THE ENGLISH ORPHANS

Or, A Home in the New World

by

MRS. MARY J. HOLMES

Author of _Darkness and Daylight_, _Marian Grey_, _Meadow Brook_, _Homestead_, _Dora Deane_, _Cousin Maude_, _Tempest and Sunshine_, _Lena Rivers_, etc. 

1877

CONTENTS

 I. The Emigrants

 II. Chicopee

 III. Billy Bender

 IV. Ella Campbell

 V. The Poor-House

 VI. Sal Furbush

 VII. The Lincolns

 VIII. At Church

 IX. The New Bonnet

 X. Winter at the Poor-House

 XI. Alice

 XII. A New Friend

 XIII. A New Home in Rice Corner

 XIV. Visitors

 XV. The Three Young Men

 XVI. The Schoolmistress

 XVII. Jealousy

 XVIII. A New Plan

 XIX. Mount Holyoke

 XX. The closing of the year

 XXI. Vacation

 XXII. Education Finished

 XXIII. Life in Boston

 XXIV. A Change of Opinion

 XXV. The Party

 XXVI. Making up his Mind

 XXVII. The Shadows Deepen

 XXVIII. Glenwood

 XXIX. A New Discovery

 XXX. The Crisis

 XXXI. A Question

 XXXII. Going Home

 XXXIII. Conclusion

CHAPTER I. 

THE EMIGRANTS. 

"What makes you keep that big blue sun-bonnet drawn so closely overyour face? are you afraid of having it seen?"

The person addressed was a pale, sickly-looking child about nine yearsof age, who, on the deck of the vessel Windermere, was gazing intentlytowards the distant shores of old England, which were fast recedingfrom view. Near her a fine-looking boy of fourteen was standing, andtrying in vain to gain a look at the features so securely shaded fromview by the gingham bonnet. 

At the sound of his voice the little girl started, and without turningher head, replied, "Nobody wants to see me, I am so ugly anddisagreeable. "

"Ugly are you?" repeated the boy, and at the same time lifting her upand forcibly holding her hands, he succeeded in looking her fully inthe face, "Well, you are not very handsome, that's a fact, " said he, after satisfying his curiosity, "but I wouldn't be sullen about it. Ugly people are always smart, and perhaps you are. Any way, I likelittle girls, so just let me sit here and get acquainted. "

Mary Howard, the child thus introduced to our readers, was certainlynot very handsome. Her features, though tolerably regular, were smalland thin, her complexion sallow, and her eyes, though bright andexpressive, seemed too large for her face. She had naturally a fineset of teeth, but their beauty was impaired by two larger ones, which, on each side of her mouth, grew directly over the others, giving tothe lower portion of her face a peculiar and rather disagreeableexpression. She had frequently been told that she was homely, andoften when alone had wept, and wondered why she, too, was not handsomelike her sister Ella, on whose cheek the softest rose was blooming, while her rich brown hair fell in wavy masses about her white neck andshoulders. But if Ella was more beautiful than Mary, there was farless in her character to admire. She knew that she was pretty, andthis made her proud and selfish, expecting attention from all, andgrowing sullen and angry if it was withheld. 

Mrs. Howard, the mother of these children, had incurred thedispleasure of her father, a wealthy Englishman, by marrying her musicteacher, whose dark eyes had played the _mischief_ with her heart, while his fingers played its accompaniment on the guitar. Humbly ather father's feet she had knelt and sued for pardon, but the old manwas inexorable, and turned her from his house, cursing the fate whichhad now deprived him, as it were, of his only remaining daughter. Latein life he had married a youthful widow who after the lapse of a fewyears died, leaving three little girls, Sarah, Ella, and Jane, two ofthem his own, and one a step-daughter and a child of his wife's firstmarriage. 

As a last request Mrs. Temple had asked that her baby Jane should begiven to the care of her sister, Mrs. Morris who was on the eve ofembarking for America, and who within four weeks after her sister'sdeath sailed with her; young niece for Boston. Sarah, too, was adoptedby her father's brother; and thus Mr. Temple was left alone with hiseldest daughter, Ella. Occasionally he heard from Jane, but time anddistance gradually weakened the tie of parental affection, which wounditself more closely around Ella; and now, when she, too, left him, andworse than all, married a poor music teacher, the old man's wrath knewno bounds. 

"But, we'll see, " said he, as with his hands behind him, and his headbent forward, he strode up and down the room--"we'll see how they'llget on. I'll use all my influence against the dog, and when MissElla's right cold and hungry, she'll be glad to come back and leavehim. "

But he was mistaken, for though right cold and hungry Ella ofttimeswas, she only clung the closer to her husband, happy to share hisfortune, whatever it might be. Two years after her marriage, hearingthat her father was dangerously ill, she went to him, but theforgiveness she so ardently desired was never gained, for the oldman's reason was gone. Faithfully she watched until the end, and thenwhen she heard read his will (made in a fit of anger), and knew thathis property was all bequeathed to her sister in America, she crushedthe tears from her long eyelashes and went back to her humble homeprepared to meet the worst. 

In course of time three children, Frank, Mary, and Ella were added totheir number, and though their presence brought sunshine and gladness, it brought also an increase of toil and care. Year after year Mr. Howard struggled on, while each day rumors reached him of the plentyto be had in the land beyond the sea; and at last, when hope seemeddying out, and even his brave-hearted Ella smiled less cheerfullythan was her wont to do he resolved to try his fortune in thefar-famed home of the weary emigrant. This resolution he communicatedto his wife, who gladly consented to accompany him, for England nowheld nothing dear to her save the graves of her parents, and in thewestern world she knew she had two sisters, Sarah having some yearsbefore gone with her uncle to New York. 

Accordingly the necessary preparations for their voyage were made assoon as possible, and when the Windermere left the harbor ofLiverpool, they stood upon her deck waving a last adieu to the fewkind friends, who on shore were bidding them "God speed. "

Among the passengers was George Moreland, whose parents had died somemonths before, leaving him and a large fortune to the guardianship ofhis uncle, a wealthy merchant residing in Boston. This uncle, Mr. Selden, had written for his nephew to join him in America, and it wasfor this purpose that George had taken passage in the Windermere. Hewas a frank, generous-hearted boy, and though sometimes a little toomuch inclined to tease, he was usually a favorite with all who knewhim. He was a passionate admirer of beauty, and the moment the Howardscame on board and he caught a sight of Ella, he felt irresistiblyattracted towards her, and ere long had completely won her heart bycoaxing her into his lap and praising her glossy curls. Mary, whosesensitive nature shrank from the observation of strangers, and whofelt that one as handsome as George Moreland must necessarily laugh ather, kept aloof, and successfully eluded all his efforts to look underher bonnet. This aroused his curiosity, and when he saw her move awayto a distant part of the vessel, he followed her, addressing to herthe remark with which we commenced this chapter. As George had said heliked little girls, though he greatly preferred talking to prettyones. On this occasion, however, he resolved to make himselfagreeable, and in ten minutes' time he had so far succeeded in gainingMary's friendship, that she allowed him to untie the blue bonnet, which he carefully removed, and then when she did not know it, hescanned her features attentively as if trying to discover all thebeauty there was in them. 

At last gently smoothing back her hair, which was really bright andglossy, he said, "Who told you that you were so ugly looking?" Thetears started to Mary's eyes, and her chin quivered, as she replied, "Father says so, Ella says so, and every body says so, but mother andFranky. "

"Every body doesn't always tell the truth, " said George, wishing toadminister as much comfort as possible. "You've got pretty blue eyes, nice brown hair, and your forehead, too, is broad and high; now if youhadn't such a muddy complexion, bony cheeks, little nose, big ears andawful teeth, you wouldn't be such a fright!"

George's propensity to tease had come upon him, and in enumerating thedefects in Mary's face, he purposely magnified them; but he regrettedit, when he saw the effect his words produced. Hiding her face in herhands, Mary burst into a passionate fit of weeping, then snatching thebonnet from George's lap, she threw it on her head and was hurryingaway, when George caught her and pulling her back, said, "Forgive me, Mary. I couldn't help plaguing you a little, but I'll try and not doit again. "

For a time George kept this resolution, but he could not conceal thepreference which he felt for Ella, whose doll-like face, and childishways were far more in keeping with his taste, than Mary's old look andstill older manner. Whenever he noticed her at all, he spoke kindly toher; but she knew there was a great difference between his treatmentof her and Ella, and oftentimes, when saying her evening prayer sheprayed that George Moreland might love her a little just a little. 

Two weeks had passed since the last vestige of land had disappearedfrom view, and then George was taken dangerously ill with fever. Mrs. Howard herself visited him frequently, but she commanded her childrento keep away, lest they, too, should take the disease. For a day ortwo Mary obeyed her mother, and then curiosity led her near George'sberth. For several minutes she lingered, and was about turning awaywhen a low moan fell on her ear and arrested her footsteps. Hermother's commands were forgotten, and in a moment she stood byGeorge's bedside. Tenderly she smoothed his tumbled pillow, moistenedhis parched lips, and bathed his feverish brow, and when, an hourafterward, the physician entered, he found his patient calmlysleeping, with one hand clasped in that of Mary, who with the otherfanned the sick boy with the same blue gingham sun-bonnet, of which hehad once made fun, saying it looked like its owner, "ratherskim-milky. "

"Mary! Mary Howard!" said the physician, "this is no place for you, "and he endeavored to lead her away. 

This aroused George, who begged so hard for her to remain, that thephysician went in quest of Mrs. Howard, who rather unwillinglyconsented, and Mary was duly installed as nurse in the sick room. Perfectly delighted with her new vocation, she would sit for hours byher charge, watching each change in his features and anticipating asfar as possible his wants. She possessed a very sweet, clear voice;and frequently, when all other means had failed to quiet him, shewould bend her face near his and taking his hands in hers, would singto him some simple song of home, until lulled by the soft music hewould fall away to sleep. Such unwearied kindness was not without itseffect upon George, and one day when Mary as usual was sitting nearhim, he called her to his side, and taking her face between his hands, kissed her forehead and lips, saying, "What can I ever do to pay mylittle nurse for her kindness?"

Mary hesitated a moment, and then replied, "Love me as well as you doElla!"

"As well as I do Ella!" he repeated, "I love you a great deal better. She has not been to see me once. What is the reason?"

Frank, who a moment before had stolen to Mary's side, answered forher, saying, "some one had told Ella that if she should have thefever, her curls would all drop off; and so, " said he, "she won't comenear you!"

Just then Mrs. Howard appeared, and this time she was accompanied byElla, who clung closely to her mother's skirt, looking cautiously outfrom its thick folds. George did not as usual caress her, but he askedher mockingly, "if her hair had commenced coming out!" while Ella onlyanswered by grasping at her long curls, as if to assure herself oftheir safety. 

In a few days George was able to go on deck, and though he stillpetted and played with Ella, he never again slighted Mary, or forgotthat she was present. More than once, too, a kind word, oraffectionate look from him, sent such a glow to her cheek and sparkleto her eye, that Frank, who always loved her best, declared, "she wasas pretty as Ella any day if she'd break herself of putting her handto her mouth whenever she saw one looking at her, " a habit which shehad acquired from being so frequently told of her uneven teeth. 

At last after many weary days at sea, there came the joyful news thatland was in sight; and next morning, when the children awoke, themotion of the vessel had ceased, and Boston, with its numerous domesand spires, was before them. Towards noon a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man came on board, inquiring for George Moreland, andannouncing himself as Mr. Selden. George immediately stepped forward, and after greeting his uncle, introduced Mr. And Mrs. Howard, speakingat the same time of their kindness to him during his illness. 

All was now confusion, but in the hurry and bustle of going ashore, George did not forget Mary. Taking her aside, he threw round her necka small golden chain, to which was attached a locket containing aminiature likeness of himself painted a year before. 

"Keep it, " said he, "to remember me by, or if you get tired of it, give it to Ella for a plaything. "

"I wish I had one for you, " said Mary; and George replied, "Nevermind, I can remember your looks without a likeness. I've only to shutmy eyes, and a little forlorn, sallow-faced, old-looking girl, withcrooked teeth--"

He was prevented from finishing his speech by a low cry from Mary, who, pressing his hands in hers, looked beseechingly in his face, andsaid, "Oh, don't, George!--don't talk so. "

He had not teased her about her looks for a long time, and now just ashe was leaving her, 'twas more than she could bear. Instantlyregretting his thoughtless words, George took her in his arms, andwiping away her tears, said, "Forgive me, Mary. I don't know what mademe say so, for I do love you dearly, and always will. You have beenkind to me, and I shall remember it, and some time, perhaps, repayit. " Then putting her down, and bidding adieu to Mr. And Mrs. Howard, Frank, and Ella, he sprang into his uncle's carriage, and was rapidlydriven away. 

Mary looked after him as long as the heads of the white horses were insight, and then taking Frank's hand, followed her parents to thehotel, where for a few days they had determined to stop while Mrs. Howard made inquiries for her sister. 

Meantime, from the richly curtained windows of a large handsomebuilding a little girl looked out, impatiently waiting her father'sreturn, wondering why he was gone so long and if she should like hercousin George, or whether he was a bearish looking fellow, with wartyhands, who would tease her pet kitten and ink the faces of her dollbabies. In the centre of the room the dinner table was standing, andIda Selden had twice changed the location of her cousin's plate, onceplacing it at her side, and lastly putting it directly in front, soshe could have a fair view of his face. 

"Why don't they come?" she had said for the twentieth time, when thesound of carriage wheels in the yard below made her start up, andrunning down stairs, she was soon shaking the hands of her cousin, whom she decided to be handsome, though she felt puzzled to knowwhether her kitten and dolls were in any immediate danger or not!

Placing her arm affectionately around him, she led him into theparlor, saying, "I am so glad that you have come to live with me andbe my brother. We'll have real nice times, but perhaps you dislikelittle girls. Did you ever see one that you loved?"

"Yes, two, " was the answer. "My cousin Ida, and one other. "

"Oh, who is she?" asked Ida. "Tell me all about her How does she look?Is she pretty?"

Instantly as George had predicted, there came before his vision theimage of "a forlorn-looking, sallow-faced child, " whom he did not careabout describing to Ida. She, however, insisted upon a description, and that evening when tea was over, the lamps lighted, and Mr. Seldenreading the paper, George told her of Mary, who had watched so kindlyover him during the weary days of his illness. Contrary to hisexpectations, she did not laugh at the picture which he drew of Mary'sface, but simply said, "I know I should like her. " Then after amoment's pause, she continued; "They are poor, you say, and Mr. Howardis a music teacher. Monsieur Duprês has just left me, and who knowsbut papa can get Mr. Howard to fill his place. "

When the subject was referred to her father, he said that he had likedthe appearance of Mr. Howard, and would if possible find him on themorrow and engage his services. The next morning Ida awoke with anuncomfortable impression that something was the matter with theweather. Raising herself on her elbow, and pushing back the heavycurtains, she looked out and saw that the sky was dark with angryclouds, from which the rain was steadily falling, --not in drizzlyshowers, but in large round drops, which beat against the casement andthen bounded off upon the pavement below. 

All thoughts of Mr. Howard were given up for that day and as everymoment of Mr. Selden's time was employed for several successive ones, it was nearly a week after George's arrival before any inquiries weremade for the family. The hotel at which they had stopped was thenfound, but Mr. Selden was told that the persons whom he was seekinghad left the day before for one of the inland towns, though which onehe could not ascertain. 

"I knew 'twould be so, " said Ida rather fretfully, "father might havegone that rainy day as well as not. Now we shall never see nor hearfrom them again, and George will be so disappointed. " But George'sdisappointment was soon forgotten in the pleasures and excitements ofschool, and if occasionally thoughts of Mary Howard came over him, they were generally dispelled by the lively sallies of his sprightlylittle cousin, who often declared that "she should be dreadfullyjealous of George's travelling companion, were it not that he was agreat admirer of beauty and that Mary was terribly ugly. "

CHAPTER II. 

CHICOPEE. 

It was the afternoon for the regular meeting of the Ladies SewingSociety in the little village of Chicopee, and at the usual hourgroups of ladies were seen wending their way towards the statelymansion of Mrs. Campbell, the wealthiest and proudest lady in town. 

Many, who for months had absented themselves from the society, camethis afternoon with the expectation of gaining a look at the costlymarble and rosewood furniture with which Mrs. Campbell's parlors weresaid to be adorned. But they were disappointed, for Mrs. Campbell hadno idea of turning a sewing society into her richly furnisheddrawing-rooms. The spacious sitting-room, the music-room adjoining, and the wide cool hall beyond, were thrown open to all, and by threeo'clock they were nearly filled. 

At first there was almost perfect silence, broken only by a whisper orunder tone, but gradually the restraint wore way, and the woman nearthe door, who had come "because she was a mind to, but didn't expectto be noticed any way, " and who, every time she was addressed, gave anervous hitch backward with her chair, had finally hitched herselfinto the hall, where with unbending back and pursed up lips she sat, highly indignant at the ill-concealed mirth of the young girls, whoon the stairs were watching her retrograde movements. The hum ofvoices increased, until at last there was a great deal more talkingthan working. The Unitarian minister's bride, Lilly Martin'sstepmother, the new clerk at Drury's, Dr. Lay's wife's new hat and itsprobable cost, and the city boarders at the hotel, were all dulydiscussed, and then for a time there was again silence while Mrs. Johnson, president of the society, told of the extreme destitution inwhich she had that morning found a poor English family, who had movedinto the village two or three years before. 

They had managed to earn a comfortable living until the husband andfather suddenly died, since which time the wife's health had been veryrapidly failing, until now she was no longer able to work, but waswholly dependent for subsistence upon the exertions of her oldestchild Frank, and the charity of the villagers, who sometimes suppliedher with far more than was necessary, and again thoughtlesslyneglected her for many days. Her chief dependence, too, had now failedher, for the day before the sewing society, Frank had been takenseriously ill with what threatened to be scarlet fever. 

"Dear me, " said the elegant Mrs. Campbell, smoothing the folds of herrich India muslin--"dear me, I did not know that we had such povertyamong us. What will they do?"

"They'll have to go to the poor-house, won't they?"

"To the poor-house!" repeated Mrs. Lincoln, who spent her winters inBoston, and whose summer residence was in the neighborhood of thepauper's home, "pray don't send any more low, vicious children to thepoor-house. My Jenny has a perfect passion for them, and it is withdifficulty I can keep her away. "

"They are English, I believe, " continued Mrs. Campbell. "I do wonderwhy so many of those horridly miserable creatures will come to thiscountry. "

"Forgets, mebby, that she's English, " muttered the woman at the door;and Mrs. Johnson added, "It would draw tears from your eyes, to seethat little pale-faced Mary trying to wait upon her mother andbrother, and carrying that sickly baby in her arms so that it may notdisturb them. "

"What does Ella do?" asked one, and Mrs. Johnson replied, "She merelyfixes her curls in the broken looking-glass, and cries because she ishungry. "

"She is pretty, I believe?" said Mrs. Campbell, and Rosa Pond, who satby the window, and had not spoken before, immediately answered, "Oh, yes, she is perfectly beautiful; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, thatwhen she is dressed clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactlylike your little Ella!"

A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell's only answer, and Rosa did notventure another remark, although several whispered to her that they, too, had frequently observed the strong resemblance between EllaHoward and Ella Campbell. 

From what has been said, the reader will readily understand that thesick woman in whom Mrs. Johnson was so much interested, was our oldacquaintance Mrs. Howard. 

All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after stoppingfor a time in Worcester, they had removed to Chicopee, where recentlyMr. Howard had died. Their only source of maintenance was thus cutoff, and now they were reduced to the utmost poverty. Since we lastsaw them a sickly baby had been added to their number. With motherlycare little Mary each day washed and dressed it, and then hour afterhour carried it in her arms, trying to still its feeble moans, whichfell so sadly on the ear of her invalid mother. 

It was a small, low building which they inhabited, containing but oneroom and a bedroom, which last they had ceased to occupy, for one byone each article of furniture had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howardlay upon a rude lounge, which Frank had made from some rough boards. Until midnight the little fellow toiled, and then when his work wasdone crept softly to the cupboard, there lay one slice of bread, theonly article of food which the house contained. Long and wistfully helooked at it, thinking how good it would taste; but a glance at thepale faces near decided him. "They need it more than I, " said he, andturning resolutely away, he prayed that he "might sleep pretty soonand forget how hungry he was. "

Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occasionally flushedwith anger when of his ragged clothes and naked feet the village boysmade fun, he never returned them any answer, but sometimes when alonethe memory of their thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to start, and then wiping them away, he would wonder if it was wicked to be poorand ragged. One morning when he attempted to rise, he felt oppressedwith a languor he had never before experienced, and turning on histrundlebed, and adjusting his blue cotton jacket, his only pillow, heagain slept so soundly that Mary was obliged to call him twice ere shearoused him. 

That night he came home wild with delight, --he had earned a wholedollar, and knew how he could earn another half dollar to-morrow. "Oh, I wish it would come quick, " said he, as he related his success to hismother. 

But, alas, the morrow found him burning with fever and when heattempted to stand, he found it impossible to do so. A case of scarletfever had appeared in the village and it soon became evident that thedisease had fastened upon Frank. The morning following the sewingsociety Ella Campbell and several other children showed symptoms ofthe same disease, and in the season of general sickness whichfollowed, few were left to care for the poor widow. Daily little Frankgrew worse. The dollar he had earned was gone, the basket ofprovisions Mrs. Johnson had sent was gone, and when for milk the babyAlice cried, there was none to give her. 

At last Frank, pulling the old blue jacket from under his head, andpassing it to Mary, said, "Take it to Bill Bender, --he offered me ashilling for it, and a shilling will buy milk for Allie and crackersfor mother, --take it. "

"No, Franky, " answered Mary, "you would have no pillow, besides, I'vegot something more valuable, which I can sell. I've kept it long, butit must go to keep us from starving;"--and she held to view the goldenlocket, which George Moreland had thrown around her neck. 

"You shan't sell that, " said Frank. "You must keep it to rememberGeorge, and then, too, you may want it more some other time. "

Mary finally yielded the point, and gathering up the crumpled jacket, started in quest of Billy Bender. He was a kind-hearted boy, two yearsolder than Frank, whom he had often befriended, and shielded from thejeers of their companions. He did not want the jacket, for it was avast deal too small; and it was only in reply to a proposal from Frankthat he should buy it that he had casually offered him a shilling. Butnow, when he saw the garment, and learned why it was sent heimmediately drew from his old leather wallet a quarter, all the moneyhe had in the world and giving it to Mary bade her keep it, as shewould need it all. 

Half an hour after a cooling orange was held to Frank's parched lips, and Mary said, "Drink it, brother, I've got two more, besides somemilk and bread, " but the ear she addressed was deaf and the eye dimwith the fast falling shadow of death. "Mother, mother!" cried thelittle girl, "Franky won't drink and his forehead is all sweat. Can'tI hold you up while you come to him?"

Mrs. Howard had been much worse that day, but she did not need thesupport of those feeble arms. She felt, rather than saw that herdarling boy was dying, and agony made her strong. Springing to hisside she wiped from his brow the cold moisture which had so alarmedher daughter chafed his hands and feet, and bathed his head, until heseemed better and fell asleep. 

"Now, if the doctor would only come, " said Mary; but the doctor washurrying from house to house, for more than one that night lay dyingin Chicopee. But on no hearthstone fell the gloom of death so darklyas upon that low, brown house, where a trembling woman and a frailyoung child watched and wept over the dying Frank. Fast the shades ofnight came on, and when all was dark in the sick room, Mary sobbedout, "We have no candle, mother, and if I go for one, and he shoulddie--"

The sound of her voice aroused Frank, and feeling for his sister'shand, he said, "Don't go, Mary:--don't leave me, --the moon is shiningbright, and I guess I can find my way to God just as well. "

Nine;--ten;--eleven;--and then through the dingy windows the silverymoonlight fell, as if indeed to light the way of the early lost toheaven. Mary had drawn her mother's lounge to the side of thetrundlebed, and in a state of almost perfect exhaustion, Mrs. Howardlay gasping for breath while Mary, as if conscious of the dreadreality about to occur, knelt by her side, occasionally caressing herpale cheek and asking if she were better. Once Mrs. Howard laid herhands on Mary's head, and prayed that she might be preserved and keptfrom harm by the God of the orphan, and that the sin of disobedienceresting upon her own head might not be visited upon her child. 

After a time a troubled sleep came upon her, and she slept, untilroused by a low sob. Raising herself up, she looked anxiously towardsher children. The moonbeams fell full upon the white, placid face ofFrank, who seemed calmly sleeping, while over him Mary bent, pushingback from his forehead the thick, clustering curls, and striving hardto smother her sobs, so they might not disturb her mother. 

"Does he sleep?" asked Mrs. Howard, and Mary, covering with her handsthe face of him who slept, answered, "Turn away, mother;--don't lookat him. Franky is dead. He died with his arms around my neck, and toldme not to wake you. "

Mrs. Howard was in the last stages of consumption, and now afterweeping over her only boy until her tears seemed dried, she lay backhalf fainting upon her pillow. Towards daylight a violent coughing fitensued, during which an ulcer was broken, and she knew that she wasdying. Beckoning Mary to her side, she whispered, "I am leaving youalone, in the wide world. Be kind to Ella, and our dear little Allie, and go with her where she goes. May God keep and bless my preciouschildren, --and reward you as you deserve, my darling--"

The sentence was unfinished, and in unspeakable awe the orphan girlknelt between her mother and brother, shuddering in the presence ofdeath, and then weeping to think she was alone. 

CHAPTER III. 

BILLY BENDER. 

Just on the corner of Chicopee Common, and under the shadow of thecentury-old elms which skirt the borders of the grass plat called bythe villagers the "Mall, " stands the small red cottage of widowBender, who in her way was quite a curiosity. All the "ills whichflesh is heir to, " seemed by some strange fatality to fall upon her, and never did a new disease appear in any quarter of the globe, whichwidow Bender, if by any means she could ascertain the symptoms, wasnot sure to have it in its most aggravated form. 

On the morning following the events narrated in the last chapter, Billy, whose dreams had been disturbed by thoughts of Frank, aroseearly, determined to call at Mrs. Howard's, and see if they were inwant of any thing. But his mother, who had heard rumors of the scarletfever, was up before him, and on descending to the kitchen, which withall her sickness Mrs. Bender kept in perfect order, Billy found hersitting before a blazing fire, --her feet in hot water, and her headthrown back in a manner plainly showing that something new had takenhold of her in good earnest. Billy was accustomed to her freaks, andnot feeling at all frightened, stepped briskly forward, saying, "Well, mother, what's the matter now? Got a cramp in your foot, orwhat?"

"Oh, William, " said she, "I've lived through a sight but my time hascome at last. Such a pain in my head and stomach. I do believe I'vegot the scarlet fever, and you must run for the doctor quick. "

"Scarlet fever!" repeated Billy, "why, you've had it once, and youcan't have it again, can you?"

