a little puzzled; and then, as she read thehalf-sympathizing, half-mocking expression of his face, answered, --

"You mean I am not happy in bringing Sunshine back to her mother;don't you?"

"Exactly; and you told me once that no one ought to be rewarded fordoing what is right, because it is reward enough to know that we aredoing right. "

"And so it is. I don't want any reward, " said Dora rather hastily. 

"No: but, if young Ginniss had not discovered the identity of thechild, my cousin would not have been unhappier than she has been fortwo years; and you-would you not be at this moment better contentwith life?"

Dora's clear eyes looked straight into his as she wonderinglyasked, --

"Do you want me to say I am sorry Mrs. Legrange has found herchild?"

"If it is true, yes; and I know you will, " replied Mr. Burroughsquietly. 

"And so I would, " said Dora, in the same tone; "but it is not true. I am glad, not happy, but very glad, that Sunshine has come to hermother at last, --her heaven, as she calls it. I do not deny that myown heart is very sore, and that I cannot yet think of her not beingmy child any more, without"--

She turned away her head, and Mr. Burroughs looked at her yet moreattentively than he had been looking. 

"But, if you could, you would not go back, and arrange it that Teddyshould not come to your house? Word and honor now, Dora. "

"Word and honor, Mr. Burroughs, I surely would not. Can you doubtme?"

"No, Dora, I do not; but, in your place, I should doubt myself. "

Dora looked at him with a frank smile. 

"I would trust you in this place, or any other, " said she simply. 

"Would you, would you really, Dora?" asked Tom Burroughs eagerly, while a slight color flashed into his handsome face. "Why wouldyou?"

"Because I feel sure you could never do any thing mean orungenerous, or feel any way but nobly"--

She paused suddenly, and a tide of crimson suffused her face andneck. Mr. Burroughs, with the heroism of perfect breeding, turnedaway his eyes, and suppressed the enthusiastic answer that had risento his lips. He would not add to her confusion by accepting asextraordinary the impulsive expression of her feelings. So he simplysaid, after a moment of silence, --

"Thank you, Dora. I hope you may never have occasion to regret yournoble confidence. "

Dora did not answer, but hastened her steps, until she walked closebehind Mrs. Legrange; nor did her companion speak again, although, could Dora have read his thoughts, she might have found in themmatter of more interest than any words he had ever spoken to her. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

WHAT DORA SAID. 

IT had been Dora's intention to return to Iowa immediately afterleaving Sunshine in charge of her own friends; but Mrs. Legrangeinsisted so urgently upon her remaining with them for some weeks atleast, and the parting with the dear child she had so loved andcherished seemed so cruel as it drew nearer and nearer, that shefinally consented to remain for a short time, and removed to theNeff House, where Mrs. Legrange had engaged rooms until the first ofOctober. 

To other natures than those called to encounter it, the relationbetween these three might, for a time at least, have been painfuland perplexing; but Mrs. Legrange was possessed of such exquisitetact, Sunshine of such abounding and at the same time delicateaffections, and Dora of such a noble and generous temper, that theycould not but harmonize: and while 'Toinette bloomed, flower-like, into new and wonderful beauty bathed in the sunlight of a doublelove, Mrs. Legrange never forgot to associate Dora with herself asits source. And Dora joyed in her darling's joy; and, if her heartached at thought of the coming loneliness, the pain expressed itselfno otherwise than in an added tenderness. 

"That is a noble girl, Fanny, " said Mr. Burroughs one day. "Howdifferent from our dear five hundred friends at home! Put MaryElmsly, or Lizzy Patterson, or Miss Bloomsleigh, or Marion Lee, inher place, and how would they fill it?"

"She is, indeed, a noble girl, " replied his cousin warmly. "I nevershall forget the tender and wise care she has taken of Sunshine inthis last year. She has strengthened heart and principle as I amafraid I could never have done. "

"Paul is coming out for you, isn't he?" pursued Mr. Burroughs aftera pause. 

"Yes: he will be here by the 20th. Why did you ask?"

"Because Dora cannot travel home alone, and I think of accompanyingher. I may stay a while, and study prairie life. "

Mrs. Legrange looked at him in surprise a moment; and then a merrysmile broke over her face, for such a smile was possible now to her. 

"Capital!" exclaimed she. "I never thought of it. But why not?"

"Why not spend a few weeks in Iowa? Well, of course, why not?" askedMr. Burroughs a little grimly, and presently added, --

"That is a pernicious custom of yours Fanny, --that rushing atconclusions. "

"Men never rush at conclusions, do they?"

"No: of course not. "

"Very well, then: arrive at your conclusion as leisurely as youlike. It is none the less certain. "

"Pshaw!" remarked Mr. Burroughs; and as his cousin laughingly turnedto bend over Sunshine, and help her read her story-book, he took hishat and went out, turning his steps toward the glen. 