"Oh, I don't know, --I never was like anybody else, and can have anything a dozen times. Now be spry and fetch the doctor but before yougo, hand me my snuff-box and put the canister top heapin' full of teainto the tea-pot. "

Billy obeyed, and then, knowing that the green tea would remove hismother's ailment quite as soon as the physician, he hurried awaytowards Mrs. Howard's. The sun was just rising, and its red rayslooked in at the window, through which the moonlight had shone thenight before. Beneath the window a single rose-tree was blooming, andon it a robin was pouring out its morning song. Within the cottagethere was no sound or token of life, and thinking its inmates wereasleep, Billy paused several minutes upon the threshold, fearing thathe should disturb their slumbers. At last with a vague presentimentthat all was not right, he raised the latch and entered, but instantlystarted back in astonishment at the scene before him. On the littletrundlebed lay Frank, cold and dead, and near him in the same longdreamless sleep was his mother, while between them, with one armthrown lovingly across her brother's neck, and her cheek pressedagainst his, lay Mary--her eyelids moist with the tears which, thoughsleeping she still shed. On the other side of Frank and nestled soclosely to him that her warm breath lifted the brown curls from hisbrow, was Ella. But there were no tear stains on her face, for shedid not yet know how bereaved she was. 

For a moment Billy stood irresolute, and then as Mary moved uneasilyin her slumbers, he advanced a step or two towards her. The noisearoused her, and instantly remembering and comprehending the whole, she threw herself with a bitter cry into Billy's extended arms, as ifhe alone were all the protector she now had in the wide, wide world. Ere long Ella too awoke, and the noisy outburst which followed theknowledge of her loss, made Mary still the agony of her own heart inorder to soothe the more violent grief of her excitable sister. 

There was a stir in the cradle, and with a faint cry the baby Aliceawoke and stretched her hands towards Mary who, with all a mother'scare took the child upon her lap and fed her from the milk which wasstill standing in the broken pitcher. With a baby's playfulness Alicedipped her small fingers into the milk, and shaking them in hersister's face, laughed aloud as the white drops fell upon her hair. This was too much for poor Mary, and folding the child closer to herbosom she sobbed passionately. 

"Oh, Allie, dear little Allie, what will you do? What shall we all do?Mother's dead, mother's dead!"

Ella was not accustomed to see her sister thus moved, and her tearsnow flowed faster while she entreated Mary to stop. "Don't do so, Mary, " she said. "Don't do so. You make me cry harder. Tell her tostop, Billy. Tell her to stop. "

But Billy's tears were flowing too, and he could only answer thelittle girl by affectionately smoothing her tangled curls, which foronce in her life she had forgotten to arrange At length rising up, hesaid to Mary, "Something must be done. The villagers must know of it, and I shall have to leave you alone while I tell them. "

In half an hour from that time the cottage was nearly filled withpeople, some of whom came out of idle curiosity, and after seeing allthat was to be seen, started for home, telling the first woman who puther head out the chamber window for particulars, that "'twas adreadful thing, and such a pity, too, that Ella should have to go tothe poor-house, with her pretty face and handsome curls. "

But there were others who went there for the sake of comforting theorphans and attending to the dead, and by noon the bodies weredecently arranged for burial. Mrs. Johnson's Irish girl Margaret wascleaning the room, and in the bedroom adjoining, Mrs. Johnson herself, with two or three other ladies, were busily at work upon some plain, neat shrouds, and as they worked they talked of the orphan childrenwho were now left friendless. 

"There will be no trouble, " said one, "in finding a place for Ella, she is so bright and handsome, but as for Mary, I am afraid she'llhave to go to the poor-house. "

"Were I in a condition to take either, " replied Mrs. Johnson, "Ishould prefer Mary to her sister, for in my estimation she is much thebest girl; but there is the baby, who must go wherever Mary does, unless she can be persuaded to leave her. "

Before any one could reply to this remark, Mary, who had overheardevery word, came forward, and laying her face on Mrs. Johnson's lap, sobbed out, "Let me go with Alice, I told mother I would. "

Billy Bender, who all this while had been standing by the door, nowgave a peculiar whistle, which with him was ominous of some new idea, and turning on his heel started for home, never once thinking, untilhe reached it, that his mother more than six hours before had sent himin great haste for the physician. On entering the house, he found her, as we expected, rolled up in bed, apparently in the last stage ofscarlet fever; but before she could reproach him, he said "Mother, have you heard the news?"

Mrs. Bender had a particular love for news, and now for getting "hownear to death's door" she had been, she eagerly demanded, "What news?What has happened?"

When Billy told her of the sudden death of Mrs. Howard and Frank, anexpression of "What? That all?" passed over her face, and she said, "Dear me, and so the poor critter's gone? Hand me my snuff, Billy. Both died last night, did they? Hain't you nothin' else to tell?"

"Yes, Mary Judson and Ella Campbell, too, are dead. "

Mrs. Bender, who like many others, courted the favor of the wealthy, and tried to fancy herself on intimate terms with them, no soonerheard of Mrs. Campbell's affliction, than her own dangerous symptomswere forgotten, and springing up she exclaimed, "Ella Campbell dead!What'll her mother do? I must go to her right away. Hand me my doublegown there in the closet, and give me my lace cap in the lower draw, and mind you have the tea-kettle biled agin I get back. "

"But, mother, " said Billy, as he prepared to obey her, "Mrs. Campbellis rich, and there are enough who will pity her. If you go any where, suppose you stop at Mrs. Howard's, and comfort poor Mary, who criesall the time because she and Alice have got to go to the poor-house. "

"Of course they'll go there, and they orto be thankful they've got sogood a place--Get away. --That ain't my double gown;--that's a cloak. Don't you know a cloak from a double gown?"

"Yes, yes, " said Billy, whose mind was not upon his mother'stoilet--"but, " he continued, "I want to ask you, can't we, --couldn'tyou take them for a few days, and perhaps something may turn up. "

"William Bender, " said the highly astonished lady what can you mean? Apoor sick woman like me, with one foot in the grave, take the chargeof three pauper children! I shan't do it, and you needn't think ofit. "

"But, mother, " persisted Billy, who could generally coax her to do ashe liked, "it's only for a few days, and they'll not be much troubleor expense, for I'll work enough harder to make it up. "

"I have said _no_ once, William Bender, and when _I_ say no, I meanno, " was the answer. 

Billy knew she would be less decided the next time the subject wasbroached, so for the present, he dropped it, and taking his cap hereturned to Mrs. Howard's, while his mother started for Mrs. Campbell's. 

Next morning between the hours of nine and ten, the tolling bell sentforth its sad summons, and ere long a few of the villagers were movingtowards the brown cottage, where in the same plain coffin slept themother and her only boy. Near them sat Ella, occasionally looking withchildish curiosity at the strangers around her, or leaning forward topeep at the tips of the new morocco shoes which Mrs. Johnson hadkindly given her; then, when her eye fell upon the coffin, she wouldburst into such an agony of weeping that many of the villagers alsowept in sympathy, and as they stroked her soft hair, thought, "howmuch more she loved her mother than did Mary, " who, without a tearupon her cheek, sat there immovable, gazing fixedly upon the marbleface of her mother. Alice was not present, for Billy had not onlysucceeded in winning his mother's consent to take the children for afew days, but he had also coaxed her to say that Alice might comebefore the funeral, on condition that he would remain at home andtake care of her. This he did willingly, for Alice, who had beenaccustomed to see him would now go to no one else except Mary. 

Billy was rather awkward at baby tending, but by dint of emptying hismother's cupboard, blowing a tin horn, rattling a pewter platter withan iron spoon, and whistling Yankee Doodle, he managed to keep hertolerably quiet until he saw the humble procession approaching thehouse. Then, hurrying with his little charge to the open window, helooked out. Side by side walked Mary and Ella, and as Alice's eyesfell upon the former, she uttered a cry of joy, and almost sprang fromBilly's arms. But Mary could not come; and for the next half hour Mrs. Bender corked her ears with cotton, while Billy, half distracted, walked the floor, singing at the top of his voice every tune he hadever heard, from "Easter Anthem" down to "the baby whose father hadgone a hunting, " and for whom the baby in question did not care twostraws. 

Meantime the bodies were about to be lowered into the newly madegrave, when Mrs. Johnson felt her dress nervously grasped, and lookingdown she saw Mary's thin, white face uplifted towards hers with soearnest an expression, that she gently laid her hand upon her head, and said, "What is it, dear?"

"Oh, if I can, --if they only would let me look at them once more. Icouldn't see them at the house, my eyes were so dark. "

Mrs. Johnson immediately communicated Mary's request to the sexton, who rather unwillingly opened the coffin lid. The road over which theyhad come, was rough and stony and the jolt had disturbed the positionof Frank, who no lay partly upon his mother's shoulder, with his cheekresting against hers. Tenderly Mary laid him back upon his ownpillow, and then kneeling down and burying her face in her mother'sbosom, she for a time remained perfectly silent, although thequivering of her frame plainly told the anguish of that parting. Atlength Mrs. Johnson gently whispered "Come, darling, you must comeaway now;" but Mary did not move; and when at last they lifted her up, they saw that she had fainted. In a few moments she recovered, andwith her arms across her sister's neck, stood by until the wide gravewas filled, and the bystanders were moving away. 

As they walked homeward together, two women, who had been present atthe funeral, discussed the matter as follows:--

"They took it hard, poor things, particularly the oldest. "

"Yes, though I didn't think she cared as much as t'other one, untilshe fainted, but it's no wonder, for she's old enough to dread thepoor-house. Did you say they were staying at widder Bender's?"

"Yes, and how in this world widder Bender, as poor as she pretends tobe, can afford to do it, is more than I can tell. "

"Are you going to the other funeral this afternoon?"

"I guess I am. I wouldn't miss it for a good deal. Why as true as youlive, I have never set my foot in Mrs. Campbell's house yet, and knowno more what is in it than the dead. "

"Well, I do, for my girl Nancy Ray used to live there, and she's toldme sights. She says they've got a big looking-glass that cost threehundred dollars. "

"So I've heard, and I s'pose there'll be great doin's this afternoon. The coffin, they say, came from Worcester, and cost fifty dollars. "

"Now, that's what I call wicked. Sposin' her money did come fromEngland, she needn't spend it so foolishly; but then money didn't saveElla's life, and they say her mother's done nothing but screech andgo on like a mad woman since she died. You'll go early, won't you?"

"Yes, I mean to be there in season to get into the parlor if I can. "

And now, having reached the corner, where their path diverged, with amutual "good day" they parted. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ELLA CAMPBELL. 

Scarcely three hours had passed since the dark, moist earth was heapedupon the humble grave of the widow and her son, when again, over thevillage of Chicopee floated the notes of the tolling bell, andimmediately crowds of persons with seemingly eager haste, hurriedtowards the Campbell mansion, which was soon nearly filled. Among thefirst arrivals were our acquaintances of the last chapter, who werefortunate enough to secure a position near the drawing-room, whichcontained the "big looking-glass. "

On a marble table in the same room, lay the handsome coffin, and in itslept young Ella. Gracefully her small waxen hands were folded oneover the other, while white, half-opened rose buds were wreathed amongthe curls of her hair, which fell over her neck and shoulders, andcovered the purple spots, which the disease had left upon her flesh. "She is too beautiful to die, and the only child too, " thought morethan one, as they looked first at the sleeping clay and then at thestricken mother, who, draped in deepest black, sobbed convulsively andleaned for support upon the arm of the sofa. What now to her werewealth and station? What did she care for the elegance which had sooften excited the envy of her neighbors? That little coffin, which hadcost so many dollars and caused so much remark, contained what to herwas far dearer than all. And yet she was not one half so desolate aswas the orphan Mary, who in Mrs. Bender's kitchen sat weeping over hersister Alice, and striving to form words of prayer which should reachthe God of the fatherless. 

But few of the villagers thought of her this afternoon. Theirsympathies were all with Mrs. Campbell; and when at the close of theservices she approached to take a last look of her darling, theyclosed around her with exclamations of grief and tears of pity, thougheven then some did not fail to note and afterwards comment upon thegreat length of her costly veil, and the width of its hem! It was along procession which followed Ella Campbell to the grave, and withbowed heads and hats uplifted, the spectators stood by while thecoffin was lowered to the earth; and then, as the Campbell carriagedrove slowly away, they dispersed to their homes, speaking, it may be, more tenderly to their own little ones, and shuddering to think howeasily it might have been themselves who were bereaved. 

Dark and dreary was the house to which Mrs. Campbell returned. On thestairs there was no patter of childish feet. In the halls there was nosound of a merry voice, and on her bosom rested no little golden head, for the weeping mother was childless. Close the shutters and drop therich damask curtains, so that no ray of sunlight, or fragrance ofsummer flowers may find entrance there to mock her grief. In allChicopee was there a heart so crushed and bleeding as hers? Yes, onthe grass-plat at the foot of Mrs. Bender's garden an orphan girl waspouring out her sorrow in tears which almost blistered her eyelids asthey fell. 

Alice at last was sleeping, and Mary had come out to weep alone wherethere were none to see or hear. For her the future was dark andcheerless as midnight. No friends, no money, and no home, except thepoor-house, from which young as she was, she instinctively shrank. 

"My mother, oh, my mother, " she cried, as she stretched her handstowards the clear blue sky, now that mother's home, "Why didn't I dietoo?"

There was a step upon the grass, and looking up Mary saw standing nearher, Mrs. Campbell's English girl, Hannah. She had always evinced aliking for Mrs. Howard's family, and now after finishing her dishes, and trying in vain to speak a word of consolation to her mistress, whorefused to be comforted, she had stolen away to Mrs. Bender's, ostensibly to see all the orphans, but, in reality to see Ella, whohad always been her favorite. She had entered through the garden gate, and came upon Mary just as she uttered the words, "Why didn't I dietoo?"

The sight of her grief touched Hannah's heart, and sitting down by thelittle girl, she tried to comfort her. Mary felt that her words andmanner were prompted by real sympathy, and after a time she grew calm, and listened, while Hannah told her that "as soon as her mistress gotso any body could go near her, she meant to ask her to take EllaHoward to fill the place of her own daughter. "

"They look as much alike as two beans, " said she, "and sposin' EllaHoward ain't exactly her own flesh and blood, she would grow intoliking her, I know. "

Mary was not selfish, and the faint possibility that her sister mightnot be obliged to go to the poor-house, gave her comfort, though sheknew that in all probability she herself must go. After a few morewords Hannah entered the cottage, but she wisely chose to keep fromElla a knowledge of her plan, which very likely might not succeed. That night after her return home Hannah lingered for a long time aboutthe parlor door, glancing wistfully towards her mistress, whoreclined upon the sofa with her face entirely hidden by her cambrichandkerchief. 

"It's most too soon, I guess, " thought Hannah, "I'll wait tillto-morrow. "

Accordingly next morning, when, as she had expected, she was told tocarry her mistress's toast and coffee to her room, she lingered for awhile, and seemed so desirous of speaking that Mrs. Campbell askedwhat she wanted. 

"Why, you see, ma'am, I was going to say a word about, --about thatyoungest Howard girl. " (She dared not say Ella. ) "She's got to go tothe poor-house, and it's a pity, she's so handsome. Why couldn't shecome here and live? I'll take care of her, and 'twouldn't be nigh solonesome. "

At this allusion to her bereavement Mrs. Campbell burst into tears, and motioned Hannah from the room. 

"I'll keep at her till I fetch it about, " thought Hannah, as sheobeyed the lady's order. But further persuasion from her was renderedunnecessary, for Mrs. Lincoln, whom we have once before mentioned, called that afternoon, and after assuring her friend that she neverbefore saw one who was so terribly afflicted, or who stood so much inneed of sympathy, she casually mentioned the Howards, and the extremepoverty to which they were reduced. This reminded Mrs. Campbell ofHannah's suggestion, which she repeated to her visitor, who answered, "It would unquestionably be a good idea to take her, for she is largeenough to be useful in the kitchen in various ways. "

Mrs. Campbell, who had more of real kindness in her nature than Mrs. Lincoln, replied, "If I take her, I shall treat her as my own, forthey say she looks like her, and her name, too, is the same. "

Here Mrs. Campbell commenced weeping and as Mrs. Lincoln soon tookher leave, she was left alone for several hours. At the end of thattime, impelled by something she could not resist, she rang the belland ordered Hannah to go to Mrs. Bender's and bring Ella to her roomas she wished to see how she appeared. 

With the utmost care, Ella arranged her long curls, and then tyingover her black dress the only white apron which she possessed, shestarted for Mrs. Campbell's. The resemblance between herself and EllaCampbell was indeed so striking, that but for the dress the mothermight easily have believed it to have been her own child. As it was, she started up when the little girl appeared, and drawing her to herside, involuntarily kissed her; then causing her to sit down by herside, she minutely examined her features, questioning her meantimeconcerning her mother and her home in England. Of the latter Ellacould only tell her that they lived in a city, and that her mother hadonce taken her to a large, handsome house in the country, which shesaid was her old home. 

"There were sights of trees, and flowers, and vines, and fountains, and little deer, " said the child, "and when I asked ma why she did notlive there now, she cried, and pa put his arm tight 'round her, --so. "

From this Mrs. Campbell inferred that Ella's family must have beensuperior to most of the English who emigrate to this country, andafter a few more questions she decided to take her for a time, atleast; so with another kiss she dismissed her, telling her she wouldcome for her soon. Meantime arrangements were making for Mary andAlice and on the same day in which Mrs. Campbell was to call for Ella, Mr. Knight, one of the "Selectmen, " whose business it was to lookafter the town's poor, [A] also came to the cottage. After learningthat Ella was provided for, he turned to Mary, asking "how old shewas, and what she could do, " saying, that his wife was in want of justsuch a girl to do "chores, " and if she was willing to be separatedfrom Alice, he would give her a home with him. But Mary only huggedher sister closer to her bosom as she replied "I'd rather go withAlice. I promised mother to take care of her. "

[Footnote A: In Massachusetts each town has its own poor-house. ]

"Very well, " said the man, "I'm going to North Chicopee, but shall beback in two hours, so you must have your things all ready. "

"Don't cry so, Mary, " whispered Billy, when he saw how fast her tearswere falling. "I'll come to see you every week, and when I am older, and have money, I will take you from the poor-house, and Alice too. "

Just then, Mrs. Campbell's carriage drove up. She had been taking herafternoon ride, and now, on her way home, had stopped for Ella, who inher delight at going with so handsome a woman, forgot the dreary homewhich awaited her sister, and which, but for Mrs. Campbell's fancy, would have been hers also. While she was getting ready, Mr. Knightreturned, and driving his old-fashioned yellow wagon, with its squarebox-seat up by the side of Mrs. Campbell's stylish carriage, heentered the house, saying, "Come, gal, you're ready, I hope. The oldmare don't want to stand, and I'm in a desput hurry, too. I orto be tohum this minute, instead of driving over that stony Portupog road. Ihope you don't mean to carry that are thing, " he continued, pointingwith his whip towards Alice's cradle, which stood near Mary's box ofclothes. 

The tears came into Mary's eyes, and she answered "Alice has alwaysslept in it, and I didn't know but--"

Here she stopped, and running up to Ella, hid her face in her lap, and sobbed, "I don't want to go. Oh, I don't want to go, can't I staywith you?"

Billy's yellow handkerchief was suddenly brought into requisition, andMrs. Bender, who, with all her imaginary aches and pains, was akind-hearted woman, made vigorous attacks upon her snuff-box, whileMrs. Campbell patted Mary's head, saying, "Poor child. I can't takeyou both, but you shall see your sister often. "

Ella was too much pleased with Mrs. Campbell, and the thoughts of thefine home to which she was going, to weep but her chin quivered, whenMary held up the baby for her to kiss, and said, "Perhaps you willnever see little Allie again. "

When all was ready, Mr. Knight walked around his wagon, and aftertrying to adjust the numerous articles it contained, said, "I don'tsee how in the world I can carry that cradle, my wagon is chuck fullnow. Here is a case of shoes for the gals to stitch, and a piller caseof flour for Miss Smith, and forty 'leven other traps, so I guessyou'll have to leave it. Mebby you can find one there, and if not, why, she'll soon get used to going without it. "

Before Mary could reply, Billy whispered in her ear "Never mind, Mary;you know that little cart that I draw mother's wood in, the cradlewill just fit it, and to-morrow afternoon I'll bring it to you, if itdoesn't rain. "

Mary knew that he meant what he said, and smiling on him through hertears, climbed into the rickety wagon, which was minus a step, andtaking Alice in her arms, she was soon moving away. In strikingcontrast to this, Ella, about five minutes afterwards, was carefullylifted into Mrs. Campbells handsome carriage, and reclining upon softcushions, was driven rapidly towards her new home. 

Will their paths in life always continue thus different? Who can tell?

CHAPTER V. 

THE POOR-HOUSE. 

How long and tiresome that ride was with no one for a companion exceptMr. Knight, who, though a kind-hearted man knew nothing about makinghimself agreeable to little girls, so he remained perfectly taciturn, whipping at every cow or pig which he passed, and occasionallyscreaming to his horse, "Git up, old Charlotte. What are you 'bout?"

Mary, who had seldom been out of the village, and who knew but littleof the surrounding country, for a time enjoyed looking about her verymuch. First they went down the long hill which leads from the villageto the depot. Then they crossed the winding Chicopee river, and Marythought how much she should love to play in that bright green meadowand gather the flowers which grew so near to the water's edge. Thecauseway was next crossed, and turning to the right they came upon aroad where Mary had never been before, and which grew more rough andstony as they advanced. 

On the top of a steep hill Mary looked back to see if Chicopee wereyet, visible, but nothing was to be seen except the spire of theUnitarian Meeting-House. About a quarter of a mile to the west, however, the graveyard was plainly discernible, and she looked untilher eyes were dim with tears at the spot where she knew her parentsand brother were lying. By this time Alice was asleep, and though thelittle arms which held her ached sadly, there was no complaint, butshe wished Mr. Knight would speak to her once, if it were only to askher how she did!

At last, concluding there would be no impropriety in making the firstadvances herself, she said timidly, "Is it such a very bad place atthe poor-house?"

"Why, no, not so dreadful. There's places enough, sight worse, andthen agin there's them, a good deal better But you needn't be afeard. They'll take good care of you. "

"I wasn't thinking of myself, " said Mary. 

"Who was you thinkin' of, then?"

"Of Alice; she's always been sick and is not used to strangers, andamong so many I am afraid she will be frightened. "

"Oh, she'll soon get used to 'em. Nothin' like, habit. Weakly, is she?Wall, the poor-house ain't much of a place to get well in, that's afact. But she'd be better off to die and go to her mother, and thenyou could get a good place at some farmer's. "

Mary wondered how he could speak thus carelessly of what would causeher so much sorrow. Gently lifting the old faded shawl, she lookeddown upon Alice as she slept. There was a smile upon her face. She wasdreaming, and as her lips moved, Mary caught the word, "Ma, " which thechild had applied indiscriminately both to herself and her mother. Instantly the tears gushed forth, and falling upon the baby's faceawoke her. Her nap was not half out, and setting up a loud cry, shecontinued screaming until they drove up to the very door of thepoor-house. 

"For the land's sake, " said Mr. Knight, as he helped Mary from thewagon, "what a racket; can't you contrive to stop it? you'll have SalFurbush in your hair, for she don't like a noise. "

Mary glanced nervously round in quest of the goblin Sal, but she sawnothing save an idiotic face with bushy tangled hair; and noseflattened against the window pane. In terror Mary clung to Mr. Knight, and whispered, as she pointed towards the figure, which was nowlaughing hideously, "What is it? Are there many such here?"

"Don't be afeard, " said Mr. Knight, "that's nobody but foolish Patsy;she never hurt any body in her life. Come, now, let me show you to theoverseer. "

Mary looked towards the woods which skirted the borders of the meadowopposite, and for half a moment felt inclined to flee thither, andhide herself in the bushes; but Mr. Knight's hand was upon hershoulder, and he led her towards a red-whiskered man, who stood in thedoor. 

"Here, Parker, " said he, "I've brought them children I was tellin' youabout. You've room for 'em, I s'pose. "

"Why, ye-es, we can work it so's to make room. Guess we shall haverain to-morrow. "

Mary remembered that Billy would not come if it rained, and with asigh she noticed that the clouds were dark and threatening. They nowentered the kitchen, which was a long, low, narrow room, with afireplace on the right, and two windows opposite, looking towards thewest. The floor was painted and very clean, but the walls wereunfinished, and the brown rafters were festooned with cobwebs. In themiddle of the room, the supper table was standing, but there wasnothing homelike in the arrangement of the many colored dishes andbroken knives and forks, neither was there any thing tempting to one'sappetite in the coarse brown bread and white-looking butter. Mary wasvery tired with holding Alice so long, and sinking into a chair nearthe window, she would have cried; but there was a tightness in herthroat, and a pressure about her head and eyes, which kept the tearsfrom flowing. She had felt so once before. Twas when she stood at hermother's grave; and now as the room grew dark, and the objects aroundbegan to turn in circles, she pressed her hands tightly to herforehead, and said, 'Oh, I hope I shan't faint. "

"To be sure you won't, " said a loud, harsh voice, and instantly largedrops of water were thrown in her face, while the same voicecontinued: "You don't have such spells often, I hope, for Lord knows Idon't want any more fitty ones here. "

"No, ma'am, " said Mary, meekly; and looking up, she saw before her atall, square-backed, masculine-looking woman, who wore a very shortdress, and a very high-crowned cap, fastened under her chin with bowsof sky-blue ribbon. 

Mary knew she was indebted to this personage for the shower bath, forthe water was still trickling from her fingers, which were now engagedin picking her teeth with a large pin. There was something exceedinglycross and forbidding in her looks, and Mary secretly hoped she wouldnot prove to be Mrs. Parker, the wife of the overseer. She was soonrelieved of her fears by the overseer himself, who came forward andsaid, "Polly, I don't see any other way but you'll have to take thesechildren into the room next to yourn. The baby worries a good deal, and such things trouble my wife, now she's sick. "

The person addressed as "Polly, " gave her shoulders an angry jerk, andsticking the pin on the waist of her dress, replied, "So I s'pose it'sno matter if I'm kept awake all night, and worried to death. But Iguess you'd find there'd be queer doins here if I should be takenaway. I wish the British would stay to hum, and not lug their youngones here for us to take care of. "

This was said with a lowering frown, and movement towards Mary, whoshrank back into the corner and covered her mouth with her hand, as ifthat were the cause of offence. 

"But you can take an extra nap after dinner, " said Mr. Parker, in aconciliatory manner. "And then you are so good at managing children, that I thought they would be better off near you. "

This speech, while it mollified Polly, made Mary shudder, as shethought of Alice's being "managed" by such a woman. But she had notime for thought, for Polly, who was very rapid in her movements, andalways in a hurry, said, "Come, child, I will show you where you aregoing to sleep;" at the same time she caught up Alice, who, not likingher handling, kicked so vigorously that she was soon dropped; Pollyremarking, that "she was mighty strong in her legs for a sick baby. "

After passing up a dark stairway they came to a door, which openedunder the garret stairs, and Mary was startled by a voice which seemedto be almost over her head, and which, between a sneer and a hiss, called out, "See where the immaculate Miss Grundy comes!"

This was followed by a wild, insane chuckle, which made Mary spring interror to Polly's side. 

"Oh, who is it?" said she. "Is it Patsy?"

"Patsy!" was the tart reply. "She never is saucy like that. It's SalFurbush. "

Mary longed to ask who Sal Furbush was; but as her guide did not seem, at all inclined to be communicative, she followed on in silence untilthey came to a longer and lighter hall, or "spaceway, " as it isfrequently called in New England. On each side of this there weredoors opening into small sleeping rooms, and into one of these Pollyled her companion, saying, as she did so, "This is your room, and it'sa great favor to you to be so near me. But mind, that child mustn'tcry and keep me awake nights, for if she does, may-be you'll have tomove into that other space, where we heard the laugh. "

Mary thought she would rather do any thing than that. She also felt agreat curiosity to know who her companion was, so she at last venturedto ask, "Do you live here, Miss Polly?"