Not till he reached its deepest recesses, however, did he find Dora;and then he stood still to look at her, himself unseen. But what awhite, dumb look of anguish upon the sweet face! what clouds, heavywith coming showers, upon the brow! what rainy lights in theupturned eyes! what a resistless sorrow in the downward curve of thelips, ordinarily so firm and cheerful! Even the shapely hands, tightly folded, and firmly set upon the knee, told their story, --eventhe rigid lines and constrained attitude of the figure. Mr. Burroughs's first impulse was artistic; and he longed to be asculptor, that he might model an immortal statue of Silent Grief. The second was human; and he longed to comfort a sorrow at whosecause he already guessed, and yet guessed but half. The third wasless creditable, but perhaps as probable, in a man of Mr. Burroughs's temperament and education; for it was to study anddissect this new phase of the young girl's character. He quietlyapproached, and seated himself beside her with a commonplaceremark, --

"A very pretty bit of scenery, Dora. "

"Yes, " replied she, struggling to resume her usual demeanor. 

"I am afraid, however, it does not satisfy your eye, accustomed tothe breadth of prairie views. Confess that you are a little weary ofit and us, and longing for home. "

"I shall probably set out for home to-morrow, " said Dora, turningaway her head, and playing idly with the grass beside her. 

"I thought you were homesick. I am sorry we have so ill succeeded incontenting you. "

"Oh, don't think that! I have been so happy here these two weeks!That is the very reason I ought to go. "

"How is that? I don't see the argument. "

"Because this is not my home, or the way I am to live, or these thepeople I am to live with; and the sooner I am away, the better. "

She did not see all the meaning of her words, poor child! but hercompanion did, and smiled merrily to himself as he said, --

"You mean, we do not come up to your standard, and you cannot wastemore time upon us; don't you?"

Dora turned and looked at him, her suspicions roused by a mockingring beneath the affected humility of his tone; and, looking, shecaught the covert smile not yet faded from his eyes. 

"It is not kind, Mr. Burroughs, to laugh at me, or to try to confuseme in this way, " said she steadily. "No doubt, you know what I mean;and why do you wish to force me into saying, that the more I see ofthe life and thoughts and manners of such people as Mrs. Legrangeand you, and even my own little Sunshine, now so far away from me, the less fit I feel to associate with them? And, just because it isso pleasant to me, I feel that I ought to go back at once to thehome and the duties and the people where I belong. I am but a poorcountry-girl, sir, hardly taught in any thing except the love ofGod, and the wish to do something before I die to make myfellow-creatures a little happier or more comfortable than I findthem. Let me go to my work, and out of it I will make my life. "

Perhaps never had the self-contained heart of the young girl soframed itself in words; certainly never had Mr. Burroughs so fullyread it: and when she finished, and, neither turning from him nortoward him, steadfastly set her eyes forward, as one who sees mappedout before him the path he is to tread through all the coming years, he took her hand in his with a sudden impulse of tenderness, --

"Dora, you will love some one yet; and love will make you happy. "

"I have loved two people, and lost them both. I do not mean to loveany one else, " said Dora, quietly withdrawing her hand. 

Mr. Burroughs stared at her in astonishment; and, with a directnessmore natural than conventional, exclaimed, --

"You have loved twice already!"

"Yes. Three times, indeed. I loved my mother and Picter, and theyare both dead. I loved Sunshine and she is lost to me. O my littleSunshine! who was all to me, and who, I thought"--

And then-oh rare result of all these days of suffering, and hiddenbitterness, and a lingering relinquishment of the sweet and tenderhope of her future life!-Dora gave way all at once, and, coveringher face with her hands, burst into a passion of tears; such tearsas women seldom weep; such tears as Dora herself had shed but two orthree times in her short life. 

Mr. Burroughs sat for a moment, looking at her with a yearningtenderness in his eyes, and then folded her suddenly in his arms, whispering, --

"Dora, Dora Darling! I love you, and I will be to you more than allthese; and no time nor chance shall rob you of my love, if only youwill give me yours instead. "

But Dora repulsed him vehemently, sobbing, "No, no, no! you shallnot say it! I will not hear it!"

"Not say it? Why not? It is God's truth; and you must have known itbefore to-day. "

"No: it is only pity, because you think I want to stay, and because--No, I will not have it! I will not hear it! You are quite wrong, Mr. Burroughs: you do not know"--

She stopped in confusion. She had done sobbing now; but she did notuncover her face, or look up. Mr. Burroughs regarded her with astrange expression, and then, taking her hand, said softly, --

"Dora, I have not dared, as you fear that I have, to fancy that youcared for me. A moment ago, I should not have dared to ask you as Inow do; and remember, Dora, that I ask for the solemn truth, --do youlove me?"

Dora tore away her hand indignantly, and attempted to rise. She hadnot spoken, or looked at him. Over the pale face of the lover shot agleam of triumph. But he only said, --

"Dora, it will not be like you to leave me in this way. It is unjustand untrue. "

"It is you who are unkind and ungenerous, " said the girlpassionately. 

"Why, Dora? Why is it ungenerous to ask for a confession of yourlove, when I have already told you that all my heart is in yourhands?"

"You fancied that I-that I-liked you; and you knew I did not want togo home, and you pitied me: and I won't have it, sir. I do not needpity, and I do not"--

Her voice died away, killed by the falsehood she could not speak. Mr. Burroughs no longer pressed for an answer to the question he hadasked, but grasped at a new argument. 

"Pity and kindness!" sadly repeated he. "Dora, if you only knew howmuch more I stand in need of your pity than you of mine, if you onlyknew what kindness your life has already done mine, you would nottreat me in this manner. "

"You need my pity!" exclaimed Dora, forgetting herself, and turningto look at him in na‹ve astonishment; "and for what?"

"For a purposeless and weary life; for an empty heart and a corrodedfaith, " said her lover bitterly; "for an indifference to men, amounting almost to aversion; for a trifling estimate of women, amounting almost to contempt; for wasted abilities and neglectedopportunities, --for all these, Dora, I need your pity, and have aright to claim it: for it is only since I loved you that I haverecognized my own great needs and deficiencies. Complete the workyou have unconsciously begun, dearest. Reverse the fairy fable, andlet the beautiful princess come to waken with her kiss the slothfulprince, who else might sleep forever. "

"How can you know so soon that I am the princess?" asked Dora shyly. 

"So soon! I felt the truth stirring blindly in my heart that firstnight, now a year ago, when I saw you in the old home, and read yourcandid eyes, and heard your clear voice, and marked your steady andserene influence upon all about you. I hardly knew it then; but, when I was away from you, I was myself surprised to find how vividyour impression upon my mind remained. When my cousin asked me toaccompany her here, I silently resolved, that, before I returnedhome, I would see you again; would study as deeply as I might thecharacter I already guessed. Then, Dora, when I saw you, as I haveseen you in these last weeks, struggling so nobly to render completethe sacrifice you came hither to make; when I saw the sweetness, thepower, the loftiness, and the divine truth, of your nature, shiningmore clearly day by day, and yourself the only one unconscious ofthe priceless value of such a nature, --then, Dora, I came to know fortruth what I tell you now, God hearing me, that you are the woman ofall the world whom I love, honor, and undeservingly long to make myown. Once more, Dora, --and you cannot now refuse to answer me atleast, --once more I ask, do you or can you love me?"

He grasped her hands in both his own, and his keen eyes read hervery soul. She raised hers as steadily to meet them; and, though thehot blush seemed to scorch her very brow, she answered, --

"I did not know it, quite, until to-day; but I believe-I think-Ihave cared about you ever since a year ago. That is, not love; butevery one else seemed less than they had been: and since I knew youhere, and since I thought I must go home, and never see you anymore, it was"--

She faltered and stopped, drooping her head before the tendertriumph of his glance. Truth had asserted herself, as with Dora shemust have done in any stress, but now of a sudden found herselfsilenced by a timidity as charming as it was new in the strong andwell poised temperament of the girl who, a moment before so brave, now stood trembling and blushing beneath her lover's gaze. 

He drew her to his breast, and pressed his lips to hers. 

"Dora, my own wife!" whispered he. "God so deal with me here andhereafter as I with you, the best gift in his mighty hand!"

And Dora, hiding her face upon his breast, whispered again, --

"I was so unhappy an hour ago! and now, as Sunshine, says, I havecome to heaven all at once!"

Her lover answered by a mute caress; for there are moments whenwords are all too weak for speech. And so he only clasped her closerin his arms, and bent his head upon her own; while all about themthe hundred voices of the summer noon whispered benediction on theirjoy; the eddying stream paused in its whirl to dimple into laughterat their feet; the sunlight, broken and flecked by the wavingbranches, fell in a shifting golden shower upon their heads; andNature, the great mother, through her myriad eyes and tongues, blessed the betrothal of her dearest child. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A SURPRISE FOR MRS. GINNISS. 

"SURE an' it's time they was a-coomin', " said Mrs. Ginniss going outupon the door-stone, and shading her eyes from the level rays of thesunset as she looked steadfastly down the road. 