"Why, yes, I'm staying here for a spell now:--kind of seeing tothings. My name isn't Polly. It's Mrs. Mary Grundy, and somehow folkshave got to nicknaming me Polly, but it'll look more mannerly in youto call me Mrs. Grundy; but what am I thinking of? The folks must havetheir supper. So you'd better come down now. "

"If you please, " said Mary, who knew she could not eat a mouthful, "Ifyou please, I'd rather stay here and rest me if I can have some milkfor Alice by and by. "

"Mercy sakes, ain't that child weaned?" asked Mrs. Grundy. 

"Ma'am?" said Mary, not exactly understanding her. 

"Ain't Ellis weaned, or must we break into the cream a dozen times aday for her?"

"She has never eaten any thing but milk, " said Mary, weeping to thinkhow different Mrs. Grundy's manner was from her own dear mother's. 

"Wall, there's no use blubberin' so. If she must have milk, why shemust, and that's the end on't. But what I want to know is, how folksas poor as yourn, could afford to buy milk for so big a child. "

Mary could have told of many hungry nights which she and Frank hadpassed in order that Ella and Alice might be fed, but she made noremark, and Mrs. Grundy soon left the room saying, "Come down whenyou get ready for the milk I s'pose _skim_ will do. "

Half an hour after Alice began to cry; and Mary, knowing she washungry, laid her upon the bed and started for the milk. She trembledas she drew near the garret stairs, and trod softly that she might notbe heard, but as she was passing the mysterious door, a voice entirelydifferent in its tone from the one assumed towards Mrs. Grundy, calledout, "Come here, little dear, and see your Aunty. "

Mary's circle of acquaintances was quite as large as she cared to haveit, and quickening her steps, she was soon in the kitchen, where shefound several old ladies still lingering over cups of very weak andvery red looking tea. As she entered the room they all suspended theiroperations, and looking hard at her, asked if she were the littleEnglish girl. On being told that she was, three of them returned totheir cups, while one shook her head, saying. "Poor child, I pityyou. "

Mary had heard that remark many times, but she knew that the words nowconveyed other meaning than what referred to her face or teeth. 

"Where can I find Mrs. Grundy?" she at last ventured to ask. 

"Where can you find who?" asked a spiteful looking woman. "Did shetell you to call her so?"

"She told me that was her name, --yes, ma'am, " said Mary. 

"Well, _Mrs. _ Grundy is in the but'ry, " indicating with her elbow thedirection. 

Mary had no trouble in finding "the but'ry, " but on trying the door, she found it fastened inside. In answer to her gentle knock a harshvoice replied, "Who's there?"

"It's I. I've come after the milk for Alice. "

With a jerk Mrs. Grundy opened the door, and putting a pint cup twothirds full of blue milk in Mary's hand, she hastily shut and fastenedit again. Quick as her movements were, Mary caught a smell of stronggreen tea, and the sight of a sugar bowl and a slice of white bread. She knew now why the door was buttoned, but thinking it was none ofher business, she started to return to the kitchen. As she passed theouter door, an old gray-haired man, with a face perfectly simple andfoolish in its expression, stepped towards her, stretching out hishands as if to reach her. With a loud cry she rushed headlong into thekitchen, where one of the women was still sitting. 

"What's broke loose now?" asked the woman, to which Mary replied, "Look at him!" at the same time pointing to the man, who with his handthrust out was still advancing towards her. 

"Don't be scared, " said the woman. "It's uncle Peter. Let him touchyou and he'll go off;" but Mary didn't choose to be touched, andretreating towards the chamber door, she fled rapidly up the stairs. 

This time she was not accosted by any one, but as she passed the darkcloset, she was surprised to hear a musical voice singing the nationalair of her own country, and she wondered, too, at the taste of thesinger in finishing every verse with "God save Miss Grundy. "

That night Alice, who missed her cradle, was unusually restless, andMary, remembering Mrs. Grundy's threat, carried her in her arms untilafter midnight. Then without undressing she threw herself upon thebed, and, for the first time in many weeks, dreamed of George and hisparting promise to see her again. The next morning when she awoke shefound Mr. Parker's prediction verified, for the clouds were pouringrain. "Billy won't come to-day, " was her first thought, and throwingherself upon the floor she burst into tears, wishing as she had oncedone before that she had died with her mother. 

In the midst of her grief the door was pushed hastily open, and Mrs. Grundy's harsh voice exclaimed, "Wall, so you are up at last, hey? Ididn't know but you was goin' to take it upon you to sleep over, butthat don't answer here. "

"Is it after breakfast time?" asked Mary. 

"After breakfast time, " repeated Mrs. Grundy. "No, but I guess you'llfind there's something to do before breakfast, or did you think we'sgoin' to support you in idleness?"

Here, touched perhaps by the pale, tearful face uplifted to hers, Mrs. Grundy's voice softened, and in a milder tone she added, "We won'tmind about it, seein' it's the first morning, but come, you must behungry by this time. "

Although so poor, Mrs. Howard had been extremely neat and as she said"cold water cost nothing, " she had insisted upon her children's beingvery nice and particular in their morning toilet. Mary rememberedthis, and now casting a rueful glance around the room she said, "Iwonder where I am going to wash me. "

The loud, scornful laugh which followed this remark made her look upamazed at Mrs. Grundy, who replied, "In the back room sink, of course. May-be you expected to have a china bowl and pitcher in your room, andsomebody to empty your slop. I wonder what _airs_ paupers won't takeon themselves next. "

"I didn't mean to take airs, " said Mary; "I don't care where I washmyself, but Alice is sick, and mother had me bathe her every morning. While we were at Mrs. Bender's, though, I didn't do it, and I don'tthink she seems as well. "

"Pride and poverty, " muttered Mrs. Grundy. "She won't get many bathshere, I can tell you, nor you either, unless it is a dishwater one. Know how to wash dishes hey?"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Mary meekly. 

"Then I'll give you a chance to try your hand after breakfast, butcome, I'm in a hurry. "

Mary glanced at Alice. She was sleeping sweetly, and though thereseemed to be no reason, she still lingered. 

"What are you waiting for?" asked Mrs. Grundy, and Mary, with somehesitation, answered, "I haven't said my prayers yet. "

A change passed suddenly over Mrs. Grundy's face, and she turned awaywithout a word. When she was gone Mary fell on her knees, and thoughthe words she uttered were addressed more to her mother than to God, she felt comforted, and rising up started for the kitchen. It was amotley group which she found assembled around the breakfast table, andas she entered the room, the man called Uncle Peter smiled on her, saying, "Come here, little daughter, and let me touch you with the tipof my fourth finger. "

Shrinking to nearly half her usual size, she managed to pass himwithout coming in contact with said finger, which was merely a stump, the first joint having been amputated. On reaching the back room shereadily found the place where she with all the rest was to wash. Forthis she did not care, as the water was as cold and pure, and seemedas refreshing as when dipped from her mother's tin wash-basin. Butwhen she came to the wiping part, and tried in vain to find a cleancorner' on the long towel, which hung upon a roller, she felt that shewas indeed a pauper. 

"I should think we might have a decent towel, " thought she. "Motherused to say it cost nothing to be clean;" then looking round to besure that no one saw her, she caught up the skirt of her dress anddrying her face with it, went back to the kitchen. 

She would greatly have preferred a seat by a pleasant looking old ladywho looked kindly on her, but Mrs. Grundy bade her sit down by her andhelp herself. She did not exactly fancy the looks of the thick friedpork, swimming in grease, so she took a potato and a slice of bread, to get which she reached so far that the lower hook on her dress whichfor a day or two had been uncertain whether to come off or stay on, now decided the matter by dropping on the floor. As she was proceedingwith her breakfast, Uncle Peter suddenly dropping his knife and fork, exclaimed, "Little daughter's teeth are awry, ain't they?"

Mary had hoped that at the poor-house her mouth would not be a subjectof comment, but she was disappointed, and bursting into tears wouldhave risen from the table, had not the kind looking woman said, "Shameon you, Peter, to plague a little girl. "

Uncle Peter, too, who was fond of children, seemed distressed, andpassing towards her the bowl of milk which was standing by him, hesaid, "Drink it, daughter;--milk for babes, and meat for strong men. "

There was so much of real kindness in his manner that Mary's fear ofhim diminished, and taking the offered milk she thanked him so kindlythat Uncle Peter, who was quite an orator, considered it his duty tomake a speech. Pushing back his chair, he commenced with a bow whichrequired do many changes of his legs that Mary wondered they were notentirely twisted up. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, one and all, " said he, "but particularlyladies, what I have to say is this, that henceforth and for ever I amthe champion of this unprotected female, who from parts unknown hascome among us. --God bless her. I will also announce formally that Istill hold myself in readiness to teach the polite accomplishment ofdancing in my room, No. 41, Pauper's Hotel. "

Having finished this speech he resumed his breakfast, after which withanother of his wonderful bows he quitted the room. Mary was aboutfollowing his example when Mrs. Grundy said. "Come, catch hold now andsee how spry you can clear the table, and you, Rind, " speaking to asimple looking girl with crooked feet, "do you go to your shoes. Bequick now, for it's goin' on seven o'clock. "

At this moment Mary caught sight of Mr. Parker, who was standing justwithout the door, and his mischievous look as Mrs. Grundy gave out herorders made Mary a little suspicious of that lady's real positionamong them. But she had no time for thought, for just then through allthe closed doors and the long hall there came to her ears the sound ofa scream. Alice was crying, and instantly dropping the plate she heldin her hand, Mary was hurrying away, when Mrs. Grundy called her back, saying "Let her cry a spell. 'Twill strengthen her lungs. "

Mary had more spirit than her face indicated, and in her mind she wasrevolving the propriety of obeying, when Mr. Parker, who was stillstanding by the door, said, "If that baby is crying, go to her by allmeans. "

The look of gratitude which Mary's eyes flashed upon him, more thancompensated for the frown which darkened Mrs. Grundy's brow as sheslammed the doors together, muttering about "hen-hussies minding theirown business. "

Mary was not called down to finish the dishes, and when at last shewent to the kitchen for milk, she found them all washed and put away. Mrs. Grundy was up to her elbow in cheese curd, and near her, tiedinto an arm chair, sat Patsy, nodding her head and smiling as usual. The pleasant looking woman was mopping the kitchen floor, and Mary, for the first time, noticed that she was very lame. 

"Go out doors and come round. Don't you see you'll track the floor allup?" said Mrs. Grundy, and the lame woman replied, "Never mind, Polly, I can easy wipe up her tracks, and it's a pity to send her out in therain. "

Mary chose to obey Mrs. Grundy, who wiped the crumbs of curd and dropsof whey from her arms and took the cup, saying, "More milk? Seems tome she eats a cart load! I wonder where the butter's to come from, ifwe dip into the cream this way. "

Had Mary been a little older, she might have doubted whether the bluelooking stuff Mrs. Grundy poured into her cup ever saw any cream, butshe was only too thankful to get it on any terms, and hurried with itback to her room. About noon the clouds broke away, while here andthere a patch of bright blue sky was to be seen. But the roads were somuddy that Mary had no hope of Billy's coming, and this it was, perhaps, which made the dinner dishes so hard to wash, and which madeher cry when told that all the knives and forks must be scoured, thetea-kettle wiped, and set with its nose to the north, in what Mrs. Grundy called the "Pout Hole, " and which proved to be a place underthe stairs, where pots, kettles and iron ware generally were kept. 

All things have an end, and so did the scouring, in spite of Mary'sfears to the contrary, and then watching a time when Mrs. Grundy didnot see her, she stole away up stairs. Taking Alice on her lap she satdown by the open window where the damp air cooled and moistened herflushed face. The rain was over, and across the meadow the sun wasshining through the tall trees, making the drops of water which hungupon the leaves sparkle and flash in the sunlight like so many tinyrainbows. Mary watched them for a time, and then looking upward atthe thin white clouds which chased each other so rapidly across theblue sky, wondered if her mother's home were there, and if she everthought of her children, so sad and lonely without her. 

A movement of Alice aroused her from her reverie, and looking into theroad, she saw directly opposite the house Billy Bender, and with him, Alice's cradle. In a moment Mary's arms were thrown about his neck astightly as if she thought he had the power and was come to take heraway. 

"Oh, Billy, Billy, " she said, "I was afraid you would not come, and itmade me so unhappy. Can't you take me home with you?"

Billy had expected as much, and had tried hard to make his mother saythat if Mary and Alice were very homesick he might bring them home. But this was Mrs. Bender's sick day, and Billy's entreaties onlyincreased the dangerous symptoms of _palsy_ from which she was nowsuffering, the scarlet fever having been given up until another time. 

"If the _s'lect_ men pay me well for it, " said she, "I will take themwhat little time I have to live, but not without. "

Billy knew the town could support them much cheaper where they were, so he gave up his project, and bought Mary a pound of seed cakes andAlice a stick of candy. Then, the moment the rain had ceased he gothimself in readiness to start, for he knew how long the day would seemto Mary, and how much Alice would miss her cradle. Three times beforehe got outside the gate his mother called him back--once to find hersnuff-box;--once to see if there was not more color in her face thanthere ought to be, and lastly to inquire if her mouth hadn't commencedturning a little towards the right ear! After finding her box, assuring her that her color was natural and her mouth all straight, heat last got started. The road was long and the hills were steep, butpatiently Billy toiled on, thinking how surprised and pleased Marywould be; and when he saw how joyfully she received him, he felt morethan paid for his trouble. Some boys would have rudely shaken her off, ashamed to be caressed by a little girl, but Billy's heart was full ofkindly sympathy, and he returned her caresses as a brother would havedone. 

As he released her, he was startled at hearing some one call out, "Bravo! That, I conclude, is a country hug. I hope she won't try it onme!"

Turning about he saw before him a white-faced boy, nearly of his ownage, whose dress and appearance indicated that he belonged to a highergrade, as far as wealth was concerned. It was Henry Lincoln, notoriousboth for pride and insolence. Billy, who had worked for Mr. Lincoln, had been insulted by Henry many a time, and now he longed to avengeit, but native politeness taught him that in the presence of Mary'twould not be proper, so without a word to Henry he whispered to thelittle girl, "That fellow lives near here, and if he ever gives youtrouble, just let me know. "

"Kissed her then, didn't you?" sneeringly asked Henry, retreating atthe same time, for there was something in Billy's eye, which hefeared. 

"Come into the house, " said Mary, "where he can't see us, " and leadingthe way she conducted him up to her own room, where there was no fearof being interrupted. 

Alice was first carefully fixed in her cradle, and then kneeling downat Billy's side, and laying her arms across his lap, Mary told him ofevery thing which had happened, and finished by asking, "how long shemust stay there. "

Had Billy's purse been as large as his heart, that question would havebeen easily answered. Now he could only shake his head in reply, while Mary next asked if he had seen Ella. 

"I have not seen her, " returned he, "but I've heard that rainy as itwas this morning, Mrs. Campbell's maid was out selecting muslins andjaconets for her, and they say she is not to wear black, as Mrs. Campbell thinks her too young. "

Mary did not speak for some time, but her head dropped on Billy's kneeand she seemed to be intently thinking. At last, brushing aside thehair which had fallen over her forehead, Billy said, "What are youthinking about?"

"I was wondering if Ella wouldn't forget me and Allie now she is richand going to be a lady. "

Billy had thought the same thing, and lifting the little girl in hislap, he replied, "If _she_ does, I never will;"--and then he told heragain how, when he was older, and had money, he would take her fromthe poor-house and send her to school, and that she should some timebe as much of a lady as Ella. 

By this time Mrs. Grundy's work in the kitchen was done. Patsy hadbeen shaken for stealing a ginger cake; the lame woman had beenscolded because her floor had dried in streaks, which was nothingremarkable considering how muddy it was. Uncle Peter had been drivenfrom the pantry for asking for milk, and now the lady herself had comeup to change her morning apparel and don the high-crowned cap with thesky-blue ribbons. Greatly was she surprised at the sound of voices inthe room adjoining, and while Mary was still in Billy's lap the dooropened, and Mrs. Grundy appeared, with her hands thrown up and thewide border of her morning cap, which also did night service for itsfair owner, flying straight back. 

"Mary Howard!" said she; "a _man_ up in this hall where no male isever permitted to come! What does it mean? I shall be ruined!"

"No danger, madam, I assure you, " said Billy. "I came to bring Alice'scradle, and did not suppose there was any thing improper in coming uphere. "

"It's nobody but Billy Bender, " said Mary, frightened at Mrs. Grundy'swrathful looks. 

"And who is Billy Bender? A beau? 'Pears to me you are beginningyoung, and getting on fast, too, a settin' in his lap. S'posin' Ishould do so--wouldn't it be a town's talk?"

Mary tried to get down, but Billy, greatly amused at the highlyscandalized lady's distress, held her tightly, and Mrs. Grundy, slamming the door together, declared "she'd tell Mr. Parker, andthat's the end on't. "

But no Mr. Parker made his appearance, and as the sun was gettingtowards the west, Billy ere long started up, saying, he must go now, but would come again next week. Mary followed him down stairs, andthen returning to her room cried herself into so sound a sleep thatMrs. Grundy was obliged to scream to her at least a dozen times tocome down and set the supper table, adding as a finale, that "shewondered if she thought she was a lady boarder or what. "

CHAPTER VI. 

SAL FURBUSH. 

The next morning between nine and ten, as Mary sat by Alice's cradlerocking her to sleep, she was sensible of an unusual commotion in andaround the house. First there was the sound as of some one dancing inthe dark passage. Then there was the same noise in the kitchen below, and a merry voice was heard singing snatches of wild songs, whileoccasionally peals of laughter were heard mingled with Mrs. Grundy'sharsher tones. Mary's curiosity was roused, and as soon as Alice wasfairly asleep, she resolved to go down and ascertain the cause of thedisturbance, which had now subsided. 

As she opened her door, she saw advancing towards her from thefarthest extremity of the hall, a little, shrivelled up woman, withwild flashing eyes, and hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. Shewas shaking her fist in a very threatening manner, and as she drewnearer Mary saw that her face was going through a great variety ofchanges, being at first perfectly hideous in its expression, and theninstantly changing into something equally ridiculous, though not quiteso frightful. Quickly divining that this must be Sal Furbush, Marysprang back, but had not time to fasten her door ere the wild womanwas there. In a tremor of terror Mary ran under the bed as the onlyhiding-place the room afforded, but her heart almost ceased beating asshe saw her pursuer about to follow her. Springing out with a boundshe would perhaps have made her egress through the open window, hadnot Sally prevented her by seizing her arm, at the same time saying, "Don't be alarmed, duckey, I shan't hurt you; I'm Sal. Don't you knowSal?"

The voice was low and musical, and there was something in its toneswhich in a measure quieted Mary's fears, but she took good care tokeep at a respectful distance. After a while Sally asked, "Have youcome here to board?"

"I have come here to live, " answered Mary, "I have no other home. "

"Well, for your sake I hope there'll be an improvement in the fare, for if there isn't I declare _I_ won't stay much longer, though to besure you don't look as if you'd been used to any thing better thanskim-milk. What ails your teeth, child?"

Involuntarily Mary's hand went up to her mouth, and Sally, who if sheexpected an answer, forgot to wait for it, continued. "Do you knowgrammar, child?"

Mary replied that she had studied it a few months in Worcester, and afew weeks in Chicopee. 

"Oh, I am so glad, " said Sal, "for now I shall have an associate. Why, the greatest objection I have to the kind of people one meets withhere, is that they are so horribly vulgar in their conversation andmurder the Queen's English so dreadfully. But won't you and I havegood times saying the rules in concert?"

Unfortunately Mary's knowledge of grammar was rather limited, and asshe did not exactly fancy Sal's proposition, she answered that shehad nearly forgotten all she ever knew of grammar. 

"Oh, that's nothing, child that's nothing, " said Sal. "It will returnto you gradually. Why, things that happened forty years ago and wereforgotten twenty years ago come back to me every day, but then Ialways did forget more in one night than some people, Miss Grundy, forinstance, ever knew in all their life. "

"Have you lived here long?" asked Mary. 

"Yes, a great while, " and the expression of Sally's face grew graver, as she added, "Perhaps you don't know that I lost little Willie, andthen Willie's father died too, and left me all alone. Their graves areaway on the great western prairies, beneath the buckeye trees, and onenight when the winter wind was howling fearfully, I fancied I heardlittle Willie's voice calling to me from out the raging storm. So Ilay down on the turf above my lost darling, and slept so long, thatwhen I awoke my hair had all turned gray and I was in Chicopee, whereWillie's father used to live. After a while they brought me here andsaid I was crazy, but I wasn't. My head was clear as a bell, and Iknew as much as I ever did, only I couldn't tell it, because, you see, the right words wouldn't come. But I don't care now I've found someone who knows grammar. How many _genders_ are there, child?"

"Four, " answered Mary, who had been studying Smith. 

Instantly Sal seized Mary's hands, and nearly wrenching them off inher joy, capered and danced about the room, leaping over the cradle, and finally exclaiming, "Capital! You think just as I do, don't you?And have the same opinion of her? What are the genders, dear? Repeatthem"

"Masculine, Feminine, Neuter and Common, " said Mary

"O, get out with your _common_ gender, " screamed Sal. "_My_ grammardon't read so. It says Masculine, Feminine Neuter and _Grundy_ gender, to which last but one thing in the world belongs, and that is the ladybelow with the cast iron back and India-rubber tongue. "

"Do you mean Mrs. Grundy?" asked Mary, and Sal replied, "_Mrs. Grundy_? and who may Mrs. Grundy be? Oh, I understand, she's beenstuffing you. "

"Been what?" said Mary. 

"Excuse me, " answered Sal. "That's a slang term I've picked up sinceI've been here. It's so easy to get contaminated, when one isconstantly associated with such low people. I mean that during mytemporary seclusion Miss Grundy has probably given you erroneousimpressions which I take pleasure in correcting. She has no more rightto order us boarders around, and say when we shall breathe and when weshan't, than I have. She's nothing more nor less than a town pauperherself, and has to work at that. "

"So do we all, " interrupted Mary, and Sal continued. "On that pointyou are slightly mistaken, my dear. I don't have to. I didn't comehere to work. They tried it once. "

Here pushing her tangled hair back from her brow, she pointed to along scar, saying, "Do you see that?" Mary nodded, and Sal continued:"When I first came here, the overseer was a bad man, not at all likeMr. Parker. One day he told me to wash the dinner dishes, and to usemore than a pint of water, too, so I gathered them up and threw theminto the well; but this method of washing did not suit the overseer'sideas of housekeeping, so he took a raw hide, and said he would either'break my will, ' or 'break my neck, ' and because he could not break mywill, and dared not break my neck, he contented himself with breakingmy head. Every blow that he struck me was like melted lead pouredinto my brains, which puffed out like sausages, and have neverrecovered their wonted dimensions. The town took the matter up, but Idon't remember much about it, for I went to sleep again, and when Iwoke the overseer was gone, and Mr. Parker was here in his place. Iwas chained like a wild beast under the garret stairs, and MissGrundy's broad, stiff back was hung there for a door. Nobody asks meto work now, but occasionally, just for pastime, I go into Mrs. Parker's room and read to her, and tell her about my Willie, who wentaway. "

"How long has Mrs. Parker been sick?" asked Mary. 

"I'm no judge of time, " answered Sal, "but it seems a great while, forsince her illness Miss Grundy has been at the helm in the kitchen, andperhaps it is all right that she should be, for somebody must manage, and, as I had declared I would not work, 'twould hardly have beenconsistent to change my mind. And then, too, Miss Grundy seemsadmirably suited for the place. Her _forte_ is among pots and kettles, and she will get the most work out of the boarders, keep them on theleast fare, and put more money into Mr. Parker's pocket at the end ofa year, than any one he could hire, and this is the secret of hisbearing so much from her. "

"But why does she want to fill his pockets with money?"

Sal gave a knowing wink and replied, "You are not old enough to seeinto every thing, so I dare say you wouldn't understand me if I shouldhint that Mrs. Parker has the consumption, and can't live always. "Mary's looks plainly told that this remark had given her no ideawhatever, and Sal continued, "I knew you wouldn't understand, for youhaven't my discernment to begin with, and then you were never sentaway to school, were you?"

"No, ma'am, was you?" asked Mary. 

"Say '_were you_, ' if you please, it is more euphonious Yes, I was atschool in Leicester two years, and was called the best grammarianthere, but since I've sojourned with this kind of people, I've nearlylost my refinement. To be sure I aim at exclusiveness, and now you'vecome I shall cut them all, with the exception of Uncle Peter, whowould be rather genteel if he knew more of grammar. "

Just then Alice awoke, and Sally, who had not observed her before, sprang forward with a scream of joy, and seizing the child in herarms, threw her up towards the ceiling, catching her as she came downas easily as she would a feather. Strange to say Alice neithermanifested any fear of the woman, nor dislike of the play, but laidher head on Sally's shoulder as naturally as if it had been hermother. 

"Dear little fellow, " said Sal, "he looks like Willie, only not halfso handsome. "

"She isn't a boy, " quickly interrupted Mary. "Her name is Alice. "

"No consequence, " said Sally, "he's Willie to me;" and ever after, inspite of Mary's remonstrance, she persisted in speaking of Alice as"he, " and "the little boy. "

Mary soon found that the poor-house with Sal Furbush shut up, and thepoor-house with Sal at liberty, were quite different affairs. Now itwas no longer lonely, for Sal's fertile imagination was constantlysuggesting something new, either by way of pastime or mischief. Towards Miss Grundy, she and the other paupers evinced a strongdislike, owing, in a great measure, to the air of superiority whichthat lady thought proper to assume, and which was hardly more thannatural considering the position which she occupied. She was a capitalhousekeeper, and to one unacquainted with the circumstances it seemedstrange, why a person, apparently so strong and healthy, should be inthe Alms-House. Unfortunately, however, she was subject to fits, which made her presence so unpleasant to the people with whom shelived that at last, no one was willing to hire her. About that time, too, she was taken very ill, and as she had no relatives, she wasremoved to the poor-house, where she had remained ever since. 

When Mrs. Parker became too feeble to work, Miss Grundy immediatelystepped into her place, filling it so well, that as Sal had said, Mr. Parker bore a great deal from her, knowing that no one whom he couldhire would do as well, or save as much as she did. Sal Furbush shecould neither manage nor make work, and she vented her spite towardsher by getting her shut up on the slightest pretexts. Sal knew verywell to whom she was indebted for her "temporary seclusions, " as shecalled them, and she exerted herself to repay the debt with interest. Sometimes on a sultry summer morning, when the perspiration stoodthickly on Miss Grundy's face as she bent over a red-hot cook-stove inthe kitchen, Sal with her, feet in the brook, which ran through theback yard, and a big palm-leaf fan in her hand, would call out fromsome shady spot, "Hallo, Miss Grundy, don't you wish you were a ladyboarder, and could be as cool and as comfortable as I am?"Occasionally, too, when safely fastened in the pantry enjoying hergreen tea and Boston crackers, she would be startled with the words, "That must have an excellent relish!" and looking up, she would spySal, cosily seated on the top shelf, eyeing her movementscomplacently, and offering, perhaps, to assist her if she found thetea too strong!