"An' who'll they all be, I'm woondherin'? The missus says fove bidswas wanted; an' faith it's well she said no more, for sorra a place'ud there be to stand anudder in. An' tay ready for eight folks, atsax o'clock. That's it, I belave; though all thim figgers is enoughto craze me poor head. "

She took a little note from her pocket as she spoke, and, unfoldingit, looked anxiously at the delicate letters. 

"Sure an' it's all there if on'y I had the sinse to rade it. An'feth, it's the tail uv it I'm howldin' to the top, as I'm a sinner!No' thin: it looks as crabbed this way as that. I'd niver be afthermakin' it out if it towld of a fortin coomin' to me for the axin'. Shusin, Shusin, I say!"

"What is it, Mrs. Ginniss?" asked a pleasant voice from within; andSusan, looking a little thinner and paler than when we first mether, came out of the parlor, where she had been picking a fewscattered petals from beneath the vases of flowers upon themantle-shelf. 

"An' would ye be plazed to read the missus's note to me wonst more?Me owld eyes are that dim, I can't make it out in the gloamin'. "

Susan, with unshaken gravity, took the note, turned it right sideup, and read aloud, while her companion craftily glanced over hershoulder to note the position of the words as they were spoken:--"DEAR MRS. GINNISS, --

"We shall be at home on Wednesday evening, at six o'clock, and shallbring some guests. You will please prepare tea for eight persons;and make up five beds, three of them single ones. Tell Susan to makethe house look as pretty as she can; and send for any thing she oryou need in the way of preparation. "F. LEGRANGE"

"An' faith it's this minute they're coomin!' Look at thejaantin'-cars fur down the road!"

"One's a carryall, and the other's a rockaway, " said Susansententiously. 

"Musha, an' what's the odds if they're one thing or the other, sothey bring the purty misthress back halesomer than she wint? That'sher in the first car: I know her white bonnet with the blue ribbon. "

"Yes, there's Mr. And Mrs. Legrange, and a strange lady andgentleman; and the other carriage are all strangers, except Mr. Burroughs. Those young ladies are pretty; ain't they?"

But Mrs. Ginniss was already at the gate, courtesying and beaming:--

"Ye're wilcoom home, missus and masther; an' it's in health an' paceI hope yees coom. "

"Thank you, Mrs. Ginniss. We are very well indeed, I believe, " saidMr. Legrange, rather nervously, as he jumped from the carriage andhelped out his wife, and then Kitty and Mr. Brown. From the othercarriage, meantime, had alighted, without the good woman'sobservation, Mr. Burroughs, Dora, Karl, and another, who, the momenther feet touched the ground, ran forward, crying, --

"O mamma! I've been at this home before. "

At the sound, Mrs. Ginniss turned, dropping the shawls, bags, andparasols she held, in one mass at her feet, and then droppingherself upon her knees in their midst; while her fresh face turnedof a ghastly yellow, and her uplifted hands shook visibly, --

"Glory be to God, an' what's that!" exclaimed she in a voice ofterror. 

"Oh, it's mammy, it's mammy! that used to rock me in her lap, andhold my feet, and sing to me! I 'member her now, and Teddy said sotoo. O mammy! I'm so glad you've come again!"

The sobbing woman opened wide her arms; and Sunshine leaped intothem, shouting again and again, --

"It's the good old mammy! and I'm so glad, I'm so glad!"

"O Mrs. Legrange! is it?" exclaimed an agitated voice; and Mrs. Legrange, turning, found Susan standing beside her with pale faceand clasped hands, her eyes fixed upon the child with a sort ofterror. 

"Yes, Susan, it is 'Toinette, her very self. I would not write, because I wanted to see if she would know you both, and you her. "

"Oh, thank God! thank God! I didn't believe I'd ever forgive myselffor not minding her better; but now I may. Miss 'Toinette, dear, won't you speak to Susan?"

"Susan!" exclaimed the child, struggling out of Mrs. Ginniss'sembrace, and leaving that good woman still exploding in afeu-de-joie of thanksgiving, emotion, and astonishment. "Are youSusan? Why, that was a doll!"

"A doll?" asked the nurse in bewilderment, and pausing in act ofkissing her recovered charge, not with the rapturous abandonment ofthe Irish woman, but with the respectful tenderness of a trainedEnglish servant. 

"She named a doll after you, Mrs. Ginniss says, although she did notremember who you really were, " explained Mrs. Legrange. "But come, my friends: we will not wait longer out of doors. Dora, you andKitty know the way even better than I; and Mr. Windsor"--

"It isn't Mr. Windsor, it's Karlo, mamma, " persisted Sunshine, dancing up the narrow path in advance of the party. 

"Yes, Karl, if you will be so kind, " said Dr. Windsor, offering Mrs. Legrange his arm. 

"Then Karl will feel himself as much at home here as he ever did, Itrust, " said the lady cordially. 

"It was peeping out at that window I saw you first, Dora; and Ithought it must be the sunrise, " whispered Tom Burroughs to the ladyhe escorted. 

"I am sorry I should have so put you out of countenance. Perhapsthat is the reason you never have seen straight since, --so far as Iam concerned at least, " replied she. 

"One does not care to look straight at the sun: it is sufficient tobask in its light, " whispered the lover. 

"Oh! very well, if that is what you want--Here, Sunshine! Cousin Tomwants you. "

The little girl came bounding toward them; and Dora, with a wickedlittle laugh, slipped away, and up the stairs, to the room that hadbeen Kitty's, now appropriated to the use of the two young girls. 

Soon the happy party assembled again in the kitchen, where stood atea-table judiciously combining the generous breadth of Mrs. Ginniss's ideas with the more elegant and subdued tastes inculcatedupon Susan by a long period of service with her present mistress. 

"Mind you tell 'em there's more beyant, on'y you wouldn't set it onall to wonst, " whispered the Irish woman hoarsely, as she rushedinto the scullery, leaving Susan to receive the guests just enteringthe kitchen. 

"Mrs. Ginniss thought we should arrive with appetites, I suspect, "said the hostess, laughing a little apologetically as they seatedthemselves; and Susan did not think it best to deliver her message. 

"And so we have, some of us at least; and I do not believe even theladies will refuse a bit of this nice tongue, or some cold chicken. What do you say, Dora?" asked Mr. Legrange gayly. 

"No tongue for her, please; she is supplied, " remarked Mr. Burroughssotto voce; and Dora, with a little mutinous glance, passed herplate with, --

"A slice of tongue, if you please, Mr. Legrange. "

"Never mind: wait a few days, and we will see, " murmured Burroughsthreateningly; and Dora did not care to retort, but, blushingbrightly, began an eager conversation with Sunshine, who had nestleda chair in between those of her mother and Dora, and made livelyclaims upon the attention of both. 

An hour or two later, Mrs. Legrange went to seek her housekeeper, and found her seated upon the step of the back door, her handsclasped around her knees, and softly crooning a wild Irish melody toherself as she rocked slowly backward and forward, her eyes fixedupon the little crescent moon, swimming like a silver boat in thegolden sea of sunset. 

"An' isn't it a purty sight, you?" asked she, rising as Mrs. Legrange spoke to her. "Sure an' its the hooney-moon for MistherBooros an' the swate young lady that's to marry him. "

"Yes, it's their honey-moon; and I believe it will be as bright andas long a one as ever shone, " said Mrs. Legrange, smiling tenderly, as happy wives will do in speaking of the future of a bride. 

"I came to ask you to go up stairs with me, Mrs. Ginniss, " continuedshe with a little agitation in her sweet voice. "There is somethingfor you to see. "

"Sure an' I will, ma'am. Is it the chambers isn't settled to shuteyees?"

"Oh, no! every thing is admirable, except that we must contrive alittle bed for 'Toinette upon the couch in my room. "

"An' faith, that's asy done, ma'am. There's lashin's o' blankets an'sheets an' pillers not in use at all, at all. We've plenty uv iverythin' in this house, glory be to God!"

Mrs. Legrange smiled a little at the satisfaction with which theIrish woman contemplated a superfluity, even when not belonging toherself; and led the way to her own chamber, where sat Dora, as shehad sat many a time within those four walls, holding Sunshine uponher lap, and, while loosening her clothes for the night, telling herone of the stories of which the child was never weary. 

"See here, Mrs. Ginniss!" said the mother hastily, as she strippedthe frock from the child's white shoulders, and showed a littlelinen bag hung about her neck by a silken cord. "Did you ever seethat before?"

"Sure an' what would ail me owld eyes not to seen it, whin me ownfingers sewed it, an' me own han's hoong it aboot the littlecrather's nick?"

"You are quite sure it is the very same?"

"Quite an' intirely; for more by token the clot' is a bit uv thelinen gownd that my mother give me whin I wor married to Michael, an' the sthring wor to a locket that my b'y give me one ChristmasDay. "

"And what is in it?" asked Mrs. Legrange eagerly. 

"The bracelet, uv coorse. Whin Teddy brought her to me the blacknight he foun' her sinseless in the strate, she had it clinched inthe little hand uv her; an', whin she got betther, there wor noughtshe loved so well to have by her, an' tooch, an' look at. So whenshe roomed about, an' I wor thinkin' it might be laid asthray, orshe might lave it out the windy, or some place, an' not find it, Isewed it in the bit bag, an' placed it round her nick, and bid herniver, niver, niver let it be took off till she coom to her ownagin. 