Miss Grundy wore a wig, and as she seemed disturbed whenever the factwas mentioned, the walls of the house both inside and out werefrequently ornamented with ludicrous pictures of herself, in which shewas sometimes represented as entirely bald-headed, while withspectacles on the end of her nose, she appeared to be peering hitherand thither in quest of her wig. On these occasions Miss Grundy'swrath knew no bounds, and going to Mr. Parker she would lay the casebefore him in so aggravated a form, that at last to get rid of her, hewould promise that, for the next offence, Sal should be shut up. Inthis way the poor woman, to use her own words, "was secluded from thevisible world nearly half the time. "

With the other inmates of the house, however, she was a specialfavorite, and many were the kind turns which she had done for the lamewoman, whom Miss Grundy took delight in reminding that "she didn'thalf earn the salt to her porridge. "

Next to the wig, nothing more annoyed Miss Grundy than to see Sal, with grammar in hand, perched upon the window sill or table, andrepeating at the top of her voice the "rules, " of which every fourthone seemed to have been made with direct reference to herself. But itwas of no use for Miss Grundy to complain of this, for as Sal said, "Mr. Parker merely winked at it as the vagaries of a disordered mind, "and she was free to quote her grammar from morning till night. Whenever she was crazier than usual, her command of language wasproportionately greater, and her references to her grammar morefrequent, while no one in the house could venture a remark withoutbeing immediately corrected for some impropriety of speech. 

Uncle Peter, who had a high opinion of Sally's abilities, always didhis best to converse as she directed, but in her "inspired days" evenhe became utterly confounded, and once when in one of her loftystrains, she had labored hard to impress upon him the all-importantfact that _adjectives_ are frequently changed into _adverbs_ by thesuffix "ly, " the old man, quite out of his wits with his efforts tounderstand and profit by her teachings, was guilty of a laughableblunder. 

"Uncle Peter, " said she, "did you notice how unusually funnily MissGrundy's wig was arranged at dinner to-day?"

Thinking that he fully understood the reply which he was expected tomake, and anxious to make amends for his former stupidity, Uncle Peterpromptly replied, "No, madam I did not-_ly_. '"

The look of horror which Sally's face assumed, convinced Uncle Peterthat he had failed in his attempts at speaking grammatically, and witha sudden determination never again to try, he precipitately left thehouse, and for the next two hours amused himself by playing "Bruce'sAddress" upon his old cracked fiddle. From that time Sal gave up allhopes of educating Uncle Peter, and confined herself mostly toliterary efforts, of which we shall speak hereafter. 

The night following Sal's first acquaintance with Mary, Alice crieduntil nearly day dawn. The milk which Miss Grundy's stinginess allowedher, was not particularly conducive to her health, and besides that, she missed the invigorating bath to which she had been accustomedduring her mother's lifetime. Mary had spoken of it two or threetimes, but Miss Grundy only jerked her shoulders, saying, "she guessedshe wasn't going to have such a slush around the house. You can bringher down, " said she, "to the sink, and pump as much water on her asyou like;" so Mary said no more about it until the night of which wehave spoken, and then she determined on making one more effort. Buther heart almost failed her, when, on entering the kitchen, she sawhow the chairs and Miss Grundy's shoulders danced round. She well knewthat something was wrong, and attributing it to Alice's crying, sheawaited in silence for the storm to burst. 

"Rind, " said Miss Grundy to the girl with crooked feet, who waswashing the milk-pail, "ain't there nary spare room in the darkpassage?"

"None but the wool room, as I know on, " was Rind's sullen response. 

"Well, wool room 'tis then, --for, as for my being kep' awake nightafter night, by a good for nothin' young one, that hain't no businesshere, any way, I shan't do it. So (speaking to Mary) you may just pickup your duds and move this very morning. "

"Going to put 'em in with the wool?" asked Rind, suspendingoperations, and holding up the pail so that the water ran out of thespout. 

"You shet up, " said Miss Grundy, "and wait until you're invited tospeak. Goodness alive, look at that slop! Tip up the pail, quick. "

By this time Mary had found courage to say she thought Alice would bebetter if she could have her usual bath every morning. This onlyincreased Miss Grundy's wrath, and she whirled round so swiftly, thather forehead came in contact with the sharp edge of the cellar door, which chanced to be open. 

"Good, " softly whispered Rind, while the shuffling motion of her clubfeet showed how pleased she was. 

Mary, on the contrary, was really distressed, for she knew the bumpedhead would be charged to her, and felt sure that she was further thanever from the attainment of her object. Still, after Miss Grundy'sforehead was duly bathed in cold water, and bound up in a blue cottonhandkerchief (the lady's favorite color), she again ventured to say, "Miss Grundy, if you will only let me wash Alice in my room, I'llpromise she shan't disturb you again. "

After a great deal of scolding and fretting about whims stuck-upnotions, and paupers trying to be somebody, Miss Grundy, who reallydid not care a copper where Alice was washed, consented, and Mary ranjoyfully up stairs with the bucket of clear, cold water, which was sosoothing in its effects upon the feeble child, that in a short timeshe fell into a deep slumber. Mary gently laid her down, and thensmoothing back the few silken curls which grew around her forehead, and kissing her white cheek, she returned to the kitchen, determinedto please Miss Grundy that day, if possible. 

But Miss Grundy was in the worst of humors, and the moment Maryappeared she called out, "Go straight back, and fetch that young onedown here. Nobody's a goin' to have you racin' up stairs every tenminutes to see whether or no she sleeps with her eyes open or shet. She can stay here as well as not, and if she begins to stir, Patsy canjog the cradle. "

Mary cast a fearful glance at Patsy, who nodded and smiled as if inapprobation of Miss Grundy's command. She dared not disobey, so Aliceand her cradle were transferred to the kitchen, which was all day longkept at nearly boiling heat from the stove room adjoining. Twice Maryattempted to shut the door between, but Miss Grundy bade her open itso she could "keep an eye on all that was going on. " The new sightsand faces round her, and more than all, Patsy's strange appearance, frightened Alice, who set up such loud screams that Miss Grundy shookher lustily, and then cuffed Patsy, who cried because the baby did, and pulling Mary's hair because she "most knew she felt gritty, " shewent back to the cheese-tub, muttering something about "Cain's beingraised the hull time. "

At last, wholly exhausted and overcome with the heat Alice ceasedscreaming, and with her eyes partly closed, she lay panting forbreath, while Mary, half out of her senses tipped over the dishwater, broke the yellow pitcher, and spilled a pan of morning's milk. 

"If there's a stick on the premises, I'll use it, or my name isn'tGrundy, " said the enraged woman, at the same time starting for a clumpof alders which grew near the brook. 

At this stage of affairs, Sal Furbush came dancing in curtseying, making faces, and asking Mary if she thought "the temperature of thekitchen conducive to health. "

Mary instinctively drew nearer to her, as to a friend, and graspingher dress, whispered, "Oh, Sally, Aunt Sally, don't let her whip mefor nothing, " at the same time pointing towards Miss Grundy, who wasreturning with an alder switch, stripping off its leaves as she came. 

"Whip you? I guess she won't, " said Sal, and planting herself in thedoorway as Miss Grundy came up, she asked, "Come you with hostileintentions?"

"Out of my way, " said Miss Grundy. "I'll teach, that upstart to breakthings when she's mad. " Pushing Sal aside, she entered the kitchen. 

Mary retreated behind the cupboard door, and Miss Grundy was about tofollow her, when Sal, with a nimble bound, sprang upon her back, andpulling her almost to the floor, snatched the whip from her hand, andbroke it in twenty pieces. How the matter would have ended isuncertain, for at that moment Mr. Parker himself appeared, and to himMiss Grundy and Sal detailed their grievances, both in the samebreath. 

"I can't get at a word, " said he, and turning to the pleasant-lookingwoman, who was quietly paring apples, he asked what it meant. 

In a plain, straightforward manner, she told all, beginning from thetime when Alice was first brought into the kitchen, and adding, as anopinion of her own, that the child was suffering from heat. Mr Parkerwas a good-natured, though rather weak man, and in reality slightlyfeared Miss Grundy. On this occasion, however, he did not take sideswith her but said, "It was ridiculous to have such works, and that ifMary wanted whipping, he would do it himself. "

"But Sal Furbush, " said Miss Grundy, as she adjusted her head-gear, which was slightly displaced, "can't she be shut up? There's bedlam topay the whole durin' time when she's loose. "

Mr. Parker knew this very well, but before he had time to answer, Marylooked pleadingly in his face, and said, "if you please, don't shuther up. She was not to blame, for I asked her to help me. "

"Wall, wall, we'll let her off this time, I guess, " said he; and asUncle Peter just then put his head into the window, saying that "thelord of the manor was wanted without, " Mr. Parker left, glad to getout of the muss so easily. No sooner was he gone, than Sal, catchingup the cradle, sorted for the stairs, saying, "I won't work, but Ican, and will take care of little Willie, and I choose to do it in amore congenial atmosphere. " Then, as Mary looked a little startled, she added, "Never you fear, dearie, Sal knows what she's about, andshe won't make the little boy the least bit of a face. "

From that time there was no more trouble with Alice during the day, for she seemed to cling naturally to Sally, who hour after hour rockedand took care of her, while Mary, in the kitchen below, was busy withthe thousand things which Miss Grundy found for her to do. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE LINCOLNS

Mary had been at the poor-house about three weeks, when Miss Grundyone day ordered her to tie on her sun-bonnet, and run across themeadow and through the woods until she came to a rye stubble, thenfollow the footpath along the fence until she came to another strip ofwoods, with a brook running through it. "And just on the fur edge ofthem woods, " said she, "you'll see the men folks to work; and do youtell 'em to come to their dinner quick. "

Mary tied her sun-bonnet and hurried off, glad to escape for a fewmoments from the hot kitchen, with its endless round of washingdishes, scouring knives, wiping door-sills, and dusting chairs. Shehad no difficulty in finding the way and she almost screamed for joy, when she came suddenly upon the sparkling brook, which danced somerrily beneath the shadow of the tall woods. 

"What a nice place this would be to sit and read, " was her firstexclamation, and then she sighed as she thought how small were herchances for reading now. 

Quickly her thoughts traversed the past, and her tears mingled withthe clear water which flowed at her feet, as she recalled the timewhen, blessed with a father's and mother's love, she could go toschool and learn as other children did. She was roused from her sadreverie by the sound of voices, which she supposed proceeded from themen, whose tones, she fancied, were softer than usual. "If I can hearthem, they can hear me, " thought she, and shouting as loud as shecould, she soon heard Mr. Parker's voice in answer, saying he wouldcome directly. 

It was a mild September day, and as Mary knew that Sal would take careof Alice, she determined not to hurry, but to follow the course of thestream, fancying she should find it to be the same which ran throughthe clothes-yard at home. She had not gone far, when she came suddenlyupon a boy and two little girls, who seemed to be playing near thebrook. In the features of the boy she recognized Henry Lincoln, andremembering what Billy had said of him, she was about turning away, when the smallest of the girls espied her, and called out, "Look here, Rose, I reckon that's Mary Howard. I'm going to speak to her. "

"Jenny Lincoln, you mustn't do any such thing. Mother won't like it, "answered the girl called Rose. 

But whether "mother would like it, " or not, Jenny did not stop tothink, and going towards Mary she said, "Have you come to play in thewoods?"

"No, " was Mary's reply. "I came to call the folks to dinner. "

"Oh, that was you that screamed so loud. I couldn't think who it was, but it can't be dinner time?"

"Yes 'tis; it's noon. "

"Well we don't have dinner until two, and we can stay here till thattime. Won't you play with us?"

"No, I can't, I must go back and work, " said Mary. 

"Work!" repeated Jenny. "I think it's bad enough to have to live inthat old house without working, but come and see our fish-pond;" andtaking Mary's hand, she led her to a wide part of the stream where thewater had been dammed up until it was nearly two feet deep and clearas crystal. Looking in, Mary could see the pebbles on the bottom, while a fish occasionally darted out and then disappeared. 

"I made this almost all myself, " said Jenny. "Henry wouldn't help mebecause he's so ugly, and Rose was afraid of blacking her fingers. ButI don't care Mother says I'm a great, --great, --I've forgotten theword, but it means dirty and careless, and I guess I do look like afright, don't I?"

Mary now for the first time noticed the appearance of her companion, and readily guessed that the word which she could not remember, was"slattern. " She was a fat, chubby little girl, with a round, sunnyface and laughing blue eyes, while her brown hair hung around herforehead in short, tangled curls. The front breadth of her pinkgingham dress was plastered with mud. One of her shoe strings wasuntied, and the other one gone. The bottom of one pantalet wasentirely torn off, and the other rolled nearly to the knee disclosinga pair of ankles of no Liliputian dimensions. The strings of her whitesun-bonnet were twisted into a hard knot, and the bonnet itself hungdown her back, partially hiding the chasm made by the absence of threeor four hooks and eyes. Altogether she was just the kind of littlegirl which one often finds in the country swinging on gates and makingmud pies. 

Mary was naturally very neat; and in reply to Jenny's question as towhether she looked like a fright, she answered, "I like your facebetter than I do your dress, because it is clean. "

"Why, so was my dress this morning, " said Jenny, "but here can't anybody play in the mud and not get dirty. My pantalet hung by a fewthreads, and as I wanted a rag to wash my earthens with, I tore itoff. Why don't you wear pantalets?"

Mary blushed painfully, as she tried to hide her bare feet with herdress, but she answered, "When mother died I had only two pair, andMiss Grundy says I sha'nt wear them every day. It makes too muchwashing. "

"Miss Grundy! She's a spiteful old thing. She shook me once because Ilaughed at that droll picture Sal Furbush drew of her on the frontdoor. I am afraid of Sal, ain't you?"

"I was at first, but she's very kind to me, and I like her now. "

"Well, I always run when I see her. She makes such faces and shakesher fist so. But if she's kind to you, I'll like her too. You go away(speaking to Henry), and not come here to bother us. "

Henry gave a contemptuous whistle, and pointing to Mary's feet, said, "Ain't they delicate? Most as small as her teeth!"

The tears came into Mary's eyes, and Jenny, throwing a stick at herbrother, exclaimed, "For shame, Henry Lincoln! You always was themeanest boy. Her feet ain't any bigger than mine. See, " and she stuckup her little dumpy foot, about twice as thick as Mary's. 

"Cracky!" said Henry, with another whistle. "They may be, too, and notbe so very small, for yours are as big as stone boats, any day, andyour ankles are just the size of the piano legs. " So saying, he threwa large stone into the water, spattering both the girls, but wettingJenny the most. After this he walked away apparently well pleased withhis performance. 

"Isn't he hateful?" said Jenny, wiping the water from her neck andshoulders; "but grandma says all boys are so until they do somethingwith the oats, --I've forgot what. But there's one boy who isn't ugly. Do you know Billy Bender?"

"Billy Bender? Oh, yes, " said Mary quickly, "he is all the friendI've got in the world except Sal Furbush. "

"Well, he worked for my pa last summer, and oh, I liked him _so_ much. I think he's the _bestest_ boy in the world. And isn't his facebeautiful?"

"I never thought of it, " said Mary. "What makes you think him sohandsome?"

"Oh, I don't know unless it's because he makes such nice popplewhistles!" and as if the argument were conclusive, Jenny unrolled herpantalet, and tried to wipe some of the mud from her dress, at thesame time glancing towards her sister, who at some little distance wasreclining against an old oak tree, and poring intently over "FairyTales for Children. "

Seeing that she was not observed, Jenny drew nearer to Mary and said, "If you'll never tell any body as long as you live and breathe, I'lltell you something. "

Mary gave the required promise, and Jenny continued: "I shouldn't liketo have my mother know it, for she scolds all the time now about my'vulgar tastes, ' though I'm sure Rose likes the same things that I do, except Billy Bender, and it's about him I was going to tell you. Hewas so pleasant I couldn't help loving him, if mother did say Imustn't. He used to talk to me about keeping clean, and once I tried awhole week, and I only dirtied four dresses and three pair ofpantalets in all that time. Oh, how handsome and funny his eyes lookedwhen I told him about it. He took me in his lap, and said that wasmore than he thought a little girl ought to dirty. Did you ever seeany boy you loved as well as you do Billy Bender?"

Mary hesitated a moment, for much as she liked Billy, there wasanother whom she loved better, though he had never been one half askind to her as Billy had. After a time she answered, "Yes, I like, orI did like George Moreland, but I shall never see him again;" and thenshe told Jenny of her home in England, of the long, dreary voyage toAmerica, and of her father's death; but when she came to the sad nightwhen her mother and Franky died, she could not go on, and laying herface in Jenny's lap, she cried for a long time. Jenny's tears flowed, too, but she tried to restrain them, for she saw that Rose had shuther book and was watching her movements. 

Ere long, however, she resumed her reading, and then Jenny, softlycaressing Mary, said, "Don't cry so, for I'll love you, and we'll havegood times together too. We live in Boston every winter, but it willbe most six weeks before we go and I mean to see you every day. "

"In Boston?" said Mary, inquiringly. "_George_ lives in Boston. "

Jenny was silent a moment, and then suddenly clapping her handstogether, she exclaimed. "I know George Moreland. He lives justopposite our house, and is Ida Selden's cousin. Why he's most ashandsome as Billy Bender, only he teases you more. I'll tell him aboutyou, for mother says he's got lots of money, and perhaps he'll giveyou some. "

Mary felt that she wouldn't for the world have George know she was inthe poor-house, and she quickly answered, "No, no, you mustn't tellhim a word about me. I don't want you to. Promise that you won't. "

Loth as Jenny was to make such a promise, she finally did, adding, "Iguess I won't tell Rose either, for she and Ida are great friends. George says he don't know which he likes best, though he thinks Rosethe handsomest. He like handsome girls, and so do I. "

Mary knew she had no beauty of which to boast, but Ella had, so shevery naturally mentioned her sister, saying how much she wished to seeher. 

"Why, you can see her at church, " answered Jenny. "Why don't you evergo?"

"I am going next Sunday, Sally and I, " was Mary's reply. "Billy toldme the last time he was here that he would come and stay with Alice. "

"Oh, I'm glad, and I hope they'll put you in my Sabbath school class, for Ella is in it, but if they do I'll contrive to have Rose sit off agood ways because, --because--"

Here Jenny paused, but seeing that Mary was waiting for her to finishthe sentence, she added, "She's proud, and sometimes laughs at poorgirls. "

"Thank you, Miss Jenny Lincoln, " said Rose, coming forward. "I'll tellmother of this new intimacy, and she'll put a stop to it, I'll assureyou. But come along, I'm going home. "

Jenny arose to obey, but whispered to Mary, "You'll find me mostany time in these woods. I'd ask you to come to our house, onlymother wouldn't let you sit in the parlor. I shall see youSunday, --Good-bye. "

Mary watched her until she disappeared among the bushes and then shetoo started for home, with a lighter heart than she had known beforefor many a day. She had found a new friend, and though Miss Grundyscolded because she had been gone so long, and threatened to shut herup in Sal Furbush's cage, she did not mind it and actually commencedhumming a tune while Miss Grundy was storming about a bowl of sourmilk which she had found in the cupboard. A sharp box on her earsbrought her song to an end and the tears into her eyes, but shethought of Jenny, and the fact that she too knew George made him seemnearer, and when Miss Grundy did not see her she hastily drew thegolden locket from her bosom, and glancing at the handsome, boyishface it revealed, quickly thrust it back as she heard a quick step inthe passage. 

She had no opportunity of seeing Jenny again that week, for she waskept busy from morning till night, running here and there, first aftereggs, then after water, next for potatoes, and then after wood. Andstill Miss Grundy told her fifty times a day that "she didn't half payher way, to say nothing about the young one. "

"Bolt at once, " said Sal. "Bolt, and say you didn't come here to work:that's the way I did. "

Mary was willing to do whatever she could, but she often wished Mrs. Parker were able to be round, for then she was sure she would not haveto work so hard. She had several times been sent of errands to Mrs. Parker's room, and that lady had always spoken kindly to her, askingher if she was tired, or what made her look so pale. It was throughMrs Parker's influence, too, that she had obtained permission toattend church the following Sabbath. Mrs. Parker was a professor ofreligion, and before her illness, some of the family had attendedchurch every Sunday. But since she had been sick, her husband hadthought it hardly worth while to harness up his horses, though he saidany one might go who chose to walk. Few, however, were able to walk;so they remained at home, and Sunday was usually the noisiest day inthe week. Sal Furbush generally took the lead, and mounting thekitchen table, sung camp meeting hymns as loud as she could scream. Uncle Peter fiddled, Patsy nodded and laughed, the girl with crookedfeet by way of increasing the bedlam would sometimes draw a fileacross the stove-pipe, while Miss Grundy scolded, and declared "shecould not and would not have such a noise. "

"Shut your head, madam, and there'll be less, " was Sal's readyrejoinder, as at the end of a verse she paused for breath. 

The first Sabbath Mary looked on in perfect amazement, but the nextone she spent in her own room, and after a deal of trouble, succeededin coaxing Sal to stay there too, listening while she read to her fromher little Bible. But the reading was perplexing business, for Salconstantly corrected her pronunciation, or stopped her while sheexpounded Scripture, and at last in a fit of impatience Mary tossedthe book into the crazy creature's lap, asking her to read her self. 

This was exactly what Sal wanted, and taking the foot of Mary's bedfor her rostrum, she read and preached so furiously, that Mary feltalmost glad when Miss Grundy came up to stop the racket, and lockedSal in her own room. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

AT CHURCH. 

The Sabbath following Mary's first acquaintance with Jenny was the oneon which she was to go to church. Billy Bender promised that if hismother were not suffering from any new disease, he would come to staywith Alice, and in case he failed, the pleasant-looking woman was totake his place. Mary would have preferred going alone, but Sallybegged so hard, and promised so fairly "not to make a speck of a faceat the preacher, provided he used good grammar, " that Mary finallyasked Mr. Parker to let her go. 

He consented willingly, saying he hoped the house would be peaceablefor once. And now, it was hard telling which looked forward to thenext Sunday with the most impatience, Mary or Sal, the latter of whomwas anxious to see the fashions, as she fancied her wardrobe wasgetting out of date. To Mary's happiness there was one drawback. A fewweeks before her mother's death she had given to Ella her straw hat, which she had outgrown, and now the only bonnet she possessed was theveritable blue one of which George Moreland had made fun, and which bythis time was nearly worn out. Mrs. Campbell, who tried to do rightand thought that she did, had noticed Mary's absence from church, andonce on speaking of the subject before Hannah, the latter suggestedthat probably she had no bonnet, saying that the one which she woreat her mother's funeral was borrowed Mrs. Campbell immediately lookedover her things, and selecting a straw which she herself had wornthree years before, she tied a black ribbon across it, and sent it asa present to Mary. 

The bonnet had been rather large for Mrs. Campbell, and was of coursea world too big for Mary, whose face looked bit, as Sal expressed it, "like a yellow pippin stuck into the far end of a firkin. " MissGrundy, however, said "it was plenty good enough for a pauper, "reminding Mary that "beggars shouldn't be choosers. "

"So it is good enough for paupers like you, " returned Sal, "but peoplewho understand grammar always have a keen sense of the ridiculous. "

Mary made no remark whatever, but she secretly wondered if Ella woresuch a hat. Still her desire to see her sister and to visit hermother's grave, prevailed over all other feelings, and on Sundaymorning it was a very happy child which at about nine o'clock boundeddown the stairway, tidily dressed in a ten cent black lawn and a pairof clean white pantalets. 

There was another circumstance, too, aside from the prospect of seeingElla, which made her eyes sparkle until they were almost black. Thenight before, in looking over the articles of dress which she wouldneed, she discovered that there was not a decent pair of stockings inher wardrobe. Mrs. Grundy, to whom she mentioned the fact, repliedwith a violent shoulder jerk, "For the land's sake! ain't you bigenough to go to meetin' barefoot, or did you think we kept silkstockin's for our quality to wear?"

Before the kitchen looking-glass, Sal was practising a courtesy whichshe intended making to any one who chanced to notice her next day; butafter overhearing Miss Grundy's remark, she suddenly brought herexercises to a close and left the kitchen. Arrived at her room, shecommenced tumbling over a basket containing her wearing apparel, selecting from it a pair of fine cotton stockings which she had longpreserved, because they were the last thing Willie's father ever gaveher. "They are not much too large for her now, " thought she, "but Iguess I'll take a small seam clear through them. " This being done, shewaited until all around the house was still, and then creepingstealthily to Mary's room, she pinned the stockings to the pantalets, hanging the whole before the curtainless window, where the little girlcould see them the moment she opened her eyes! Mary well knew to whomshe was indebted for this unexpected pleasure, and in her accustomedprayer that morning she remembered the poor old crazy woman, askingthat the light of reason might again dawn upon her darkened mind. 

On descending to the kitchen, Mary found Sal waiting for her, and, asshe had expected, rigged out in a somewhat fantastic style. Her dress, which was an old plum-colored silk, was altogether too short-waistedand too narrow for the prevailing fashion. A gauze handkerchief wasthrown across her neck, and fastened to her belt in front by a largeyellow bow. Her bonnet, which was really a decent one, was almostentirely covered by a thick green veil, and notwithstanding the sunwas shining brightly, she carried in her hand a large blue cottonumbrella, for fear it would rain!

"Come, child, " said she, the moment Mary appeared, "put on your_tea-kettle_ (referring to the bonnet which Mary held in her hand), and let us start. "

There was no looking-glass in Mary's room, and she stepped before theone in the kitchen while she adjusted her hat, but her courage almostfailed her as she saw the queer-looking image reflected by the mirror. She was unusually thin, and it seemed to her that her teeth werenever so prominent before. Her eyes, always large, now lookedunnaturally so and as she placed what Sal had termed a "tea-kettle"upon her head, she half determined not to go. But Sal caught her hand, saying, "Come, child, it's time we were off. They'll all know it'sMrs. Campbell's old bonnet, and will laugh at her for giving it toyou. "

Billy had not come, but the pleasant-looking woman had succeeded inmaking friends with Alice, and as Mary passed out of the yard she sawher little sister spatting the window sill, and apparently wellpleased with her new nurse. Scarcely were they out of sight of thehouse, when Sal, seating herself upon a large stone, commenceddivesting her feet of her shoes and stockings. 

"What are you doing?" asked Mary, in great surprise. 

"I guess I know better than to wear out my kid slippers when I've gotno Willie's father to buy me any more, " answered Sal. "I'm goingbarefoot until I reach the river bridge, and then I shall put them onagain. "

The shoes and stockings being carefully rolled up in a paper which Salproduced from her pocket, they walked briskly forward, and reached thevillage some time before the first bell rang for church. 

"Come down this street, please, " said Mary to her companion, who withslippers readjusted and umbrella hoisted was mincing along, courtesying to every one she met, and asking them how they did--"Comedown this street; I want to see my old home. "

Sal readily complied, saying as they drew near the low brown house, inwhich a strange family were now living, "There is nothing very elegantin the architecture of this dwelling. "

Mary made no reply. With her head resting upon the garden fence, andone hand clasped around a shrub which Franky had set out, she wassobbing as though her heart would break. Very gently Sal laid her handon Mary's shoulder, and led her away, saying, "What would I not havegiven for such a command of tears when Willie's father died. But Icould not weep; and my tears all turned to burning coals, which set mybrain on fire. "

The next time Mary raised her head they were opposite Mrs. Bender's, where Sal declared it her intention to stop. As they were passing upto the side door, Billy, who heard their footsteps, came out, andshaking hands with Mary, and trying hard to keep from laughing at thewonderful courtesy, which Sal Furbush made him. On entering the housethey found Mrs. Bender flat on her back, the pillow pulled out fromunder her head, and the bed clothes tucked closely up under her chin. 

"Mother was so sick I couldn't come, " said Billy to Mary, while Sal, walking up to the bedside, asked, "Is your sickness unto death, mygood woman?"