"'That manes hivin, mammy, don't it?' axed the darlint in her ownpurty way; an' so I says, 'Yis, that manes hivin; an' don't ye niverbe lettin' man, woman, nor child, be knowin' to it, till ye git tohivin'. ' For sure I knowed she must be some person's child that 'udone day give their hearts out uv their buzzums to know for sure thatshe wor their own. "

"And that is the reason she never would let me look at it, or openit, " said Dora. "She always said, when I asked about it, that it wasto go to heaven with her; and, when she got there, she'd open it. SoI supposed it was a charm or relic, such as some of our soldiersused to carry about their necks; and I never meddled with it. "

"And I, although I knew what it must be, wanted to hear Mrs. Ginnisssay that it was the very same bag and all, that she put about thedarling's neck soon after she went to her. But now"--

The quick snip of the scissors finished the sentence, and the baglay in Mrs. Legrange's palm. Sunshine's little hand went up ratherforlornly to her bosom, robbed of what it so long had cherished; andDora clasped her tighter, and kissed her tenderly: but neitherspoke, until Mrs. Legrange drew from the bag, and held before them, the coral bracelet, with its linked cameos, broken at one point bythe force with which Mother Winch had torn it from the child'sshoulder, and with the clasp still closed. 

Mrs. Legrange opened it, touched the spring, causing the upper plateto fly up, and silently showed to Dora the name "AntoinetteLegrange" engraved within. 

"Not quite two years since it was engraved, and what a life ofsorrow!" said she softly. 

Then, going to her jewel-case, she took out the mate, saved as asacred relic since the day it had been found upon the floor in thedrawing-room after 'Toinette's flight, and handed it to the child, saying, --

"Here is the other one, darling; and you may, if you like, give itto Dora for your wedding-present. This one, that has showed thewanderings of my poor little lost lamb so long, I shall keep formyself. "

"Will you take it, Dora, and some love, ever so much love, alongwith it?" said Sunshine, trying to make her little offering insomewhat the form she had heard from older people, but finishingwith a sudden clasp of her arms about Dora's neck, and a shower ofkisses, among which came the whispered words, --

"I love you ever and ever so much better than Cousin Tom does, Dora. Be my little wife, and never mind him; won't you?"

CHAPTER XL. 

THE WEDDING-DAY. 

"MAKE haste, Mr. Sun, and get up! Don't you know it is my birthday, and, what is better, it is Dora's wedding-day? So jump up, prettySunny, and be just as bright as glory all day long!"

And the sun, hearing the appeal, stood suddenly upon the summit ofthe distant hills, shooting playful golden arrows into the child'smerry eyes, and among her floating hair, where they clung glitteringand glancing; while to her mind he seemed to say, --

"Oh, yes, little namesake! I know all about it; and I promise yousha'n't find me backward in doing my share towards theentertainment. As for a glare of light, though, I know a trick worthtwo of that, as you shall see. But, first, here is my birthday-kiss. Don't you feel it warm upon your lips?"

"O papa!" shouted Sunshine, as the fancy whirled through her busylittle brain, "it seems just as if the sun were kissing me for mybirthday. "

"If the sun does, the father must; and it ought to be twice over, because last year he lost the chance. Eight! Bless me! where shall Iput them all? One on the forehead, two on the eyes, one on the tipof that ridiculous little nose, two on the rose-red cheeks, one inthat little hollow under the chin, and the last and best square onthe lips. Now, then, my Sunshine, run to mamma, who is waiting foryou. "

The sun meantime, after a brief period of meditation, took hisresolve; and, sending back the brisk October day that had preparedto descend upon earth, he summoned, instead, the first day of theIndian Summer, and bade her go and help to celebrate the bridal ofone of his favorite daughters, as she knew so well how to do. 

So, summoning a south-west wind, still bearing in his garments theodors of the tropic bowers where he had slept, the fair daydescended softly in his arms to earth, and, seating herself upon thehills, wove a drapery of golden mist, bright as love, and tender asmaidenhood. Then, wrapped in this bridal veil, she floated, still inthe arms of the gentle wind, through the forests, touching theirleaves with purer gold and richer crimson; over the harvest-fields, whose shocks of lingering corn rustled responsive as her trailinggarments swept past; over wide, brown pastures, where the cattlenibbled luxuriously at the sweet after-math; over lakes and rivers, where the waters slept content, forgetting, for the moment, theirrestless seaward march; over sheltered gardens, where hollyhock andsunflower, petunia and pansy, dahlia and phlox, whispering togetherof the summer vanished and the frosty nights at hand, gave out themysterious, melancholy perfume of an autumn day. 

And from forest and field, and pasture and garden, and from thesleeping waters, the dreamy day culled the beauty and the grace, theperfume and the sweet content, and, floating on to where the brideawaited her coming, dropped them all, a heavenly dower, upon herhead; wrapped the bright veil caressingly about her; and so passedon, to lie reclined upon the hills, dreaming in luxurious beauty, until the night should come, and she should float once moreheavenward. 

But the south-west wind lingered a while, kissing the trembling lipsof the bride, fanning her burning cheek, and dallying with thefloating tresses of her hair; then, whispering farewell, he creptaway to hide in the recesses of the wood, and sigh himself to sleep. 

"Dora, where are you, love? Do you hide from me today?" called avoice; and Dora, peeping round the stem of the old oak at whose footshe sat, said shyly, --

"Do you want me, Tom?"

"Want you, my darling? What else on earth do I want but you? And howlovely you are to-day, Dora! You never looked like this before. "

"It never was my wedding-day before, " whispered Dora; and, like thesummer day and the west wind, we will pass on, leaving these ourlovers to their own fond folly, which yet is such wisdom as thephilosophers and the savans can never give us by theory or diagram. 

As the fair day waned to sunset, they were married; Mr. Brown sayingthe solemn words that barred from his own heart even the unrequitedlove that had been a dreary solace to it. But Mr. Brown was not onlya good man, but a strong man, and one of an iron determination; andso it was possible to him to say those words unfalteringly, and tolook upon the bride-lovelier in her misty robes of white, andfloating veil, than he had ever seen her before-with unfalteringeyes and unchanging color. No great effort stops short at the endfor which it was exerted; and the chaplain himself was surprised tofind how calm his heart could be, and how little of pain or regretmingled with his honest admiration and affection for ThomasBurroughs's wife. 

The carriage stood ready in the lane, and in another hour they weregone; and let us say with Mrs. Ginniss, --radiant in her new cap andgown, --

"The blissing of God go with 'em! fur it's thimsilves as desarvesit. "

To those who remain behind when an absorbing interest is suddenlywithdrawn, all ordinary events seem to have lost their connectionwith themselves, and to be dull, disjointed, and fatiguing. 

Perhaps that was the reason why Kitty, as soon as the bridal partywas out of sight, crept away to her own chamber, and cried as if herheart would break; but nothing except the natural love of mischief, inherent in even the sweetest of children, could have tempted'Toinette, after visiting her, to go straight to Mr. Brown, --strolling in the rambling old garden, --and say, --

"Now, Mr. Brown! did you say that you despised Kitty?"

"Despise Kitty! Certainly not, my dear. What made you think of sucha thing?"

"Why, she said so. She's up in our room, crying just as hard! And, when I asked her what was the matter, she hugged me up tight, andsaid nobody cared for her, and nobody would ever love her same asCousin Tom does Dora. And I told her, yes, they would, and maybe youwould; and then she said, 'Oh, no, no, no! he despises me!' and thenshe cried harder than ever. Tell her you don't; won't you, Mr. Brown?"

The chaplain looked much disturbed, and then very thoughtful; but, as the child still urged him with her entreaties, he said, --

"Yes, I will tell her so, Sunshine, but not just now. And mind youthis, little girl, --you must never, never let Kitty know that youtold me what she said. Will you promise?"

"Yes, I'll promise. I guess you're afraid, if she knows, she'llthink you just say so to make her feel happy. Isn't that it?"

"Yes: that is just it. So remember!"

"I'll 'memberer. Oh, there's Karlo! I'm going to look for chestnutswith him to-morrow. Good-by, Mr. Brown!"

"Good-by, little Sunshine!"

And, for a good hour, Mr. Brown, pacing up and down the garden-walk, took counsel with his own heart, and, we may hope, found it docile. 

The next day, he said to Kitty, --

"I have been telling your brother that he had better let you boardat Yellow Springs this winter, and attend the lectures at thecollege. Should you like it?"

"Oh, ever so much!" exclaimed Kitty eagerly. "But we were to keephouse together at Outpost. "

"Karl thinks it will be as well to shut up the house and leavefarm-matters to Seth and Mehitable, until spring, when Mr. And Mrs. Burroughs return. He will prefer for himself to spend the winter inGreenfield, perhaps in Dr. Gershom's family. If you are at AntiochCollege, I can perhaps help you with your studies. I take someprivate pupils. "

Mr. Brown did not make this proposition with his usual fluency. Indeed, he was embarrassed to a considerable extent; and so, nodoubt, was Kitty, who answered confusedly, --

"I could try; but I never shall be fit for any thing. I never-Inever shall know much; though, if you will try to teach me"--

"I will try, Kitty, with all my heart. You have excellent abilities, and it is foolish to say you 'never can be fit' for almost anyposition. "

"O Mr. Brown! it seems to me as if I was such a poor sort ofcreature, compared with almost any one!"