"Oh, I am afeard not, " was the feeble response. "Folks with mydifficulty suffer for years. "

Mary looked inquiringly at Billy, and a smile but little accordingwith his mother's seeming distress parted his lips as he whispered, "She was reading yesterday about a woman that had been bed-ridden witha spinal difficulty, and now she declares that she too 'has got aspine in her back, ' though I fancy she would be in a prettypredicament without one. But where did you get that fright of abonnet?" he continued. "It's like looking down a narrow lane to seeyour face. "

Mary knew that Billy was very observing of dress, and she blushedpainfully as she replied, that Mrs. Campbell gave it to her. 

"Well, she ought to be ashamed, " said he, "with all her money to giveyou a corn-basket of a thing like that. Ella doesn't wear such a one, I can tell you. "

Just then the first bell rang, and Sal, who had mischievouslyrecommended a mustard poultice, as being the most likely to draw Mrs. Bender's spine to a head, started to go saying, "she wanted to bethere in season, so as to see the folks come in. "

Accordingly they again set forward, attracting more attention, andcausing more remarks, than any two who had passed through Chicopee fora long time. On reaching the church, Sal requested the sexton to giveher a seat which would command a view of the greater part of thecongregation, and he accordingly led them to the farthest extremity ofone of the side galleries. Mary had been there at church before, butas she had always sat near the door, she did not know in what part ofthe building Mrs. Campbell's pew was located. As she leaned over therailing, however, she concluded that the large square one with crimsonvelvet cushions must be hers. Erelong the bell began to toll, and soona lady dressed in deep mourning appeared, and passing up the middleaisle, entered the richly cushioned pew. She was accompanied by alittle girl, tastefully dressed in a frock of light-blue silk tissue. A handsome French straw hat was set jauntily on one side of her head, and her long curls hung over her white neck and shoulders. Mary knewthat this was Ella, and involuntarily starting up, she leaned forwardfar enough to bring her bonnet directly in sight of some thoughtlessgirls, who immediately commenced tittering, and pointing her out tothose near them. 

Blushing scarlet, the poor girl sank back into the seat, saying halfaloud, "O, I wish I hadn't come. "

"What's the matter?" said Sal. "Has somebody laughed at you? I'llwarrant there has;" and leaning over the railing herself, she shookher fist threateningly at the girls, whose eyes were still directedthat way. 

Mary felt instinctively that her companion was attracting moreattention than her bonnet; and twitching her dress bade her sit down. Sal obeyed; but she had no opportunity that morning of decidingwhether the sermon were grammatical or not, for she was constantly onthe look out, and whenever she saw any one scrutinizing Mary orherself more closely than they ought, a shake of her fist and a horridface warned them to desist. Twice during church time Mary thought, nayfelt sure that she caught her sister's eye, but it was quicklywithdrawn, as if unwilling to be recognized. 

When church was out, Sal insisted upon going down immediately; so theydescended together to the porch below, reaching it just as Mrs. Campbell appeared in the doorway. Had she chosen, Mary could havetouched the lady's dress as she passed; but she rather shrank frombeing seen, and would probably not have been observed at all, had notSal planted herself directly in front of Mrs. Campbell, saying loudlyenough for all near her to hear, "Madam, do you not recognize yourmunificent gift of charity in yonder amazing bonnet?" at the same timepointing towards Mary, who nervously grasped the strings of her hat, as if to remove the offensive article. 

Mrs. Campbell haughtily pushed Sal aside, and advancing towards thechild, said, "I am glad to see you at church Mary, and hope you willnow come regularly. You can accompany Ella home after the Sabbathschool, if you like. "

The words and manner were so cold and formal, that Mary was obliged toforce down her tears before she replied, that she was going to hermother's grave, and wanted Ella to go with her. 

"It is pretty warm to walk so far, but if Ella wishes it she has mypermission. Only tell her not to get red and heated, " said Mrs. Campbell; and gathering up the folds of her rich silk, the texture ofwhich Sal Furbush had been examining, and comparing with her ownplum-color, she walked away. 

Scarcely was she gone, when Jenny Lincoln came tripping up, andseizing both Mary's hands, exclaimed, "I am real glad you are here. Ithought you hadn't come, until I heard them talking about a crazywoman. But let's go to my class, and you'll have a chance to see Ellawhile the scholars are getting their seats. "

Mary accompanied her young friend to a pew, at the door of which shemet her sister face to face. There was a sudden exclamation of joy onMary's part, and an attempt to throw her arms around Ella's neck, butthe little girl drew back, and merely offering her hand, said, "Oh, it's you, isn't it? I didn't know you, you looked so queer. "

"Heavens! what a head-dress! Big as our carriage top any day!" was thenext exclamation which reached Mary's ear, as Rose Lincoln brushedpast. Glancing from her sister to Rose, Mary half determined to tearthe bonnet from her head and trample it under her feet, but Jennysoftly squeezed her hand, and whispered, "Don't mind what Rose says; Ilove you, and so does Billy Bender. I saw him in the villageyesterday, and asked him if he didn't, and he said he did. "

It required more than Billy Bender's love to soothe Mary then. Hersister's cool reception, so different from what she had anticipated, had stung her heart; and sitting down near the door, she burst into apassionate fit of tears. Jenny, who was really distressed, occasionally pressed her hand in token of sympathy, at the same timeoffering her cloves, peanuts and sugar-plums. There was a brighterflush, too, than usual, on Ella's cheek, for she knew that she haddone wrong, and she so jumbled together the words of her lesson, thatthe teacher made her repeat it twice, asking her what was the matter. 

By the time Sabbath school was over, Mary had dried her tears; anddetermining to make one more advance towards her sister, she said, "Won't you go to mother's grave with me? I want to tell you aboutlittle Allie. I have taught her to call your name most as plain as _I_can. "

Ella looked down at her embroidered pantalets, and hanging her head onone side, said, "Oh, it's so dusty. I'm afraid I'll get all dirt, --andhot, too. Mamma doesn't like to have me get hot. "

"Why not?" asked Jenny, who always wished to know the reason ofthings. 

"'Cause it makes folks' skin rough, and break out, " was Ella's reply. 

"Oh, pshaw!" returned Jenny, with a vain attempt to turn up her littlebit of a nose. "I play every day till I am most roasted, and my skinain't half as rough as yours. But say, will you go with Mary? for ifyou don't I shall!"

"I guess I won't, " said Ella, and then, anxious to make Mary feel alittle comfortable, she added, "Mamma says Mary's coming to see mebefore long, and then we'll have a real good time. I've lots of prettythings--two silk dresses, and I wear French gaiters like these everyday. "

Glancing first at Mary, and then at Ella, Jenny replied, "Pho, that'snothing; Mary knows more than you do, any way. Why, she can say everyspeck of the multiplication table, and you only know the 10's!"

When Ella was angry, or felt annoyed, she generally cried; and nowdeclaring that she knew more than the 10's she began to cry; andannouncing her intention of never speaking to Jenny again "as long asshe lived and breathed, " she walked away, while Mary and Jennyproceeded together towards the burying ground. With a bitter cry Marythrew herself upon her mother's grave, and wept for a long, long time. 

"It would not be so bad, " said Mary, "if there was any body left, butI am all alone in the world. Ella does not love me--nobody loves me. "

It was in vain that Jenny told her of Billy Bender's love, of her own, and George Moreland's too. Mary only wept the more, wishing that shehad died, and Allie too. At last remembering that she had left SalFurbush behind her, and knowing that it was time for her to go, shearose, and leaning on Jenny, whose arm was passed lovingly about her, she started to return. 

Afternoon service had commenced ere they reached the church, and asMary had no desire of again subjecting her bonnet to the ridicule ofRose Lincoln, and as Jenny had much rather stay out doors in theshade, they sat down upon the steps, wondering where Sal Furbush hadtaken herself. "I mean to look in and see if she is here, " said Jenny, and advancing on tiptoe to the open door, she cast her eye over thepeople within; then clapping her hand over her mouth to keep back alaugh, she returned to Mary, saying, "Oh, if it isn't the funniestthing in the world. There sits Sal in Mrs. Campbell's pew, fanningherself with that great palm-leaf, and shaking her fist at Ella everytime she stirs!"

It seems that Sal had amused herself during the intermission byexamining and trying the different pews, and taking a fancy to Mrs. Campbell's, she had snugly ensconced herself in one corner of it, greatly to the fear and mortification of Ella, who chanced to be theonly one of the family present. When service was out, Sal gathered upher umbrella and courtesying her way through the crowd, soon foundMary and started for home, declaring the clergyman to be "a well-readgrammarian, only a trifle too emphatic in his delivery. "

As they were descending the long hill which led to the river bridge, Mr. Lincoln's carriage passed them, and Jenny, who was inside, seizedthe reins, saying, "Please, pa, stop and let them ride--there's nobodybut Rose and me in here, and it is so hot and so far. "

Mr. Lincoln might possibly have complied with his daughter's request, had not Rose chirrupped to the spirited horses, and said, "Don't, father, for mercy's sake! ask those paupers to ride. "

So the carriage dashed on, but Mary forgot the long walk byremembering the glance of affection which Jenny gave her as she lookedback from the window. Sal seemed unusually silent, and even forgot totake off her shoes and stockings when she reached the river bridge. Mary saw there was something weighing upon her mind, but she forboreasking any questions, knowing that Sal would in her own good time makeher thoughts known. They had nearly reached home, when Sal suddenlyturned aside, and seating herself upon a rock under a whitebeech-tree, said, "Miss Howard, I've been thinking what a splendidminister was spoiled when they put dresses on me! Oh how hard I had tohold myself to-day to keep from extemporizing to the congregation. Ireckon there wouldn't have been quite so many nodding as there were. "

In the excitement of the moment Sal arose, and throwing out her eyes, gesticulated in a manner rather alarming to Mary, who had never beforeseen so wild a look in the crazy woman's eyes. Soon, however, her moodchanged, and resuming her seat, she continued in a milder tone, "Didyou ever hear that I was an authoress?"

"An authoress!" repeated Mary--"an authoress! Why no; are you?"

"To be sure I am, " answered Sal. "What's to hinder. Haven't I told yourepeatedly, that I once possessed an unusually large amount ofjudgment; and this, added to my knowledge of grammar, and uncommonpowers of imagination, enabled me to produce a work which, but for anunaccountable freak of the publisher, would have rendered my nameimmortal. "

"I don't understand, " said Mary, and Sally continued: "You see, Iwrote about six hundred pages of foolscap, which the publisher to whomit was sent for examination was impolite enough to return, togetherwith a note, containing, as I suppose, his reasons for rejection; butif he thinks I read it he's mistaken. I merely glanced at the words, 'Dear Madam--We regret--' and then threw it aside. It was a terribledisappointment, and came near turning my brain; but there are otherpublishing houses in the world, and one of these days I shall astonishmankind. But come, we must hasten on, or the gormandizers will eat upthose custard pies which I found in the cellar with the brass-kettlecovered over them. "

Accordingly they started for home, but found, as Sal had predicted, that supper was over and the pies all gone. By a little dexterousmanagement, however, she managed to find half of one, which MissGrundy had tucked away under an empty candle-box for her own futureeating. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE NEW BONNET. 

The next morning, for a wonder. Jenny Lincoln was up before the sun, and in the large dark closet which adjoined her sleeping room, sherummaged through band-boxes and on the top shelves until she found andbrought to light a straw hat, which was new the fall before, but whichher mother had decided unfit to appear again in the city. Jenny hadheard the unkind remarks which Mary's odd-looking bonnet elicited, andshe now determined to give her this one, though she did not dare to doso without her mother's consent. So after breakfast, when her motherwas seated at her work in the parlor, Jenny drew near, making knownher request, and asking permission to carry the bonnet to Maryherself. 

"Mercy on me!" said Mrs. Lincoln, "what won't you think of next, andwhere did you get such vulgar taste. It must have been from yourfather, for I am sure you never took it from me. I dare say, now, youhad rather play with that town pauper than with the richest child inBoston. "

For a moment Jenny was silent, and then as a new idea came into herhead, she said, "Ma, if you should die, and pa should die, and everybody should die, and we hadn't any money, wouldn't I have to be a townpauper?"

"What absurd questions you ask, " said Mrs. Lincoln, overturning awork-box to find a spool of cotton, which lay directly on top. "Dowhat you please with the bonnet, which I fancy you'll find as muchtoo small for Mary as the one she now has is too large. "

Jenny felt fearful of this, but "where there's a will there's a way;"and after considering a moment, she went in quest of her sister, whohad one just like it. Rose did not care a fig for the bonnet, andafter a while she agreed to part with it on condition that Jenny wouldgive her a coral bracelet, with gold clasps, which she had longcoveted. This fanciful little ornament was a birth-day present fromBilly and at first Jenny thought that nothing would tempt her to partwith it, but as Rose was decided, she finally yielded the point, brushing away a tear as she placed the bracelet in her sister's hand. Then putting the bonnet in a basket, and covering it with a newspaper, she started for the poor-house. 

"Good morning, Miss Grundy, " said she, as she appeared in the doorway. "May I see Mary, just a little minute? I've got something for her. "

Miss Grundy was crosser than usual this morning on account of a suddenillness which had come upon Patsy, so she jerked her shoulders, andwithout turning her head, replied, "It's Monday mornin', and Maryain't goin' to be hindered by big bugs nor nobody else. Here 'tisgoin' on nine o'clock, and them dishes not done yet! If you want tosee her, you can go into the back room where she is. "

Nothing daunted by this ungracious reception, Jenny advanced towardsthe "back room, " where she found Mary at the "sink, " her arms immersedin dishwater, and a formidable pile of plates, platters and bowls allready to be wiped, standing near her. Throwing aside her bonnet andseizing the coarse dish towel, Jenny exclaimed, "I'm going to wipedishes Mary, I know how, and when they are done, if Miss Grundy won'tlet you go up stairs a minute, I'll ask Mr. Parker. I saw him underthe woodshed grinding an axe. "

It was a rare thing to see Jenny Lincoln in the kitchen at thepoor-house, and now the fact that she was there, and wiping dishestoo, circulated rapidly, bringing to the spot the sour-faced woman, the pleasant-looking woman, the girl with the crooked feet, and half adozen others, each of whom commented upon the phenomenon after her ownfashion. 

"Do see the little thing, " said one; "handles the wiping rag just likeany body!"

"And look there, " cried a second; "setting them up in the cupboard!Did you ever!" While a third remarked that she wore silk stockings, wondering whether they were bought on purpose for her, or had been cutover from a pair of her mother's. 

Thus noticed and flattered Jenny worked away, assisting in scouringknives and washing spiders, until her dress was splashed withdishwater, and her white apron crocked by the kettles. 

"Won't your marm scold you for getting so dirty?' asked the girl withthe crooked feet. 

"I s'pose so, " said Jenny, carelessly; "but then she scolds most allthe time, so I don't mind it!"

The dishes being done, and Miss Grundy making no objections, Maryaccompanied Jenny up stairs, where the latter, opening her basket, held to view a neat-looking straw hat, far prettier than the one whichMrs. Campbell had presented. 

"See, " said she, placing it upon Mary's head; "this is for you. Iwanted to give you mine, but 'twasn't big enough, so Rose let you havehers. It's real becoming, too. "

The tears which fell from Mary's eyes were caused not less by Jenny'skindness, than by the thought that the haughty Rose Lincoln had givenher a bonnet! She did not know of the sacrifice which thenoble-hearted Jenny had made to obtain it, and it was well she didnot, for it would have spoiled all the happiness she experienced inwearing it. 

"Thank you, Jenny, and Rose too, " said she. "I am so glad, for I loveto go to church, and I surely would never have gone again and worethat other bonnet. "

"I wouldn't either, " returned Jenny. "I think it was ridiculous forMrs. Campbell to give you such an old dud of a thing, and I knowmother thinks so too, for she laughed hard for her, when I describedit, though she said nothing except that 'beggars shouldn't bechoosers. ' I wonder what that means. Do you know?"

Mary felt that she was beginning to know, but she did not care toenlighten Jenny, who soon sprang up, saying she must go home, or hermother would be sending Henry after her. "And I don't want him to comehere, " said she, "for I know you don't like him, and there don'thardly any body, he's so stuck up and kind of--I don't know what. "

In passing through the hall, the girls met Miss Grundy, who had justcome from Patsy's room. As soon as she saw Mary, she said, "Clap onyour bonnet quick, and run as fast as ever you can to MissThornfield's. Dr. Gilbert has gone there, and do you tell him to comehere right away, for Patsy is dreadful sick, and has fits all thetime. "

There was a tremor in her voice, and she seemed much excited, whichsurprised the girls, who fancied she would not care even if Patsydied. Mrs. Thornfield's was soon reached, the message given, and thenthey hurried back. 

"Is Patsy worse?" asked Mary, as she saw the bedroom door open, andtwo or three women standing near the bed. 

Miss Grundy did not answer, and when next her face was visible, thegirls saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been weeping. 

"Funny, isn't it?" said Jenny, as she started for home. "I didn'tsuppose any thing would make her cry, and I guess now the tears aresort of _sour!_"

Dr. Gilbert came, but his skill could not save the poor idiot girl, and at about four that afternoon she died. Around the bed of deaththere were no tears or lamentations, for those who stood by andwatched the lamp of life as it went out, felt that the spirit whichwas leaving them would be happier far in another world, for never inthis had a ray of reason shone upon poor Patsy's darkened mind. Wehave said there were no tears, and yet, although the waters came notto the surface, there was one heart which wept, as with unflinchingnerve the cold, stern woman arrayed the dead girl for the grave. 

That night Mary was aroused from sleep, by some one whispering hername in her ear, and starting up, she saw Sally bending over her. 

"Come with me, " said she softly, "and I'll show you the queerest sightyou ever saw. "

Trembling in every joint, Mary arose and followed Sal, who led hertowards the room where Patsy lay. As she drew near the door theypaused, and by the light of the autumn moon, which streamed throughthe curtained window Mary saw Miss Grundy kneeling by the cold body, and sobbing bitterly. Once she spoke, and Mary caught the words, "Mychild, my poor child. "

Wonderingly she looked up to Sally for an explanation; but the crazywoman only replied, as they returned to their rooms, "Yes, --there'sbeen queer doings some time or other, it's very evident; but I knowone thing, I'll never draw her profile again, and I'll call her _Mrs. _Grundy after this!"

It was hardly worth while, as the neighbors thought, to be at all thetrouble and expense of carrying a foolish girl without friends orrelatives to the graveyard, so they buried her beneath the shadow of awide-spreading maple, in a little inclosure where several otherunfortunate ones lay sleeping At the funeral many wondered at theghastly whiteness of Miss Grundy's face, and why she grasped at thecoffin lid, as if to keep from falling, when with others she gazedupon the pale face which, in its dreamless slumber, looked calm andplacid as that of a child. 

There were but few who knew of Miss Grundy's sin, and her secret wasburied in Patsy's grave, where often a mother's form was bending and amother's tears were shed, when the world was dark and still, and therewas no eye to see, save that of Him who said, "Go and sin no more. "

CHAPTER X. 

WINTER AT THE POOR-HOUSE. 

One afternoon about the middle of October, Mary sat under anapple-tree in the orchard, weeping bitterly. It was in vain thatAlice, who was with her, and who by this time was able to stand alone, climbed up to her side, patting her cheeks, and trying various ways towin her attention. She still wept on, unmindful of the sound of rapidfootsteps upon the grass, nor until twice repeated did she hear thewords, "Why, Mary, what is the matter? What's happened?"--then lookingup she saw Billy Bender, who raised her in his arms, and insisted uponknowing what was the matter. 

Laying her head on his shoulder, she sobbed out, "She's gone, --she'sgone, and there's nobody left but Sally. Oh dear, oh dear!"

"Gone! Who's gone?" asked Billy. 

"Jenny, " was Mary's reply. "She's gone to Boston, and won't come backtill next May; and I loved her so much. "

"Oh, yes, I know, " returned Billy. "I met them all on their way to thedepot; but I wouldn't feel so badly. Jenny will come again, andbesides that, I've got some real good news to tell you. 

"About Ella?" said Mary. 

"No, not about Ella, but about myself; I'm coming here to live withyou. "

"Coming here to live!" repeated Mary with astonishment. "What for?Are your folks all dead?"

Billy smiled and answered, "Not quite so bad as that. I went to schoolhere two years ago, and I know I learned more than I ever did at homein two seasons. The boys, when Henry Lincoln is away, don't act halfas badly as they do in the village; and then they usually have a ladyteacher, because it's cheaper I suppose, for they don't pay them halfas much as they do gentlemen, and I think they are a great deal thebest. Any way, I can learn the most when I go to a woman. "

"But what makes you come here, and what will your mother do?" askedMary. 

"She's got a sister come from the West to stay with her, and as Ishall go home every Saturday night, she'll get along well enough. Iheard Mr. Parker in the store one day inquiring for a boy to dochores. So after consulting mother, I offered my services, and wasaccepted. Won't we have real nice times going to school together, andthen I've brought a plaything for you. Are you afraid of dogs?"

So saying he gave a whistle, and a large Newfoundland dog camebounding through the orchard. At first Mary drew back in alarm, forthe dog, though young, was unusually large; but her fears soonvanished when she saw how affectionate he was, licking her own andAlice's hands, and bounding playfully upon his master's shoulders. 

"He is a nice fellow, " said she, stroking his shaggy sides. What doyou call him?"

"Tasso, " answered Billy; and then seeing Mr. Parker at a distance, andwishing to speak to him, he walked away. 

Three weeks from that time the winter school commenced; and Billy tookup his abode at the poor-house, greatly to the satisfaction of Sallyand Mary, and greatly to the annoyance of Miss Grundy, who, sincePatsy's death, was crosser and more fault-finding than ever. 

"Smart idea!" said she, "to have that great lummux around to be waitedon!" and when she saw how happy his presence seemed to make Mary, shevented her displeasure upon her in various ways, conjuring up allsorts of reasons why she should stay out of school as often aspossible, and wondering "what the world was a coming to, when youngones hardly out of the cradle begun to court! It wasn't so in heryounger days, goodness knew!"

"I wouldn't venture a great many remarks about my younger days, if Iwere you, _Mrs. _ Grundy, " said Sal, who had adhered to her resolutionof always addressing her old enemy as _Mrs. _, though she whispered itto Mary as her opinion that the woman didn't fancy her new title. 

Much as Mary had learned to prize Sally's friendship, before winterwas over she had cause to value it still more highly. Wretched anddestitute as the poor crazed creature now was, she showed plainly thatat some period or other of her life, she had had rare advantages foreducation, which she now brought into use for Mary's benefit. WhenMary first commenced attending school, Miss Grundy insisted that sheshould knit every evening, and thus she found no opportunity forstudying at home. One evening when, as usual, a part of the familywere assembled around a blazing fire in the kitchen, Sal Furbushsuddenly exclaimed, "Mary, why don't you bring your books home atnight, just as Mr. Bender does. "

She had conceived a great respect for Billy, and always called him_Mr. _ Mary cast a rueful glance at the coarse sock, which certainlywas not growing fast, and replied, "I should like to, but I have toknit all the time. "

"Fudge on your everlasting knitting, " said Sal, snatching the sockfrom Mary's hands and making the needles fly nimbly. "I'm going to bevery magnanimous, and every time you'll bring your books home I'llknit for you--I beg Mrs. Grundy, that you'll not throw the fire allover the floor, " she added, as that lady gave the forestick a violentkick. 

"The Lord save us!" was Miss Grundy's exclamation when after supperthe next evening she saw the three-legged stand loaded down withBilly's and Mary's school books. 

But as no one made her any reply, she quietly resumed her work, appropriating to her own use the only tallow candle there was burning, and leaving Billy and Mary to see as best they could by the firelight. For some time Mary pored over her lesson in Colburn, but coming to thequestion, "24 is 3/5 of how many times 10?" she stopped, unable toproceed farther. Again and again she read it over, without gathering asingle idea, and was on the point of asking Billy to assist her, whenSal, who had been watching her, said, "Let me take your book, child. "

Mary did so, and then, as if conscious for the first time of MissGrundy's monopoly of the candle, Sal seized a large newspaper lyingnear, and twisting it up, said, "Let there be light;" then thrustingone end of it into the flames and drawing it out again, added, "andthere is light. "

After tumbling over the leaves awhile, she continued, "No, they didn'tstudy this when I was young; but tell me what 'tis that troubles you. "

Mary pointed to the problem, and after looking at it attentively amoment, Sal said, "The answer to it is 4; and if you will give me somelittle inkling of the manner in which you are taught to explain themat school, perhaps I can tell you about that. "

"It begins in this way, " said Mary. "If 24 is 3/5 of some number, 1/5of that number must be something or other, I don't know what. "

"One third of 24 of course, " said Sal. 

"Oh, yes, that's it, " exclaimed Mary, who began to understand itherself. "Now, I guess I know. You find what one third of 24 is, andif that is _one_ fifth, _five_ fifths would be five times that, andthen see how many times 10 will go in it. "

"Exactly so, " said Sal. "You'll make an arithmetic yet, and have itout just about the time I do my grammar. But, " she added in anothertone, "I've concluded to leave out the Grundy gender!"

Each night after this Mary brought home her books, and the rapidimprovement which she made in her studies was as much owing to Sally'suseful hints and assistance as to her own untiring perseverance. Oneday when she returned from school Sally saw there was something thematter, for her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed as if withweeping. On inquiring of Billy, she learned that some of the girls hadbeen teasing Mary about her teeth, calling them "tushes, " &c. 

As it happened one of the paupers was sick, and Dr. Gilbert was atthat time in the house. To him Sal immediately went, and after layingthe case before him, asked him to extract the offending teeth. Sallywas quite a favorite with the doctor, who readily consented, oncondition that Mary was willing, which he much doubted, as such teethcame hard. 

"Willing or not, she shall have them out. It's all that makes her sohomely, " said Sal; and going in quest of Mary, she led her to thedoctor, who asked to look in her mouth. 

There was a fierce struggle, a scream, and then one of the teeth waslying upon the floor. 

"Stand still, " said Sal, more sternly than she had ever before spokento Mary, who, half frightened out of her wits stood still while theother one was extracted. 

"There, " said Sal, when the operation was finished, "you look ahundred per cent. Better. "

For a time Mary cried and spit, hardly knowing whether the relishedthe joke or not; but when Billy praised her improved looks, tellingher that "her mouth was real pretty, " and when she herself dried hereyes enough to see that it was a great improvement, she felt better, and wondered why she had never thought to have them out before. 

Rapidly and pleasantly to Mary that winter passed away, for thepresence of Billy was in itself a sufficient reason why she should behappy. He was so affectionate and brother-like in his deportmenttowards her, that she began questioning whether she did not love himas well, if not better, than she did her sister Ella, whom she seldomsaw, though she heard that she had a governess from Worcester, and wastaking music lessons on a grand piano which had been bought a yearbefore. Occasionally Billy called at Mrs. Campbell's, but Ella seemedshy and unwilling to speak of her sister. 

"Why is there this difference?" he thought more than once, as hecontrasted the situation, of the two girls, --the one petted, caressed, and surrounded by every luxury, and the other forlorn, desolate, andthe inmate of a poor-house; and then he built castles of a future, when, by the labor of his own head or hands, Mary, too, should be richand happy. 

CHAPTER XI. 

ALICE. 

As spring advanced, Alice began to droop, and Sally's quick eyedetected in her infallible signs of decay. But she would not tell itto Mary, whose life now seemed a comparatively happy one. Mr. And Mrs. Parker were kind to her, --the pleasant-looking woman and the girl withcrooked feet were kind to her. Uncle Peter petted her, and even MissGrundy had more than once admitted that "she was about as good asyoung ones would average. " Billy, too, had promised to remain and workfor Mr. Parker during the summer, intending with the money thus earnedto go the next fall and winter to the Academy in Wilbraham. Jenny wascoming back ere long, and Mary's step was light and buoyant as shetripped singing about the house, unmindful of Miss Grundy'soft-expressed wish that "she would stop that clack, " or of theanxious, pitying eyes Sal Furbush bent upon her, as day after day thefaithful old creature rocked and tended little Alice. 

"No, " said she, "I cannot tell her. She'll have tears enough to shedby and by, but I'll double my diligence, and watch little Willie moreclosely. " So night after night, when Mary was sleeping the deep sleepof childhood, Sally would steal noiselessly to her room, and bendingover the little wasting figure at her side, would wipe the cold sweatfrom her face, and whisper in the unconscious baby's ear messages oflove for "the other little Willie, now waiting for her in Heaven. "

At last Mary could no longer be deceived, and one day when Alice laygasping in Sally's lap she said, "Aunt Sally isn't Alice growingworse? She doesn't play now, nor try to walk. "

Sally laid her hand on Mary's face and replied, "Poor child, you'llsoon be all alone, for Willie's going to find his mother. "

There was no outcry, --no sudden gush of tears, but nervously claspingher hands upon her heart, as if the shock had entered there, Mary satdown upon her bed, and burying her face in the pillow, sat there for along time. But she said nothing, and a careless observer might havethought that she cared nothing, as it became each day more and moreevident that Alice was dying. But these knew not of the long nightswhen with untiring love she sat by her sister's cradle, listening toher irregular breathing, pressing her clammy hands, and praying to beforgiven if ever, in thought or deed, she had wronged the little onenow leaving her. 

And all this time there came no kind word or message of love fromElla, who knew that Alice was dying, for Billy had told her so. "Oh, if she would only come and see her;" said Mary, "it wouldn't seem halfso bad. "

"Write to her, " said Sal; "peradventure that may bring her. "

Mary had not thought of this before, and now tearing a leaf from herwriting-book, and taking her pen, she wrote hurriedly, "Ella, dearElla, won't you come and see little Alice once before she dies? Youused to love her, and you would now, if you could see how white andbeautiful she looks. Oh, do come. Mrs. Campbell will let you, I know. "

This note, which was blurred and blotted with tears was carried byBilly, who was going to the village, and delivered to Mrs. Campbellherself. Perhaps the proud woman remembered the time when her owndarling died, or it may be that conscience upbraided her for caring somuch for one orphan and utterly neglecting the other two. Be that asit may, her tears fell upon the paper and mingled with Mary's as shereplied, "Ella shall come this afternoon. "

But before afternoon a drizzling shower came on, and Mary watched andwept in vain, for Ella did not come. The next morning was bright andbeautiful as April mornings often are, and at as early an hour as wasconsistent with Mrs. Campbell's habits, her carriage was before thedoor, and herself and Ella seated within it. The little lady was notin the best of humors, for she and her maid had quarrelled about herdress; Ella insisting upon a light-blue merino, and the maid proposinga plain delaine, which Ella declared she would not wear. Mrs. Campbell, to whom the matter was referred, decided upon the delaine, consequently Ella cried and pouted, saying she wouldn't go, wonderingwhat Alice wanted to be sick for, or any way why they should send forher. 

Meantime in and around the poor-house there was for once perfectsilence. Sal Furbush had been invisible for hours, --the girl withcrooked feet trod softly as she passed up and down the stairs, --UnclePeter's fiddle was unstrung, and, securely locked in his fiddle box, was stowed away at the bottom of his old red chest, --and twice thatmorning when no one saw her, Miss Grundy had stolen out to Patsy'sgrave. Mary was not called to wash the dishes, but up in her own roomshe sat with her head resting upon the window sill, while the sweet, fresh air of the morning swept over her face, lifting the hair fromher flushed brow. Billy Bender was standing near her, his arm thrownaround her, and his lips occasionally pressing her forehead. 

Suddenly there was the sound of carriage wheels, and he whispered inher ear, "Ella is coming. "

Hastily running down the stairs, Mary met her sister in the doorway, and throwing her arms around her neck, burst into tears. Ella wouldgladly have shaken her off, for she felt that her curls were in dangerof being mussed, and she had besides hardly recovered from her pet. But Mary firmly held her hand, and led her on through the long hall, into a room which they usually denominated "the best room. "

There, upon the table, lay a little stiffened form. The blue eyes wereclosed, and the long eyelashes rested upon the marble cheek, and inthe waxen hands, folded so carefully over the other, there was asingle snow-drop. No one knew who placed it there, or whence it came. Gently Mary laid back the thin muslin covering, saying as she did so, "Allie is dead. I've got no sister left but you!" and again her armsclosed convulsively about Ella's neck. 

"You kind of choke me!" said Ella, trying to get free, and it was notuntil Mrs. Campbell, thoroughly ashamed of her want of feeling, tookher hand and placed it on Alice's cold cheek, asking her if she werenot sorry her little sister was dead, that she manifested any emotionwhatever. Then, as if something of her better nature were roused, herlip trembled for a moment, and she burst into a violent fit ofweeping. 

"It is hardly natural that she should feel it as deeply as Mary, " saidMrs. Campbell to Billy Bender, who was present. 

He made no reply, but he never forgot that scene; and when years afterhe met with Ella on terms of perfect equality, --when he saw herpetted, flattered, and admired, he turned away from the fawningmultitude, remembering only the April morning when she stood by thedead body of her sister. 

During all this time no trace of Sal Furbush had been seen, and atlast a strict search was instituted but to no effect, until Billy, whochanced to be passing the dark closet under the garret stairs, heardher whispering to herself, "Yes, little Willie's dead, and Sally's got_three_ in Heaven now. "

Entering the place, he found her crouched in one corner, her hairhanging down her back, and her eyes flashing with unusual brightness. 

"Why, Sally, " said he, "what are you here for?"

"To save the credit of the house, " was her ready reply. "When theother Willie died, they chained me in this dungeon, and thinking theymight do so again, I concluded to come here quietly wishing to saveall trouble and confusion, for the utmost decorum should be preservedin the house of death. "

"Poor woman, " said Billy kindly, "no one wishes you to stay here. Comewith me, "--and he took her hand to lead her forth. 

But she resisted him, saying, that "fasting and solitude were nature'sgreat restoratives. "

"She has showed her good sense for once, " said Miss Grundy, on hearingof Sally's whereabouts, "but' ain't the critter hungry?" and owing tosome newly touched chord of kindness, a slice of toast and a cup ofhot tea erelong found entrance into the darksome cell. 

Strange to say, too, the hand which brought it was not repulsed, though very demurely and in seeming earnestness was the questionasked, "Mrs. Grundy, haven't you met with a change?"

The next day was the funeral. At first there was some talk of buryingthe child in the same inclosure with Patsy; but Mary plead soearnestly to have her laid by her mother, that her request wasgranted, and that night when the young spring moon came out, it lookedquietly down upon the grave of little Alice, who by her mother's sidewas sweetly sleeping. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A NEW FRIEND. 

Three weeks had passed away since Alice's death, and affairs at thepoor-house were beginning to glide on as usual. Sal Furbush, havingsatisfied her own ideas of propriety by remaining secluded for two orthree days, had once more appeared in society; but now that Alice wasno longer there to be watched, time hung wearily upon her hands, andshe was again seized with her old desire for authorship. Accordingly, a grammar was commenced, which she said would contain Nine Hundred andNinety Nine rules for speaking the English language correctly!

Mary, who had resumed her post as dish washer in the kitchen, wasalmost daily expecting Jenny; and one day when Billy came in todinner, he gave her the joyful intelligence that Jenny had returned, and had been in the field to see him, bidding him tell Mary to meether that afternoon in the woods by the brook. 

"Oh, I do hope Miss Grundy will let me go, " said Mary, "and I guessshe will, for since Allie died, she hasn't been near so cross. "

"If she don't, I will, " answered Mr. Parker, who chanced to bestanding near, and who had learned to regard the little orphan girlwith more than usual interest. 

But Miss Grundy made no objections, and when the last dishcloth waswrung dry, and the last iron spoon put in its place, Mary boundedjoyfully away to the woods, where she found Jenny, who embraced her ina manner which showed that she had not been forgotten. 

"Oh, " said she, "I've got so much to tell you, and so much to hear, though I know all about dear little Allie' death, --didn't you feeldreadfully?"

Mary's tears were a sufficient answer, and Jenny, as if suddenlydiscovering something new, exclaimed, "Why, what have you been doing?Who pulled your teeth?"

Mary explained the circumstance of the tooth-pulling, and Jennycontinued: "You look a great deal better, and if your cheeks were onlya little fatter and your skin not quite so yellow, you'd be realhandsome; but no matter about that. I saw George Moreland in Boston, and I wanted to tell him about you, but I'd promised not to; and thenat first I felt afraid of him, for you can't think what a great bigfellow he's got to be. Why, he's awful tall! and handsome, too. Roselikes him, and so do lots of the girls, but I don't believe he cares abit for any of them except his cousin Ida, and I guess he does likeher;--any way, he looks at her as though he did. "

Mary wondered _how_ he looked at her, and would perhaps have asked, had she not been prevented by the sudden appearance of Henry Lincoln, who directly in front of her leaped across the brook. He was evidentlynot much improved in his manners, for the moment he was safely landedon terra firma, he approached her, and seizing her round the waist, exclaimed, "Hallo, little pauper! You're glad to see me back, I daresay. "

Then drawing her head over so that he could look into her face, hecontinued, "Had your tusks out, haven't you! Well, it's quite animprovement, so much so that I'll venture to kiss you. "

Mary struggled, and Jenny scolded, while Henry said "Don't kick andflounce so, my little beauty. If there's any thing I hate, it's seeinggirls make believe they're modest. That clodhopper Bill kisses youevery day, I'll war rant. "

Here Jenny's wrath exploded; and going up to her brother, sheattempted to pull him away, until bethinking her of the brook, shecommenced sprinkling him with water, but observing that more of itfell upon Mary than her brother, she desisted, while Henry, havingaccomplished his purpose, began spitting and making wry faces, assuring Mary that "she needn't be afraid of his ever troubling heragain, for her lips were musty, and tasted of the poor-house!"

Meanwhile Tasso, who had become a great favorite with Mary, and who, on this occasion, had accompanied her to the woods, was standing onthe other side of the brook, eyeing Henry's movements, and apparentlytrying to make up his mind whether his interference was necessary ornot. A low growl showed that he was evidently deciding the matter, when Henry desisted, and walked leisurely off. 

Erelong, however, he returned, and called out, "See, girls, I've gotan elegant necklace for you. "

Looking up, they saw him advancing towards them, with a small watersnake, which he held in his hand; and, readily divining his purpose, they started and ran, while he pursued them, threatening to wind thesnake around the neck of the first one he caught. Jenny, who was toochubby to be very swift-footed, took refuge behind a clump of alderbushes but Mary kept on, and just as she reached a point where thebrook turned, Henry overtook her, and would perhaps have carried histhreat into execution, had not help arrived from an unexpectedquarter. Tasso, who had watched, and felt sure that this time all wasnot right, suddenly pounced upon Henry, throwing him down, and thenplanting himself upon his prostrate form, in such a manner that hedared not move. 

"Oh, good, good, " said Jenny, coming out from her concealment; "makeTasso keep him there ever so long; and, " she continued, patting thedog, "if you won't hurt him much, you may shake him just a little. "

"No, no, " said Henry, writhing with fear, "call him off, do call himoff. Oh, mercy!" he added, as Tasso, who did not particularly care tohave the case reasoned, showed two rows of very white teeth. 

Mary could not help laughing at the figure which Henry cut; butthinking him sufficiently punished, she called off the dog, who obeyedrather unwillingly, and ever after manifested his dislike to Henry bygrowling angrily whenever he appeared. 

One morning about two weeks afterwards, Mary was in the meadowgathering cowslips for dinner, when she heard some one calling hername; and looking up, she saw Jenny hurrying towards her, hersun-bonnet hanging down her back as usual, and her cheeks flushed withviolent exercise. As soon as she came up, she began with, "Oh my, ain't I hot and tired, and I can't stay a minute either, for I runaway. But I had such good news to tell you, that I would come. You aregoing to have a great deal better home than this. You know where RiceCorner is, the district over east?"

Mary replied that she did, and Jenny continued: "We all went overthere yesterday to see Mrs. Mason. She's a real nice lady, who used tolive in Boston, and be intimate with ma, until three or four yearsago, when Mr. Mason died. We didn't go there any more then, and Iasked Rose what the reason was, and she said Mrs. Mason was poor now, and ma had 'cut her;' and when I asked her what she _cut_ her with, she only laughed, and said she believed I didn't know any thing. Butsince then I've learned what it means. "

"What does it?" asked Mary, and Jenny replied: "If a person dies andleaves no money, no matter how good his folks are, or how much youlike them, you mustn't know them when you meet them in the street, oryou must cross over the other side if you see them coming; and thenwhen ladies call and speak about them, you must draw a great longbreath, and wonder 'how the poor thing will get along, she was sodreadful extravagant. ' I positively heard mother say those very wordsabout Mrs. Mason; and what is so funny, the washwoman the same dayspoke of her, and cried when she told how kind she was, and how shewould go without things herself for the sake of giving to the poor. It's queer, isn't it?"

Ah, Jenny, Jenny, you've much of life yet to learn!

After a moment's pause, Jenny proceeded: "This Mrs. Mason came intothe country, and bought the prettiest little cottage you ever saw. Shehas lots of nice fruit, and for all mother pretends in Boston that shedon't visit her, just as soon as the fruit is ripe, she always goesthere. Pa says it's real mean, and he should think Mrs. Mason wouldsee through it. "

"Did you go there for fruit yesterday?" asked Mary. 

"Oh, no, " returned Jenny. "Mother said she was tired to death withstaying at home. Besides that, she heard something in Boston about alarge estate in England, which possibly would fall to Mrs. Mason, andshe thought it would be real kind to go and tell her. Mrs. Mason haspoor health, and while we were there, she asked mother if she knew ofany good little girl she could get to come and live with her; 'one, 'she said, 'who could be quiet when her head ached, and who would readto her and wait on her at other times. ' Mother said she did not knowof any; but when Mrs. Mason went out to get tea, I followed and toldher of you, and the tears came into her eyes when I said your folkswere all dead, and you were alone and sorry. She said right off thatshe would come round and see you soon, and if she liked you, youshould live with her. But I must run back, for I suppose you knowmother brought our governess with us, and it's time I was turning mytoes out and my elbows in. Ugh! how I do hate such works. If I everhave a house, there shan't be a fashionable thing about it. I'll haveit full of cats, dogs, and poor children, with a swing and a'_teater_' in every room, and Billy Bender shall live with me, anddrive the horses!"

So saying, she ran off; and Mary, having gathered her cowslips, satdown to think of Mrs. Mason, and wonder if she should ever see her. Since Alice's death she had been in the daily habit of learning ashort lesson, which she recited to Sally, and this afternoon, when thedishes were all washed, she had as usual stolen away to her books. Shehad not been long occupied, ere Rind called her, saying Mr. Knight, who, it will be remembered, had brought her to the poor-house, wasdown stairs and wanted to see her, and that there was a lady with him, too. 

Mary readily guessed that the lady must be Mrs. Mason and carefullybrushing her hair, and tying on a clean apron, she descended to thekitchen, where she was met by Mr. Knight, who called out, "Hallo, mychild, how do you do? 'Pears to me you've grown handsome. It agreeswith you to live here I reckon, but I'll venture you'll be glad enoughto leave, and go and live with her, won't you?" pointing towards alady, who was just coming from Mrs. Parker's room, and towards whomMary's heart instantly warmed. 

"You see, " continued Mr. Knight, "one of the Lincoln girls has takena mighty shine to you, and it's queer, too, for they're dreadfulstuck-up folks. "

"If you please, sir, " said Mary, interrupting him, "Jenny isn't a bitstuck up. "

"Umph!" returned Mr. Knight. "She don't belong to the Lincoln racethen, I guess. I know them, root and branch. Lincoln's wife used towork in the factory at Southbridge, but she's forgot all about that, and holds her head dreadful high whenever she sees me. But that'sneither here nor there. This woman wants you to live with her. MissMason, this is Mary. Mary, this is Miss Mason. "

The introduction being thus happily over, Mrs. Mason proceeded to askMary a variety of questions, and ended by saying she thought she wouldtake her, although she would rather not have her come for a few days, as she was going to be absent. Miss Grundy was now interrogatedconcerning her knowledge of work, and with quite a consequential air, she replied, "Perhaps, ma'am, it looks too much like praising myself, considerin' that I've had the managin' of her mostly, but I mustconfess that she's lived with me so long and got my ways so well, thatshe's as pleasant a mannered, good-tempered child, and will scour asbright a knife as you could wish to see!"

Mary saw that Mrs. Mason could hardly repress a smile as she replied, "I am glad about the temper and manners, but the scouring of knives isof little consequence, for Judith always does that. "

Sal Furbush, who had courtesied herself into the room, now asked tosay a word concerning Mary. "She is, " said she, "the very apple of myeye, and can parse a sentence containing three double relatives, twosubjunctive moods and four nominatives absolute, perfectly easily. "

"I see you are a favorite here, " said Mrs. Mason, laying her handgently on Mary's head, "and I think that in time you will be quite asmuch of one with me, so one week from Saturday you may expect me. "

There was something so very affectionate in Mrs. Mason's manner ofspeaking, that Mary could not keep her tears back; and when Sally, chancing to be in a poetic mood, said to her, "Maiden, whereforeweepest thou?" she replied, "I can't help it. She speaks so kind, andmakes me think of mother. "

"Speaks so _kindly_, you mean, " returned Sal, while Mrs. Mason, brushing a tear from her own eye, whispered to the little girl, "Iwill be a mother to you, my child;" then, as Mr. Knight had finisheddiscussing the weather with Mr. Parker, she stepped into his buggy, and was driven away. 

"That's what I call a thoroughly grammatical lady, " said Sal, lookingafter her until a turn in the road hid her from view, "and I shall tryto be resigned, though the vital spark leaves this house when Marygoes. "

Not long after, Rind asked Miss Grundy if William Bender was goingaway. 

"Not as I know on, " answered Miss Grundy. "What made you think ofthat?"

"'Cause, " returned Rind, "I heard Sal Furbush having over a mess ofstuff about the _spark's_ leaving when Mary did, and I thought mebbyhe was going, as you say he's her spark!"

The next afternoon Jenny, managing to elude the watchful eyes of hermother and governess, came over to the poor-house. 

"I'm so glad you are going, " said she, when she heard of Mrs. Mason'svisit. "I shall be lonesome without you, but you'll have such a happyhome, and when you get there mayn't I tell George Moreland about youthe next time I see him?"

"I'd rather you wouldn't, " said Mary, "for I don't believe heremembers me at all. "

"Perhaps not, " returned Jenny, "and I guess you wouldn't know him; forbesides being so tall, he has begun to _shave_, and Ida thinks he'strying to raise whiskers!"

That night, when Mary was alone, she drew from its hiding-place thegolden locket, but the charm was broken, and the pleasure she hadbefore experienced in looking at it, now faded away with Jenny'spicture of a whiskered young man, six feet high! Very rapidly indeeddid Mary's last week at the poor-house pass away, and for some reasonor other, every thing went on, as Rind said, "wrong end up. " MissGrundy was crosser than usual, though all observed that her voice grewmilder in its tone whenever she addressed Mary, and once she went sofar as to say, by way of a general remark, that she "never yet treatedany body, particularly a child, badly, without feeling sorry for it. "

Sal Furbush was uncommonly wild, dancing on her toes, making faces, repeating her nine hundred and ninety-nine rules of grammar, andquoting Scripture, especially the passage, "The Lord gave, and theLord taketh away, &c. " Uncle Peter, too, labored assiduously at"Delia's Dirge, " which he intended playing as Mary was leaving theyard. 

Saturday came at last, and long before the sun peeped over the easternhills, Mary was up and dressed. Just as she was ready to leave herroom, she heard Sally singing in a low tone, "Oh, there'll bemourning, --mourning, --mourning, --mourning, Oh, there'll be mourningwhen Mary's gone away. "

Hastily opening her own door, she knocked at Sal's, and was bidden toenter. She found her friend seated in the middle of the floor, whilescattered around her were the entire contents of the old barrel andbox which contained her wearing apparel. 

"Good morning, little deary, " said she, "I am looking over my somewhatlimited wardrobe, in quest of something wherewith to make your youngheart happy, but my search is vain. I can find nothing except theoriginal MS. Of my first novel. I do not need it now, for I shall makeenough out of my grammar. So take it, and when you are rich andinfluential, you'll have no trouble in getting it published, --none atall. "

So saying, she thrust into Mary's hand a large package, carefullywrapped in half a dozen newspapers, and the whole enveloped in asnuff-colored silk handkerchief, which "Willie's father used to wear. "Here Rind came up the stairs saying breakfast was ready, and afterputting her present aside, Mary descended to the kitchen, where shefound the table arranged with more than usual care. An old red waiter, which was only used on special occasions, was placed near Miss Grundy, and on it stood the phenomenon of a hissing coffee-pot: and what wasstranger, still, in the place of the tin basin from which Mary hadrecently been accustomed to eat her bread and milk, there was now acup and saucer, which surely must have been intended for her. Herwonder was at its height when Miss Grundy entered from the back room, bearing a plate filled with snowy white biscuit, which she placed uponthe table with an air of "There! what do you think of that?"--thenseating herself, she skimmed all the cream from the bowl of milk, andpreparing a delicious cup of coffee, passed it to Mary, before helpingthe rest. 

"Is the Millennium about to be ushered in?" asked Sal in amazement;while Uncle Peter, reverently rising, said, Fellow-citizens, andladies, for these extras let us thank the Lord, remembering to ask acontinuation of the same!"

"Do let your victuals stop your mouth, " said Miss Grundy, "and don'tact as though we never had coffee and biscuit for breakfast before. "

"My memory has failed wonderfully, if we ever did, " was Uncle Peter'sreply. 

Breakfast being over, Mary as usual commenced clearing the table, butMiss Grundy bade her "sit down and _rest_ her, " and Mary obeyed, wondering what she had done to tire herself. About 9 o'clock, Mr. Knight drove up alone, Mrs. Mason being sick with nervous headache. "Ishould have been here sooner, " said he, "but the roads is awful roughand old Charlotte has got a stub or somethin' in her foot But where'sthe gal? Ain't she ready?"

He was answered by Mary herself, who made her appearance, followed byBilly bearing the box. And now commenced the leave-takings, MissGrundy's turn coming first. 

"May I kiss you, Miss Grundy?" said Mary, while Sal exclaimed aside, "What! kiss those sole-leather lips?" at the same time indicating by aguttural sound the probable effect such a process would have upon herstomach!

Miss 'Grundy bent down and received the child's kiss, and then dartingoff into the pantry, went to skimming pans of milk already skimmed!Rind and the pleasant-looking woman cried outright, and Uncle Peter, between times, kept ejaculating, "Oh, Lord!--oh, massy sake!--oh, forland!" while he industriously plied his fiddle bow in the execution of"Delia's Dirge, " which really sounded unearthly, and dirgelike enough. Billy knew it would be lonely without Mary, but he was glad to haveher go to a better home, go he tried to be cheerful; telling her hewould take good care of Tasso, and that whenever she chose she mustclaim her property. 

Aside from him, Sally was the only composed one. It is true, her eyeswere very bright, and there was a compression about her mouth seldomseen, except just before one of her frenzied attacks. Occasionally, too, she pressed her hands upon her head, and walking to the sink, bathed it in water, as if to cool its inward heat; but she saidnothing until Mary was about stepping into the buggy, when shewhispered in her ear, "If that novel should have an unprecedented run, and of course it will, you would not mind sharing the profits with me, would you?"

CHAPTER XIII. 

A NEW HOME IN RICE CORNER. 

Very different this time was Mary's ride with Mr. Knight from what ithad been some months before, and after brushing away a few naturaltears, and sending back a few heart-sighs to the loved ones leftbehind, her spirits rallied, and by the time they reached the bordersof Rice Corner, there was such a look of quiet happiness on her facethat even Mr. Knight noticed it. 

"I'll be hanged if I know what to make of it, " said he. "When you ridwith me afore, I thought you was about as ugly favored a child as Iever see, and now you look full as well as they'll average. What youbeen doin'?"

"Perhaps it's because I've had my teeth out, " suggested Mary, and Mr. Knight, with another scrutinizing look in her face, replied, "Wall, Iguess 'tis that. Teeth is good is their place, but when they git toachin', why, yank 'em out. "

So saying, he again relapsed into silence, and commenced whipping atthe thistle tops and dandelions. As they rode on, Mary fancied thatthe country looked pleasanter and the houses better, than in theregion of the poor-house; and when a sudden turn of the road broughtinto view a beautiful blue sheet of water, embosomed by bright greenhills, her delight knew no bounds. Springing up and pointing towardsit, she exclaimed, "Oh, please stop a moment and look. Isn't itlovely! What is it?"

"That? Oh, that's nothing but 'Pordunk Pond, or as folks mostgenerally call 'em, seem' there's two, North and South Pond. "

"But it's big enough to be a lake, isn't it?" asked Mary. 

"Why, yes, " returned her companion. "It's better than five miles long, and a mile or so wide, and in York State I s'pose they'd call it alake, but here in old Massachusetts we stick to fust principles, andcall all things by their right names. "

"How far is the pond from Mrs. Mason's?" asked Mary, casting longingglances towards the distant sandy beach, and the graceful trees whichdrooped over the water's edge. 

"It's farther back than 'tis there, 'cause it's up bill all the way, "said Mr. Knight, "but here we be at Miss Mason's, --this house righthere, " and he pointed to a neat, handsome cottage, almost hidden fromview by the dense foliage which surrounded it. 

There was a long lawn in front, and into the carriage road on theright of it Mr. Knight turned, and driving up to a side door; said toMary, "Come, jump down, for my foot is so lame I don't believe I'llget out. But there's your chest. You can't lift that. Hallo, Judith, come 'ere. "

In answer to this call, a fat, pleasant-looking colored woman appearedin the doorway, and as if fresh from the regions of cookdom, wiped thedrops of perspiration from her round jolly face. 

"Here, Judith, " said Mr Knight, "help this gal lift her traps out. "

Judith complied, and then bidding old Charlotte to "get up, " Mr. Knight drove away, leaving Mary standing by the kitchen door. 

"Come in and sit down, " said Judith, pushing a chair towards Marywith her foot. "It's as hot here as oven, but I had crambry sass andginger snaps, and massy knows what to make this morning, and I gotbelated; but set down and make yourself to home. "

Mary took the proffered seat, and then Judith left the room for a fewmoments, saying when she returned, that as Mrs. Mason was stillsuffering from a headache, she could not see Mary until after dinner. "And, " continued Judith "she told me to entertain you, but I don'tknow what to say, nor do first. Harry died just a week to a day beforehe was to be married, and so I never had any little girls to talk to. Can't you think of something to talk about? What have you been used todoing?"

"Washing dishes, " was Mary's reply, after glancing about the room, andmaking sure that on this occasion there were none to wash. 