"Dora, for instance?"

"Yes. I never can be Dora: now, could I?"

"No, any more than I could be Mr. Burroughs. But perhaps KittyWindsor and Frank Brown may fill their places in this world, and thenext too, as well as these friends of theirs whom they both admire. "

"O Mr. Brown! will you help me?" asked Kitty, turning involuntarilytoward him, and raising her handsome dark eyes and glowing face tohis. He took her hands, looked kindly into her eyes, and said bothtenderly and solemnly, --

"Yes, Kitty, God helping me, I will be to you all that a thoughtfulbrother could be to his only sister; and, what you may be to me inthe dim future, that future only knows. "

And Kitty's eyes drooped happily beneath that earnest gaze, and uponher cheeks glowed the dawn of a hope as vague as it was sweet. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

KARL TO DORA. GREENFIELD, IOWA, march 15. MY DEAR COUSIN, --

YOURS of the 10th duly received, and as welcome as your lettersalways are. So you have seen the kingdoms of the world and the glorythereof, and find that all is vanity, as saith the Preacher. Do notimagine that I am studying divinity instead of medicine; but to-dayis Sunday, and I have been twice to meeting, and taken tea with theminister besides. 

But to return to our mutton. Nothing could be more delightful, or, on the whole, more probable to me, than your decision to return toOutpost, instead of settling in Boston or New York. I can hardlyfancy my cousin Dora changed into a fine lady, and fretting herselfthin over the color of ribbon, or the trail of a skirt; and I am notsurprised that she finds what is called "society" puzzling andwearisome. Your life, Dora, began upon too wide a plan to bearnarrowing down into conventional limits now; and I feel through myown heart the thrill with which you wrote the words, --

"I long for the opportunity of action and usefulness; I long for thefreedom of the prairie, and the dignity of labor; I long to resumemy old life, and to see my husband begin his new one. "

But, to be quite frank, I was a little surprised that Mr. Burroughsshould enter so heartily into your plan of resuming the farm. To besure, I suppose the land-agency, and the practice of his profession, will occupy most of his time; and his principal concern with theestate will be to admire your able management of it. You and he, mydear Dora, seem to form not only a mutual-admiration, but amutual-encouragement and mutual-assistance society; and I wish mypartnership with Dr. Gershom was half as satisfactory anarrangement. 

Yesterday, after receiving your letter, I rode directly to Outpost, and communicated your wishes to Seth and Mehitable. The former threwthe chip he was whittling into the fire, and said, --

"Miss Burroughs coming back? Waal, then, I'll stop; but I own, doctor, I wouldn't ha' done it ef she hadn't. It's took all theheart out o' the place, her bein' gone so. "

And Mehitable and he joined in a chorus of praises andreminiscences, which, pleasant though I found it, I will not put youto the blush by repeating. Both, however, promised faithfully thatthe house and farm should be ready for you by the middle of April;and Seth says he can take hold "right smart" at helping put up thenew house, as he was "raised a carpenter, " in part at least. 

You ask about me, my dear cousin; but what have I to tell? I workhard at my profession, and take nearly all the night-practice offDr. Gershom's hands; so I have very little leisure for any thingbesides: and you say to be useful is to be happy; so I suppose I amhappy; but, if I may be allowed the suggestion, it is rather anegative kind of bliss, and will be decidedly augmented when Outpostis once again open to me as a second home (I assure you I shall be afrequent visitor), and when Burroughs comes to occupy an officebeside my own. 

As for the rumor of my engagement to Sarah Gershom, it is quiteunfounded. I am not thinking of marrying at present. 

A letter from Kitty, received a few days since, brings verysatisfactory accounts of her progress in learning and in life. Sheis as happy as possible in her engagement to Frank Brown, andimproves, under his tuition, beyond my wildest hopes. She has astrong nature and a deep heart, has Kitty; and I believe Brownunderstands and can guide them both. Kitty tells me, also, thatTheodore Ginniss is taking high honors in his class, and is one ofthe most promising fellows at Antioch College. He will yet becomeman of mark, and Mrs. Legrange may well be proud of her prot‚g‚. Give her my regards, please; and a thousand kisses to Dolce, whom Ithank most humbly for her kind message to her poor old Karlo. I hopeto see her again in my little vacation next summer. Remember me, too, most kindly to your husband, upon whose coming to Greenfield Iam depending a good deal, as I do not suffer, like you, from toomuch society; and I shall be glad to associate with one man who doesnot chew tobacco, or sit in the house with his hat on. 

And now, dear Dora, good-night, and good-by for a little while. 

Always your affectionate cousin, KARL. 

THE END.