"Wall, " answered Judith, "I guess you won't have that to do here; forone night when some of the neighbors were in, I heard Miss Mason tell'em that she got you to read to her and wait on her. And then she saidsomething about your not having an equal chance with your sister. Youhain't but one, now t'other's dead, have you?"

Mary replied in the negative, and Judith continued: "Wall, now, you'vegot over the first on't, I reckon you'se glad the baby's dead, for shemust have been kind of a bother, wasn't she?"

Instantly Mary's thoughts flew back to an empty cradle, and again alittle golden head was pillowed upon her breast, as often in timespast it had been, and as it would never be again. Covering her facewith her hands, she sobbed, "Oh, Allie, Allie! I wish she hadn'tdied. "

Judith looked on in amazement, and for want of something better to do, placed a fresh stick of wood in the stove, muttering to herself. "NowI never! I might of knew I didn't know what to say. What a pity Harrydied. I'll give her that big ginger snap the minute it's baked. See ifI don't. "

Accordingly, when the snap was done, Judith placed it in Mary's hands, bidding her eat it quick, and then go up and see the nice chamber Mrs. Mason had arranged for her. 

"If you please, " said Mary, rapidly shifting the hot cake from onehand to the other, --"if you please, I had rather go up now, and eatthe cake when it is cool. "

"Come, then, " said Judith; and leading the way, she conducted Mary upthe staircase, and through a light, airy hall to the door of a smallroom, which she opened, saying "Look, ain't it pretty?"

But Mary's heart was too full to speak, and for several minutes shestood silent. With the exception of her mother's pleasant parlor inOld England, she had never before seen any thing which seemed to herso cosy and cheerful as did that little room, with its single bed, snowy counterpane, muslin curtains, clean matting, convenient toilettable, and what to her was fairer than all the rest, upon themantel-piece there stood two small vases, filled with sweet springflowers, whose fragrance filled the apartment with delicious perfume. All this was so different from the bare walls, uncovered floors, andrickety furniture of the poor-house, that Mary trembled lest it shouldprove a dream, from which erelong she would awake. 

"Oh, why is Mrs. Mason so kind to me?" was her mental exclamation; andas some of our readers may ask the same question, we will explain tothem that Mrs. Mason was one of the few who "do to others as theywould others should do to them. "

Years before our story opens, she, too, was a lonely orphan, weepingin a dreary garret, as ofttimes Mary had wept in the poor-house, andit was the memory of those dark hours, which so warmed her hearttowards the little girl she had taken under her charge. From Jenny wehave learned something of her history. Once a happy, loving wife, surrounded by wealth and friends, she had thought the world all brightand beautiful. But a change came over the spirit of her dream. Hernoble husband died, --and the day succeeding his burial, she was toldthat their fortune, too, was gone. One by one, as misfortune came uponher, did her fashionable friends desert her, until she was left alone, with none to lean upon except the God of the widow and fatherless, andin Him she found a strong help for her dark hour of need. Bravely shewithstood the storm, and when it was over, retired with the smallremnant of her once large fortune to the obscure neighborhood of RiceCorner, where with careful economy she managed to live comfortably, besides saving a portion for the poor and destitute. She had taken aparticular fancy to Mary, and in giving her a home, she had thoughtmore of the good she could do the child, than of any benefit she wouldreceive from her services as waiting maid. She had fully intended togo for Mary herself; but as we already know, was prevented by a severeheadache, and it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon, thatshe was even able to see her at all. Then, calling Judith, she badeher bring the little girl to her room, and leave them alone. 

Judith obeyed, charging Mary to "tread on tiptoe, and keep as still asa mouse, for Miss Mason's head ached fit to split. "

This caution was unnecessary, for Mary had been so much accustomed tosick persons that she knew intuitively just what to do and when to doit and her step was so light, her voice so low, and the hand whichbathed the aching head so soft and gentle in its touch, that Mrs. Mason involuntarily drew her to her bosom, and kissing her lips, called her her child, and said she should never leave her then layingback in her easy chair, she remained perfectly still, while Maryalternately fixed her hair, and smoothed her forehead until she fellinto a quiet slumber, from which she did not awake until Judith rangthe bell for supper, which was neatly laid out in a little diningparlor, opening into the flower garden. There was something so verysocial and cheering in the appearance of the room, and the arrangementof the table, with its glossy white cloth, and dishes of the same hue, that Mary felt almost as much like weeping as she did on the night ofher arrival at the poor-house. But Mrs. Mason seemed to know exactlyhow to entertain her; and by the time that first tea was over, therewas hardly a happier child in the world than was Mary. 

As soon as Mrs. Mason arose from the table, she, too, sprang up, andtaking hold of the dishes, removed them to the kitchen in a muchshorter space of time than was usually occupied by Judith. "Git awaynow, " said that lady as she saw Mary making preparations to wash thecups and saucers. "I never want any body putterin' round under myfeet. I always wash and wipe and scour my own things, and then I knowthey are done. "

Accordingly, she returned to Mrs. Mason, who, wishing to retire early, soon dismissed her to her own room, where she for some time amusedherself with watching the daylight as it gradually disappeared fromthe hills which lay beyond the pond. Then when it all was gone, andthe stars began to come out, she turned her eyes towards one, whichhad always seemed to her to be her mother's soul, looking down uponher from the windows of heaven. Now, to-night there shone beside it asmaller, feebler one, and in the fleecy cloud which floated around it, she fancied she could define the face of her baby sister. Involuntarily stretching out her hands, she cried, "Oh, mother, Allie, I am so happy now;" and to the child's imagination the stars smiledlovingly upon her, while the evening wind, as it gently moved theboughs of the tall elm trees, seemed like the rustle of angels' wings. Who shall say the mother's spirit was not there to rejoice with herdaughter over the glad future opening so brightly before her?

CHAPTER XIV. 

VISITORS. 

The Tuesday following Mary's arrival at Mrs. Mason's, there was asocial gathering at the house of Mr. Knight. This gathering couldhardly be called a tea party, but came more directly under the head ofan "afternoon's visit, " for by two o'clock every guest had arrived, and the "north room" was filled with ladies, whose tongues, like theirhands, were in full play. Leathern reticules, delicate embroidery, andgold thimbles were not then in vogue in Rice Corner; but on thecontrary, some of Mrs. Knight's visitors brought with them large, old-fashioned work-bags, from which the ends of the polishedknitting-needles were discernible; while another apologized for themagnitude of her work, saying that "her man had fretted about histrousers until she herself began to think it was time to finish them;and so when she found Miss Mason wasn't to be there, she had justbrought them along. "

In spite of her uniform kindness, Mrs. Mason was regarded by some ofher neighbors as a bugbear, and this allusion to her immediatelyturned the conversation in that direction. 

"Now, do tell, " said Widow Perkins, vigorously rapping her snuff-boxand passing it around. "Now, do tell if it's true that Miss Mason hastook a girl from the town-house?"

On being assured that such was the fact, she continued "Now I _will_give up. Plagued as she is for things, what could have possessed her?"

"I was not aware that she was very much troubled to live, " said Mrs. Knight, whose way of thinking, and manner of expressing herself, wasentirely unlike Mrs. Perkins. 

"Wall, she is, " was Mrs. Perkins's reply; and then hitching her chaircloser to the group near her, and sinking her voice to a whisper, sheadded, "You mustn't speak of it on any account, for I wouldn't have itgo from me, but my Sally Ann was over there t'other day, and neitherMiss Mason nor Judy was to home. Sally Ann has a sight ofcuriosity, --I don't know nothing under the sun where she gets it, forI hain't a mite, --Wall, as I was tellin' you, there was nobody tohome, and Sally Ann she slips down cellar and peeks into the porkbarrel, and as true as you live, there warn't a piece there. Now, whencountry folks get out of salt pork, they are what I call middlin'poor. "

And Mrs. Perkins finished her speech with the largest pinch ofmaccaboy she could possibly hold between her thumb and forefinger. 

"Miss Perkins, " said an old lady who was famous for occasionallyrubbing the widow down, "Miss Perkins, that's just as folks think. It's no worse to be out of pork than 'tis to eat codfish the wholedurin' time. "

This was a home thrust, for Mrs. Perkins, who always kept one or twoboarders, and among them the school-teacher was notorious for feedingthem on codfish. 

Bridling up in a twinkling, her little gray eyes flashed fire as shereplied, "I s'pose it's me you mean, Miss Bates; but I guess I've aright to eat what I'm a mind to. I only ask a dollar and ninepence aweek for boarding the school marm--"

"And makes money at that, " whispered a rosy-cheeked girlish-lookingwoman, who the summer before had been the "school-marm, " and who nowbore the name of a thrifty young farmer. 

Mrs. Perkins, however, did not notice this interruption but proceededwith, "Yes, a dollar and ninepence is all I ever ask, and if I keptthem so dreadful slim, I guess the committee man wouldn't always cometo me the first one. "

"Mrs. Perkins, here's the pint, " said Mrs. Bates, dropping a stitch inher zeal to explain matters; "you see the cheaper they get theschool-ma'am boarded, the further the money goes, and the longerschool they have. Don't you understand it?"

Mrs. Knight, fancying that affairs were assuming altogether tooformidable an aspect, adroitly turned the conversation upon theheroine of our story, saying how glad she was that Mary had at lastfound so good a home. 

"So am I, " said Mrs. Bates; "for we all know that Mrs. Mason will takejust as good care of her, as though she were her own; and she's had amighty hard time of it, knocked around there at the poor-house underPolly Grundy's thumb. "

"They do say, " said Mrs. Perkins, whose anger had somewhat cooled, "They do say that Miss Grundy is mowing a wide swath over there, andreally expects to have Mr. Parker, if his wife happens to die. "

In her girlhood Mrs. Perkins had herself fancied Mr. Parker, and nowin her widowhood, she felt an unusual interest in the failing healthof his wife. No one replied to her remark, and Mrs. Bates continued:"It really used to make my heart ache to see the little forlorn thingsit there in the gallery, fixed up so old and fussy, and then to seeher sister prinked out like a milliner's show window, a puckerin' andtwistin', and if she happens to catch her sister's eye, I haveactually seen her turn up her nose at her, --so--" and Mrs. Bates'snasal organ went up towards her eyebrows in imitation of the lookwhich Ella sometimes gave Mary. "It's wicked in me, perhaps, " saidMrs. Bates, "but pride must have a fall, and I do hope I shall live tosee the day when Ella Campbell won't be half as well off as hersister. "

"I think Mrs. Campbell is answerable for some of Ella's conduct, " saidMrs. Knight, "for I believe she suffered her to visit the poor-housebut once while Mary was there. "

"I guess she'll come oftener now she's living with a city bug, "rejoined Mrs. Perkins. 

Just then there was the sound of carriage wheels, and a woman near thedoor exclaimed, "If you'll believe it there she is now, going rightstraight into Mrs. Mason's yard. "

"Well, if that don't beat me, " said Mrs. Perkins. "Seems to me I'dhave waited a little longer for look's sake. Can you see what she'sgot on from here?" and the lady made a rush for the window toascertain if possible that important fact. 

Meantime the carriage steps were let down and Mrs. Campbell alighted. As Mrs. Knight's guests had surmised, she was far more ready to visitMary now than heretofore. Ella, too, had been duly informed by herwaiting-maid that she needn't mind denying that she had a sister tothe Boston girls who were spending a summer in Chicopee. 

"To be sure, " said Sarah, "she'll never be a fine lady like you andlive in the city; but then Mrs. Mason is a very respectable woman, andwill no doubt put her to a trade, which is better than being a townpauper; so you mustn't feel above her any more, for it's wicked, andMrs. Campbell wouldn't like it, for you know she and I are trying tobring you up in the fear of the Lord. "

Accordingly Ella was prepared to greet her sister more cordially thanshe had done before in a long time, and Mary that day took her firstlesson in learning that too often friends come and go with prosperity. But she did not think of it then. She only knew that her sister's armwas around her neck, and her sister's kiss upon her cheek. With a cryof joy, she exclaimed, "Oh, Ella, I knew you'd be glad to find me sohappy. "

But Ella wasn't particularly glad. She was too thoroughly heartless tocare for any one except herself, and her reception of her sister wasmore the result of Sarah's lesson, and of a wish expressed by Mrs. Campbell, that she would "try and behave as well as she could towardsMary. " Mrs. Campbell, too, kissed the little girl, and expressed herpleasure at finding her so pleasantly situated; and then droppinglanguidly upon the sofa, asked for Mrs. Mason, who soon appeared, andreceived her visitor with her accustomed politeness. 

"And so you, too, have cared for the orphan, " said Mrs. Campbell. "Well, you will find it a task to rear her as she should be reared, but a consciousness of doing right makes every thing seem easy. Mydear, (speaking to Ella, ) run out and play awhile with your sister, Iwish to see Mrs. Mason alone. "

"You may go into the garden, " said Mrs. Mason to Mary, who arose toobey; but Ella hung back, saying she 'didn't want to go, --the gardenwas all nasty, and she should dirty her clothes. "

"But, my child, " said Mrs. Campbell, "I wish to have you go, and youlove to obey me, do you not?"

Still Ella hesitated, and when Mary took hold of her hand, she jerkedit away, saying, "Let me be. "

At last she was persuaded to leave the room, but on reaching the hallshe stopped, and to Mary's amazement applied her ear to the keyhole. 

"I guess I know how to cheat her, " said she in a whisper. "I've beensent off before, but I listened and heard her talk about me. "

"Talk about you!" repeated Mary. "What did she say?"

"Oh, 'set me up, ' as Sarah says, " returned Ella; and Mary, who hadnever had the advantage of a waiting maid, and who consequently wasnot so well posted on "slang terms, " asked what "setting up" meant. 

"Why, " returned Ella, "she tells them how handsome and smart I am, andrepeats some cunning thing I've said or done; and sometimes she tellsit right before me, and that's why I didn't want to come out. "

This time, however, Mrs. Campbell's conversation related moreparticularly to Mary. 

"My dear Mrs. Mason, " she began, "you do not know how great a load youhave removed from my mind by taking Mary from the poor-house. "

"I can readily understand, " said Mrs. Mason, "why you should feel morethan a passing interest in the sister of your adopted daughter, and Iassure you I shall endeavor to treat her just as I would wish a childof mine treated, were it thrown upon the wide world. "

"Of course you will, " returned Mrs. Campbell, "and I only wish you hadit in your power to do more for her, and in this perhaps I am selfish. I felt badly about her being in the poor-house, but truth compels meto say, that it was more on Ella's account than her own. I shall giveElla every advantage which money can purchase, and I am excusable Ithink for saying that she is admirably fitted to adorn any station inlife; therefore it cannot but be exceedingly mortifying to her toknow that one sister died a pauper and the other was one for a lengthof time. This, however, can not be helped, and now, as I said before Ionly wish it were in your power to do more for Mary. I, of course, know that you are poor, but I do not think less of you for that--"

Mrs. Mason's body became slightly more erect, but she made no reply, and Mrs. Campbell continued. 

"Still I hope you will make every exertion in your power to educateand polish Mary as much as possible, so that if by chance Ella inafter years should come in contact with her, she would notfeel, --ahem, --would not, --would not be--"

"Ashamed to own her sister, I suppose you would say, " interrupted Mrs. Mason. "Ashamed to acknowledge that the same blood flowed in herveins, that the same roof once sheltered them, and that the samemother bent lovingly over their pillows, calling them her children. "

"Why, not exactly that, " said Mrs. Campbell, fidgeting in her chairand growing very red. "I think there is a difference between feelingmortified and ashamed. Now you must know that Ella would not beparticularly pleased to have a homely, stupid, rawboned country girlpointed out as her sister to a circle of fashionable acquaintances inBoston, where I intend taking her as soon as her education isfinished; and I think it well enough for Mary to understand, that withthe best you can do for her there will still be a great differencebetween her own and her sister's position. "

"Excuse me, madam, " again interrupted Mrs. Mason, "a stupid, awkwardcountry girl Mary is not, and never will be. In point of intellect sheis far superior to her sister, and possesses more graceful andlady-like manners. Instead of Ella's being ashamed of her, I fancy itwill be just the reverse, unless your daughter's foolish vanity andutter selfishness is soon checked. Pardon me for being thus plain, but in the short time Mary has been with me, I have learned to loveher, and my heart already warms towards her as towards a daughter, andI cannot calmly hear her spoken of so contemptuously. "

During this conversation, Ella had remained listening at thekeyhole, and as the voices grew louder and more earnest, Mary, too, distinguished what they said. She was too young to appreciate it fully, but she understood enough to wound her deeply; and as she just thenheard Ella say there was a carriage coming, she sprang up the stairs, and entering her own room, threw herself upon the bed and burst intotears. Erelong a little chubby face looked in at the door, and a voicewhich went to Mary's heart, exclaimed, "Why-ee, --Mary, --crying the firsttime I come to see you!"

It was Jenny, and in a moment the girls were in each other's arms. 

"Rose has gone to the garden with Ella, " said Jenny, "but she told mewhere to find you, and I came right up here. Oh, what a nice littleroom, so different from mine with my things scattered every where. Butwhat is the matter? Don't you like to live with Mrs. Mason?"

"Yes, very much, " answered Mary. "It isn't that, " and then she toldwhat she had overheard. 

"It's perfectly ridiculous and out of character for Mrs. Campbell totalk so, " said Jenny, looking very wise. "And it's all, false, too. You are not stupid, nor awkward, nor very homely either; Billy Bendersays so, and he knows. I saw him this morning, and he talked ever somuch about you. Next fall he's going to Wilbraham to study Latin andChinese too, I believe, I don't know though. Henry laughs and says, 'aplough-jogger study Latin!' But I guess Billy will some day be abigger man than Henry don't you?"

Mary was sure of it; and then Jenny proceeded to open her budget ofnews concerning the inmates of the poor-house. "Sal Furbush, " saidshe, "is raving crazy now you are gone, and they had to shut her up, but yesterday she broke away and came over to our house. Tasso waswith her, and growled so at Henry that he ran up garret, and then, like a great hateful, threw bricks at the dog. I told Sally I wascoming to see you, and she said, 'Ask her if she has taken the firststep towards the publication of my novel. Tell her, too, that theGlory of Israel has departed, and that I would drown myself if it werenot for my clothes, which I fear Mrs. Grundy would wear out!'"

Here Rose called to her sister to come down, and accordingly the twogirls descended together to the parlor, where they found Mrs. Lincoln. She was riding out, she said, and had just stopped a moment to inquireafter Mrs. Mason's health and to ask for a _very few_ flowers, --theydid look so tempting! She was of course perfectly delighted to meetMrs. Campbell, and Mrs. Campbell was perfectly delighted to meet her;and drawing their chairs together, they conversed for a long timeabout Mrs. So and So, who either had come, or was coming from Bostonto spend the summer. 

"I am so glad, " said Mrs. Lincoln, "for we need some thing to keep usalive. I don't see, Mrs. Campbell, how you manage to live here throughthe winter, no society nor any thing. "

Here Mrs. Mason ventured to ask if there were not some very pleasantand intelligent ladies in the village. 

"Oh, ye-es, " said Mrs. Lincoln, with a peculiar twist to her mouth, which Jenny said she always used when she was "putting on. " "They arewell enough, but they are not the kind of folks we would recognize athome. At least they don't belong to 'our set, '" speaking to Mrs. Campbell who replied, "Oh, certainly not. " It was plain even to acasual observer that Mrs. Lincoln's was the ruling spirit to whichMrs. Campbell readily yielded, thinking that so perfect a model ofgentility could not err. Mr. Knight possibly might have enlightenedher a little with regard to her friend's pedigree, but he was notpresent, and for half an hour more the two ladies talked together oftheir city acquaintances, without once seeming to remember that Mrs. Mason, too, had formerly known them all intimately. At last Mrs. Lincoln arose, saying she must go, as she had already stopped muchlonger than she intended, "but when I get with you, " said she, turningto Mrs. Campbell, "I never know when to leave. "

Mrs. Mason invited her to remain to tea, saying it was nearly ready. Mrs. Campbell, who had also arisen, waited for Mrs. Lincoln to decide, which she soon did by reseating herself and saying, laughingly, "Idon't know but I'll stay for a taste of those delicious lookingstrawberries I saw your servant carry past the window. "

Erelong the little tea-bell rang, and Mrs. Lincoln, who had not beforespoken to Mary, now turned haughtily towards her, requesting her towatch while they were at supper and see if the coachman did not driveoff with the horses as he sometimes did. Mary could not trust herselfto reply for she had agreed to sit next Jenny at table, and had in herown mind decided to give her little friend her share of berries. Sheglanced once at Mrs. Mason, who apparently did not notice her, andthen gulping down her tears, took her station by the window, where shecould see the coachman who, instead of meditating a drive around theneighborhood was fast asleep upon the box. Jenny did not miss hercompanion until she was sitting down to the table, and then noticingan empty plate between herself and her mother, who managed to take upas much room as possible, she rather impolitely called out, "Here, mother, sit along and make room for Mary. That's her place. Why, whereis she? Mrs. Mason, may I call her?"

Mrs. Mason, who had seen and heard more than Mary fancied, and who inseating her guests had contrived to bring Mary's plate next to Mrs. Lincoln, nodded, and Jenny springing up ran to the parlor, where Marystood counting flies, looking up at the ceiling, and trying variousother ways to keep from crying. Seizing both her hands Jenny almostdragged her into the dining-room, where she found it rather difficultsqueezing in between her mother and Rose, whose elbows took up muchmore room than was necessary. A timely _pinch_, however, dulyadministered, sent the young lady along an inch or so, and Jenny andMary were at last fairly seated. 

Mrs. Lincoln reddened, --Mrs. Campbell looked concerned, --Mrs. Masonamused, --Rose angry, --Mary mortified, --while Ella, who was not quickenough to understand, did not look at all except at her strawberries, which disappeared rapidly. Then in order to attract attention, shescraped her saucer as loudly as possible; but for once Mrs. Mason wasvery obtuse, not even taking the hint when Mrs. Campbell removed aportion of her own fruit to the plate of the pouting child, biddingher "eat something besides berries. "

After a time Mrs. Lincoln thought proper to break the silence whichshe had preserved, and taking up her fork said, "You have been buyingsome new silver, haven't you?"

"They were a present to me from my friend, Miss Martha Selden, " wasMrs. Mason's reply. 

"Possible!" said Mrs. Campbell. 

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Lincoln, and again closely examining the fork, shecontinued, "Aunt Martha is really getting liberal in her old age. Butthen I suppose she thinks Ida is provided for, and there'll be noparticular need of her money in that quarter. "

"Provided for? How?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs Lincoln answered, "Whydidn't you know that Mr. Selden's orphan nephew, George Moreland, hadcome over from England to live with him? He is heir to a largefortune, and it is said that both Mr. Selden and Aunt Martha arestraining every nerve to eventually bring about a match between Georgeand Ida. "

There was no reason why Mary should blush at the mention of GeorgeMoreland, still she did do so, while Jenny slyly stepped upon hertoes. But her embarrassment was unobserved, for what did she, a paupergirl, know or care about one whose future destiny, and wife too, wereeven then the subject of more than one scheming mother's speculations. Mrs. Mason smiled, and said she thought it very much like child'splay, for if she remembered rightly Ida couldn't be more than thirteenor fourteen. 

"About that, " returned Mrs. Lincoln; "but the young man isolder, --eighteen or nineteen, I think. "

"No, mother, " interrupted Jenny, who was as good at keeping ages assome old women, "he isn't but seventeen. "

"Really, " rejoined Mrs. Campbell, "I wouldn't wonder if our littleJenny had some designs on him herself, she is so anxious to make himout young. "

"Oh, fy, " returned Jenny. "He can't begin with Billy Bender!"

Mrs. Lincoln frowned, and turning to her daughter, said 'I haverepeatedly requested, and now I command you not to bring up BillyBender in comparison with every thing and every body. "

"And pray, who is Billy Bender?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Lincolnreplied, "Why, he's a great rough, over grown country boy, who used towork for Mr. Lincoln, and now he's on the town farm, I believe. "

"But he's _working_ there, " said Jenny, "and he's going to get moneyenough to go to school next fall at Wilbraham; and I heard father sayhe deserved a great deal of credit for it and that men that madethemselves, or else men that didn't, I've forgot which, were alwaysthe smartest. "

Here the older portion of the company laughed, and Mrs. Lincoln, bidding her daughter not to try to tell any thing unless she could getit straight, again resumed the subject of the silver forks, saying toMrs. Mason, "I should think you'd be so glad. For my part I'mperfectly wedded to a silver fork, and positively I could not eatwithout one. "

"But, mother, " interrupted Jenny, "Grandma Howland hasn't any, and Idon't believe she ever had, for once when we were there and youcarried yours to eat with, don't you remember she showed you a littletwo tined one, and asked if the victuals didn't taste just as goodwhen you lived at home and worked in the, --that great big noisybuilding, --I forget the name of it?"

It was fortunate for Jenny's after happiness that Mrs. Campbell wasjust then listening intently for something which Ella was whisperingin her ear, consequently she did not hear the remark, which possiblymight have enlightened her a little with regard to her friend's earlydays. Tea being over, the ladies announced their intention of leaving, and Mrs. Mason, recollecting Mrs. Lincoln's request for flowers, invited them into the garden, where she bade them help themselves. Itrequired, however, almost a martyr's patience for her to stand quietlyby, while her choicest flowers were torn from their stalks, and it waswith a sigh of relief that she finally listened to the roll of thewheels which bore her guests away. 

Could she have listened to their remarks, as on a piece of wide roadtheir carriages kept side by side for a mile or more, she wouldprobably have felt amply repaid for her flowers and trouble too. 

"Dear me, " said Mrs. Campbell, "I never could live in such a lonelyout of the way place. "

"Nor I either, " returned Mrs. Lincoln, "but I think Mrs. Mason appearsmore at home here than in the city. I suppose you know she was a poorgirl when Mr. Mason married her, and such people almost always showtheir breeding. Still she is a good sort of a woman, and it is wellenough to have some such nice place to visit and get fruit. Weren'tthose delicious berries, and ain't these splendid rosebuds?"

"I guess, though, " said Jenny, glancing at her mother's huge bouquet, "Mrs. Mason didn't expect you to gather quite so many. And Rose, too, trampled down a beautiful lily without ever apologizing. "

"And what if I did?" retorted Rose. "She and that girl have nothing todo but fix it up. "

This allusion to Mary, reminded Mrs. Campbell of her conversation withMrs. Mason, and laughingly she repeated it. "I never knew before, "said she, "that Mrs. Mason had so much spirit. Why, she really seemedquite angry, and tried hard to make Mary out beautiful, and graceful, and all that. "

"And, " chimed in Ella, who was angry at Mrs. Mason for defending hersister, and angry at her sister for being defended, "don't you thinkshe said that Mary ought to be ashamed of me. "

"Is it possible she was so impudent!" said Mrs. Lincoln; "I wish Ihad been present, I would have spoken my mind freely, but so much onegets for patronizing such creatures. "

Here the road became narrow, and as the western sky showed indicationsof a storm, the coachmen were told to drive home as soon as possible. 

Mrs. Campbell's advice with regard to Mary, made no differencewhatever with Mrs. Mason's plans. She had always intended doing forher whatever she could, and knowing that a good education was of farmore value than money, she determined to give her every advantagewhich lay in her power. There was that summer a most excellent schoolin Rice Corner, and as Mrs. Mason had fortunately no prejudicesagainst a district school, where so many of our best and greatest menhave been educated, she resolved to send her little protegé, as soonas her wardrobe should be in a suitable condition. Accordingly in afew days Mary became a regular attendant at the old brownschool-house, where for a time we will leave her, and passing silentlyover a period of several years, again in another chapter open thescene in the metropolis of the "Old Bay State. "

CHAPTER XV. 

THE THREE YOUNG MEN

It was beginning to be daylight in the city of Boston; and as the grayeast gradually brightened and grew red in the coming of day, a youngman looked out upon the busy world around him, with that feeling ofutter loneliness which one so often feels in a great city where all isnew and strange to him. Scarcely four weeks had passed since the notesof a tolling bell had fallen sadly upon his ear, and he had lookedinto a grave where they laid his mother to her last dreamless rest. Aprevailing fever had effected what the fancied ailments of years hadfailed to do, and Billy Bender was now an orphan, and alone in thewide world. He knew that he had his own fortune to make, and aftersettling his mother's affairs and finding there was nothing left forhim, he had come to the city, and on the morning which we havementioned went forth alone to look for employment, with no otherrecommendation than the frank, honest expression of his handsome face. It was rather discouraging, wearisome work, and Billy's heart began tomisgive him as one after another refused his request. 

"It was foolish in me to attempt it, " thought he, as he stopped oncemore in front of a large wholesale establishment on M---- street. 

Just then his eye caught the sign on which was lettered, "R. J. Selden& Co. " The name sounded familiar, and something whispered to him toenter. He did so, and meeting in the doorway a tall, elegant-lookingyoung man, he asked for Mr. Selden. 

"My uncle, " returned the gentleman, who was none other than GeorgeMoreland, "has not yet come down, but perhaps I can answer yourpurpose just as well. Do you wish to purchase goods?"

Billy, thinking that every one must know his poverty, fancied therewas something satirical in the question, but he was mistaken; themanner was natural to the speaker, who, as Billy made no direct reply, again asked. "What would you like, sir?"

"Something to do, for I have neither money nor home, " was Billy'sprompt answer. 

"Will you give me your name?" asked George. 

Billy complied, and when he spoke of his native town, George repeatedit after him, saying, "I have some acquaintances who spend the summerin Chicopee; but you probably have never known them. "

Immediately Billy thought of the Lincolns, and now knew why the nameof Selden seemed so familiar. He had heard Jenny speak of Ida, andfelt certain that R. J. Selden was her father. 

For a moment George regarded him intently, and then said, "We seldomemploy strangers without a recommendation; still I do not believe youneed any. My uncle is wanting a young man, but the work may hardlysuit you, " he added, naming the duties he would be expected toperform, which certainly were rather menial. Still, as the wages wereliberal, and he would have considerable leisure, Billy, for want of abetter, accepted the situation, and was immediately introduced to hisbusiness. For some time he only saw George at a distance, but was toldby one of the clerks that he was just graduated at Yale, and was now ajunior partner in his uncle's establishment. "We all like him verymuch, " said the clerk, "he is so pleasant and kind, though a littleproud, I guess. "

This was all that Billy knew of him until he had been in Mr. Selden'semployment nearly three weeks; then, as he was one day poring over avolume of Horace which he had brought with him, George, who chanced topass by, looked over his shoulder, exclaiming, "Why, Bender, can youread Latin? Really this is a novelty. Are you fond of books?"

"Yes, very, " said Billy, "though I have but a few of my own. "

"Fortunately then I can accommodate you, " returned George, "for I havea tolerably good library, to which you can at any time have access. Suppose you come round to my uncle's to-night. Never mind aboutthanking me, " he added, as he saw Billy about to speak; "I hate to bethanked, so to-night at eight o'clock I shall expect you. "

Accordingly that evening Billy started for Mr. Selden's. George, whowished to save him from any embarrassment, answered his ring himself, and immediately conducted him to his room, where for an hour or sothey discussed their favorite books and authors. At, last, George, astonished at Billy's general knowledge of men and things, exclaimed, "Why, Bender. I do believe you are almost as good a scholar as I, whohave been through college. Pray how does it happen?"

In a few words Billy explained that he had been in the habit ofworking summers, and going to school at Wilbraham winters; and then, as it was nearly ten, he hastily gathered up the books which Georgehad kindly loaned him, and took his leave. As he was descending thebroad stairway he met a young girl fashionably dressed, who stared athim in some surprise and then passed on, wondering no doubt how one ofhis evident caste came to be in the front part of the house. In theupper hall she encountered George, and asked of him who the strangerwas. 

"His name is Bender, and he came from Chicopee, " answered George. 

"Bender from Chicopee, " repeated Ida. "Why I wonder if it isn't theBilly Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln has gone almost mad. "

"I think not, " returned her cousin, "for Mrs. Lincoln would hardlysuffer her daughter to _mention_ a poor boy's name, much less to gomad about him. "

"But, " answered Ida, "he worked on Mr. Lincoln's farm when Jenny was alittle girl; and now that she is older she talks of him nearly all thetime, and Rose says it would not surprise her if she should some dayrun off with him. "

"Possibly it is the same, " returned George. "Any way, he is veryfine-looking, and a fine fellow too, besides being an excellentscholar. "

The next day, when Billy chanced to be alone, George approached him, and after making some casual remarks about the books he had borrowed, &c. , he said, "Did you ever see Jenny Lincoln in Chicopee?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Billy, brightening up, for Jenny had always beenand still was a great favorite with him; "Oh, yes, I know Jenny verywell. I worked for her father some years ago, and became greatlyinterested in her. "

"Indeed? Then you must know Henry Lincoln?"

"Yes, I know him, " said Billy; while George continued, "And think butlittle of him of course?"

On this subject Billy was noncommittal. He had no cause for likingHenry, but would not say so to a comparative stranger, and at last hesucceeded in changing the conversation. George was about moving away, when observing a little old-fashioned looking book lying upon one ofthe boxes, he took it up and turning to the fly-leaf read the name of"Frank Howard. "

"Frank Howard! Frank Howard!" he repeated; "where have I heard thatname? Who is he, Bender?"

"He was a little English boy I once, loved very much; but he is deadnow, " answered Billy; and George, with a suddenly awakened curiosity, said, "Tell me about him and his family, will you?"

Without dreaming that George had ever seen them, Billy told the storyof Frank's sickness and death, --of the noble conduct of his littlesister, who, when there was no other alternative, went cheerfully tothe poor-house, winning by her gentle ways the love of those unused tolove, and taming the wild mood of a maniac until she was harmless as achild. As he proceeded with his story, George became each moment moreand more interested, and when at last there was a pause, he asked, "And is Mary in the poor-house now?"

"I have not mentioned her name, and pray how came you to know it?"said Billy in some surprise. 

In a few words George related the particulars of his acquaintance withthe Howards, and then again asked where both Mary and Ella were. 

Billy replied that for a few years back Mary had lived with a Mrs. Mason, while Ella, at the time of her mother's death had been adoptedby Mrs. Campbell. "But, " said he, "I never think of Ella in connectionwith Mary, they are so unlike; Ella is proud and vain and silly, andtreats her sister with the utmost rudeness, though Mary is far moreagreeable and intelligent, and as I think the best looking. "

"She must have changed very much, " answered George; "for if Iremember rightly, she was not remarkable for personal beauty. "

"She hasn't a silly, doll baby's face, but there isn't a finer lookinggirl in Chicopee, no, nor in Boston either, " returned Billy, with somuch warmth and earnestness that George laughed aloud, saying, "Why, really, Bender, you are more eloquent on the subject of female beautythan I supposed you to be; but go on; tell me more of her. Is she atall refined or polished?"

"I dare say she would not meet with _your_ ideas of a lady, " answeredBilly; "but she does mine exactly, for she possesses more naturalrefinement and delicacy than two thirds of the city belles. "

"Really, I am getting quite interested in her, " said George. "How isher education?"

"Good, very good, " returned Billy, adding that she was now teaching inRice Corner, hoping to earn money enough to attend some seminary inthe fall. 

"Teaching!" repeated George; "why she can't be over sixteen. "

He was going to say more, when some one slapped him rudely on theshoulder, calling out, "How are you, old feller, and what is there inBoston to interest such a scapegrace as I am?"

Looking up, Billy saw before him Henry Lincoln, exquisitely dressed, but bearing in his appearance evident marks of dissipation. 

"Why, Henry, " exclaimed George, "how came you here? I supposed youwere drawing lampblack caricatures of some one of the tutors in oldYale. What's the matter? What have you been doing?"

"Why you see, " answered Henry, drawing his cigar from his mouth andsquirting, by accident of course, a quantity of spittle over Billy'snicely blacked shoes; "Why you see one of the sophs got his arm brokenin a row, and as I am so tender-hearted and couldn't bear to hear himgroan, to say nothing of his swearing, the faculty kindly advised meto leave, and sent on before me a recommendation to the old man. But, egad I fixed 'em. I told 'em he was in Boston, whereas he's inChicopee, so I just took the letter from the office myself. It readsbeautifully. Do you understand?"

All this time, in spite of the tobacco juice, Henry had apparentlytaken no notice of Billy, whom George now introduced, saying, hebelieved they were old acquaintances. With the coolest effronteryHenry took from his pocket a quizzing glass and applying it to hiseye, said, "I've absolutely studied until I'm near-sighted, but Idon't think I ever met this chap before. "

"Perhaps, sir, " said Billy haughtily, "it may refresh your memory alittle to know that I was once the owner of Tasso!"

"Blast the brute, " muttered Henry, meaning Billy quite as much as thedog; then turning to George, he asked, "how long the _old folks_ hadbeen in Chicopee. "

"Several weeks, I think, " answered George; and then, either because hewanted to hear what Henry would say, or because of a re-awakenedinterest in Mary Howard, he continued, "By the way. Henry, when youcame so unceremoniously upon us, we were speaking of a young girl inChicopee whom you have perhaps ferreted out ere this, as Bender saysshe is fine looking. "

Henry stroked his whiskers, which had received far more cultivationthan his brains, stuck his hat on one side, and answered. "Why, yes, Isuppose that in my way I am some thing of a b'hoy with the fair sex, but really I do not now think of more than one handsome girl inChicopee, and that is Ella Campbell, but she is young yet, not as oldas Jenny--altogether too small fry for Henry Lincoln, Esq. But who isthe girl?"

Billy frowned, for he held Mary's name as too sacred to be breathed bya young man of Henry Lincoln's character; while George replied, "Hername is Mary Howard. "

"What, the pauper?" asked Henry, looking significantly at Billy, whoreplied, "The same, sir. "

"Whew-ew, " whistled Henry, prolonging the diphthong to an unusuallength. "Why, she's got two teeth at least a foot long, and her facelooks as though she had just been in the vinegar barrel, and didn'tlike the taste of it. "

"But without joking, though, how does she look?" asked George; whileBilly made a movement as if he would help the insolent puppy to findhis level. 

"Well, now, old boy, " returned Henry, "I'll tell you honestly, thatthe last time I saw her, I was surprised to find how much she wasimproved. She has swallowed those abominable teeth, or done somethingwith them, and is really quite decent looking. In short, " hecontinued, with a malicious leer at Billy, which made the blood tingleto his finger's end, "In short, she'll do very well for a city bucklike me to play the mischief with for a summer or so, and then castoff like an old coat. "

There was a look in Billy's eye as Henry finished this speech whichdecided that young man to make no further remarks concerning Mary, andswaggering towards the door he added, "Well, Moreland, when will youcome round and take a horn of brandy? Let me know, and I'll have insome of the bloods. "

"Thank you, " said George, "I never use the article. "

"I beg your pardon, " returned Henry, in a tone of mock humility. "Iremember now that you've taken to carrying a Prayer Book as big as anold woman's moulding board, and manage to come out behind in theservice about three or four lines so as to be distinctly heard; but Isuppose you think it pleases the old gent your uncle, and thatfurthers your cause with the daughter. By the way, present mycompliments to Miss Selden, and ask her if she has any word to send toChicopee, for I'll have to go there by and by, though I hate tomightily, for it'll be just like the old man to put me through in thehay field; and if there's any thing I abominate, it's work. "

So saying, he took his leave. Just then there was a call for Mr, Moreland, who also departed, leaving Billy alone. 

"It is very strange that she never told me she knew him, " thought he;and then taking from his pocket a neatly folded letter, he again readit through. But there was nothing in it about George, except thesimple words, "I am glad you have found a friend in Mr. Moreland. I amsure I should like him, just because he is kind to you. "

"Yes, she's forgotten him, " said Billy, and that belief gave himsecret satisfaction. He had known Mary long and the interest he hadfelt in her when a homely, neglected child, had not in the leastdecreased as the lapse of time gradually ripened her into a fine, intelligent-looking girl. He was to her a brother still, but she tohim was dearer far than a sister; and though in his letters he alwaysaddressed her as such, in his heart he claimed her as somethingnearer, and yet he had never breathed in her ear a word of love, orhinted that it was for her sake he toiled both early and late, hoarding up his earnings with almost a miser's care that she might beeducated. 

Regularly each week she wrote to him, and it was the receipt of theseletters, and the thoughts of her that kept his heart so brave andcheerful, as, alone and unappreciated, except by George, he worked on, dreaming of a bright future, when the one great object of his lifeshould be realized. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. 

In the old brown school-house, overshadowed by apple-trees andsheltered on the west by a long steep hill, where the acorns and wildgrapes grew, Mary Howard taught her little flock of twenty-five, coaxing some, urging others, and teaching them all by her kind wordsand winsome ways to love her as they had never before loved aninstructor. 

When first she was proposed as a teacher in Rice Corner, WidowPerkins, and a few others who had no children to send, held up theirhands in amazement, wondering "what the world was comin' to, and ifthe committee man, Mr. Knight, s'posed they was goin' to be rid overrough-shod by a town pauper; but she couldn't get a _stifficut_, forthe Orthodox minister wouldn't give her one; and if he did, theUnitarian minister wouldn't!"

Accordingly, when it was known that the ordeal had been passed, andthat Mary had in her possession a piece of paper about three inchessquare, authorizing her to teach a common district school, this worthyconclave concluded that "either every body had lost their senses, orelse Miss Mason, who was present at the examination, had sat by andwhispered in her ear the answers to all hard questions. " "In all myborn days I never seen any thing like it, " said the widow, as shedistributed her green tea, sweetened with brown sugar, to a party ofladies, which she was entertaining "But you'll see, she won't keep hertime more'n half out. --Sally Ann, pass them nutcakes. --Nobody's goin'to send their children to a pauper. There's Miss Bradley says she'lltake her'n out the first time they get licked. --Have some more sass, Miss Dodge. I want it eat up, for I believe it's a workin', --but Itelled her that warn't the trouble; Mary's too softly to hurt amiskeeter. And so young too. It's government she'll lack in. --If anybody'll have a piece of this dried apple pie, I'll cut it. "

Of course, nobody wanted a piece, and one of the ladies, continuingthe conversation, said she supposed Mary would of course board withMrs. Mason. The tea-pot lid, which chanced to be off, went on with ajerk, and with the air of a much injured woman the widow replied:"Wall, I can tell her this much, it's no desirable job to board theschool-marm, though any body can see that's all made her so anxiousfor Mary to have the school. She's short on't, and wants a littlemoney. Do any on you know how much she charges?"

Nobody knew, but a good many "guessed she didn't charge any thing, "and the widow, rising from the table and telling Sally Ann to "rensethe sass dishes, and pour it in the vinegar bottle, " led her guestsback to the best room, saying, "a dollar and ninepence (her usualprice) was next to nothing, but she'd warrant Miss Mason had more'nthat"

Fortunately, Mary knew nothing of Mrs. Perkins's displeasure, andnever dreamed that any feeling existed towards her, save that ofperfect friendship. Since we last saw her, she had grown into a fine, healthy-looking girl. Her face and figure were round and full, and hercomplexion, though still rather pale, was clear as marble, contrastingwell with her dark brown hair and eyes, which no longer seemedunnaturally large. Still she was not beautiful, it is true, and yetBilly was not far from right when he called her the finest lookinggirl in Chicopee; and it was for this reason, perhaps, that Mrs. Campbell watched her with so much jealousy. 

Every possible pains had been taken with Ella's education. The bestteachers had been hired to instruct her, and she was now at afashionable seminary, but still she did not possess one half the easeand gracefulness of manner, which seemed natural to her sister. Sincethe day of that memorable visit, the two girls had seen but little ofeach other. Ella would not forgive Mrs. Mason for praising Mary, norforgive Mary for being praised; and as Mrs. Campbell, too pretended tofeel insulted, the intercourse between the families gradually ceased;and oftentimes when Ella met her sister, she merely acknowledged herpresence by a nod, or a simple "how d'ye do?"

When she heard that Mary was to be a teacher, she said "she was glad, for it was more respectable than going into a factory, or workingout. " Mrs. Campbell, too, felt in duty bound to express her pleasure, adding, that "she hoped Mary would give satisfaction, but 'twasextremely doubtful, she was _so_ young, and possessed of so littledignity!"

Unfortunately, Widow Perkins's red cottage stood directly opposite theschool-house; and as the widow belonged to that stirring few whoalways "wash the breakfast dishes, and make the beds before any one isup in the house, " she had ample leisure to watch and report theproceedings of the new teacher. Now Mrs. Perkins's clock was like itsmistress, always half an hour in advance of the true time and Mary hadscarcely taught a week ere Mr. Knight, "the committee man, " was dulyhailed in the street, and told that the 'school-marm wanted lookin'to, for she didn't begin no mornin' till half-past nine, nor noafternoon till half past one! "Besides that, " she added, "I think shegives 'em too long a play spell. Any ways, seem's ef some on em wasout o'door the hull time. "

Mr. Knight had too much good sense to heed the widow's complaints, andhe merely replied, "I'm glad on't. Five hours is enough to keep littleshavers cramped up in the house, --glad on't. "

The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making disturbance, finallygave up the strife, contenting herself with quizzing the older girls, and asking them if Mary could do all the hard sums in Arithmetic, orwhether she took them home for Mrs. Mason to solve! Old leathern-boundDaboll, too, was brought to light, and its most difficult problemsselected and sent to Mary, who, being an excellent mathematician, worked them all out to the widow's astonishment. But when it was knownthat quill pens had been discarded, and steel ones substituted intheir place, Mrs. Perkins again looked askance, declaring that Marycouldn't make a quill pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Annwas sent across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which"Miss Howard" was politely requested "to fix, as ma wanted to writesome letters. "

Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had never made a penin her life; and the next Sabbath the widow's leghorn was missed fromits accustomed pew in the Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it wasascertained that "she couldn't in conscience hear a man preach whowould give a 'stifficut' to a girl that didn't know how to make apen!"

In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary was contented andhappy. She knew that her pupils loved her and that the greater part ofthe district were satisfied, so she greeted the widow with herpleasantest smile, and by always being particularly polite to SallyAnn, finally overcame their prejudices to a considerable extent. 

One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Perkins was seated byher front window engaged in "stitching shoes, " a very commonemployment in some parts of New England, her attention was suddenlydiverted by a tall, stylish-looking young man, who, driving hishandsome horse and buggy under the shadow of the apple-trees, alightedand entered into conversation with a group of little girls who weretaking their usual recess. Mrs. Perkins's curiosity was roused, andSally Ann was called to see who the stranger was. But for a wonder, Sally Ann didn't know, though she "guessed the hoss was one of theEast Chicopee livery. "

"He's talkin' to Liddy Knight, " said she, at the same time holdingback the curtain, and stepping aside so as not to be visible herself. 

"Try if you can hear what he's sayin, " whispered Mrs. Perkins; but aclass of boys in the school-house just then struck into themultiplication table, thus effectually drowning any thing which SallyAnn might otherwise have heard. 

"I know them children will split their throats. Can't they hold up aminute, " exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly annoyed at being thusprevented from overhearing a conversation, the nature of which shecould not even guess. 

But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story we will for herbenefit repeat what the young man was saying to Lydia Knight, whobeing nearest to him was the first one addressed. 

"You have a nice place for your school-house and play-grounds. "

"Yes, sir, " answered Lydia, twirling her sun-bonnet and taking up asmall round stone between her naked toes. 

"Do you like to go to school?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Have you a good teacher?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What is her name?"

"Miss Howard, --Mary Howard, and she lives with Miss Mason. "

"Mary Howard, --that's a pretty name, --is she pretty too?"

"Not so dreadful, " chimed in Susan Bradley. "She licked brother Timto-day, and I don't think she's much pretty. "

This speech quickly called out the opinion of the other girls asfollows:

"He ought to be licked, for he stole a knife and then lied about it;and Miss Howard is real pretty, and you needn't say she ain't, SusanBradley. "

"Yes, indeed, she's pretty, " rejoined a second. "Such handsome eyes, and little white hands. "

"What color are her eyes?" asked the stranger, to which two replied, "blue, " and three more said "black;" while Lydia Knight, who was theoldest of the group, finally settled the question by saying, that"they sometimes looked blue; but if she was real pleased, or sorryeither, they turned black!"

The stranger smiled and said, "Tell me more about her. Does she everscold, or has she too pretty a mouth for that?"

"No, she never scolds, " said Delia Frost, "and she's got the nicest, whitest teeth, and I guess she knows it, too for she shows them agreat deal. "

"She's real white, too, " rejoined Lydia Knight, "though pa says sheused to be yaller as saffron. "

Here there was a gentle rap upon the window, and the girls startingoff, exclaimed, "There, we must go in. "

"May I go too?" asked the stranger, following them to the door. 

The girls looked at each other, then at him, then at each other again, and at last Lydia said, "I don't care, but I guess Miss Howard will beashamed, for 'twas Suke Bradley's turn to sweep the school-house thisnoon-time, and she wouldn't do it, 'cause Tim got licked. "

"Never mind the school-house, " returned the stranger, "but introduceme as Mr. Stuart. "

Lydia had never introduced any body in her life, and following hercompanions to her seat, she left Mr. Stuart standing in the doorway. With her usual politeness, Mary came forward and received thestranger, who gave his name as Mr. Stuart, saying, "he felt muchinterested in common schools, and therefore had ventured to call. "

Offering the seat of honor, viz. , the splint-bottomed chair, Maryresumed her usual duties, occasionally casting a look of curiosity atthe stranger, whose eyes seemed constantly upon her. It was ratherwarm that day, and when Mary returned from her dinner, Widow Perkinswas greatly shocked at seeing her attired in a light pink muslindress, the short sleeves of which showed to good advantage her roundwhite arms. A narrow velvet ribbon confined by a small brooch, and ablack silk apron, completed her toilet, with the exception of a tinylocket, which was suspended from her neck by a slender gold chain. This last ornament, immediately riveted Mr. Stuart's attention, andfrom some strange cause sent the color quickly to his face. After atime, as if to ascertain whether it were really a locket, or a watch, he asked "if Miss Howard could tell him the hour. "

"Certainly sir, " said she, and stepping to the desk and consulting asilver time-piece about the size of a dining plate, she told him thatit was half-past three. 

He nodded, and seemed very much interested in two little boys who satnear him, engaged in the laudable employment of seeing which couldsnap spittle the farthest and the best. 

Just then there was a movement at the door, and a new visitor appearedin the person of Mrs. Perkins, who, with her large feather fan andflounced gingham dress, entered smiling and bowing, and saying "shehad been trying all summer to visit the school. "

Mr. Stuart immediately arose and offered his chair, but there wassomething in his manner which led Mary to suppose that an introductionwas not at all desired, so she omitted it, greatly to the chagrin ofthe widow, who, declining the proffered seat, squeezed herself betweenLydia Knight and another girl, upsetting the inkstand of the one, andcausing the other to make a curious character out of the letter "X"she chanced to be writing. 

"Liddy, Liddy, " she whispered, "who is that man?"

But Lydia was too much engrossed with her spoiled apron to answer thisquestion, and she replied with, "Marm may I g'wout; I've spilt the inkall over my apron. "

Permission, of course, was granted, and as the girl who sat next knewnothing of the stranger, Mrs. Perkins began to think she might just aswell have staid at home and finished her shoes. "But, " thought she, "may-be I shall find out after school. "

Fortune, however, was against the widow, for scarcely was her featherfan in full play, when Sally Ann came under the window, and punchingher back with a long stick, told her in a loud whisper, that "she mustcome right home, for Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly had just come from thecars. "

Accordingly, Mrs. Perkins, smoothing down her gingham flounces, anddrawing on her cotton gloves, arose to go, asking Mary as she passed, "if that was an acquaintance of hers. "

Mary shook her head, and the widow, more puzzled than ever, took herleave. 

When school was out, Mr. Stuart, who seemed in no haste whatever, entered into a lively discussion with Mary concerning schools andbooks, adroitly managing to draw her out upon all the leading topicsof the day. At last the conversation turned upon flowers; and whenMary chanced to mention Mrs. Mason's beautiful garden, he instantlyexpressed a great desire to see it, and finally offered to accompanyMary home, provided she had no objections. She could not, of course, say no, and the Widow Perkins, who, besides attending to "Uncle Jim"and "Aunt Dolly, " still found time to watch the school-house, camevery near letting her buttermilk biscuit burn to a cinder, when shesaw the young man walking down the road with Mary. Arrived at Mrs. Mason's, the stranger managed to make himself so agreeable, that Mrs. Mason invited him to stay to tea, --an invitation which he readilyaccepted. Whoever he was, he seemed to understand exactly how to findout whatever he wished to know; and before tea was over, he hadlearned of Mary's intention to attend the academy in Wilbraham, thenext autumn. 

"Excuse me for making a suggestion, " said he, "but why not go to Mt. Holyoke? Do you not think the system of education there a mostexcellent one?"

Mary glanced at Mrs. Mason, who replied, that "she believed they didnot care to take a pupil at South Hadley for a less period than ayear; and as Mary was entirely dependent upon herself, she could notat present afford that length of time. "

"That does make a difference, " returned Mr. Stuart "but I hope shewill not give up Mt. Holyoke entirely, as I should prefer it toWilbraham. "

Tea being over, Mr. Stuart arose to go; and Mary, as she accompaniedhim to the door, could not forbear asking how he liked Mrs. Mason'sgarden, which he had forgotten even to look at!

Blushing deeply, he replied, "I suppose Miss Howard has learned erethis, that there are in the world things fairer and more attractivethan flowers, but I will look at them when I come again;" thenpolitely bidding her good night, be walked away, leaving Mary and Mrs. Mason to wonder, --the one what he came there for, and the otherwhether he would ever come again. The widow, too, wondered andfidgeted, as the sun went down behind the long hill, and still underthe apple-tree the gray pony stood. 

"It beats all nater what's kept him so long, " said she, when he atlast appeared, and, unfastening, his horse, drove off at a furiousrate; "but if I live I'll know all about it to-morrow;" and with thisconsolatory remark she returned to the best room, and for theremainder of the evening devoted herself to the entertainment of UncleJim and his wife Aunt Dolly. 

That evening, Mr. Knight, who had been to the Post Office, called atMrs. Mason's, bringing with him a letter which bore the Bostonpostmark. Passing it to Mary, he winked at Mrs. Mason, saying, "Ikinder guess how all this writin' works will end; but hain't therebeen a young chap to see the school?"

"Yes; how did you know it, " returned Mrs. Mason, while Mary blushedmore deeply than she did when Billy's letter was handed her. 

"Why, you see, " answered Mr. Knight, "I was about at the foot of theBlanchard hill, when I see a buggy comin' like Jehu. Just as it gotagin me it kinder slackened, and the fore wheel ran off smack andscissors. "

"Was he hurt?" quickly asked Mary. 

"Not a bit on't, " said Mr. Knight, "but he was scared some, I guess. Igot out and helped him, and when he heard I's from Rice Corner, hesaid he'd been into school. Then he asked forty-'leven questions aboutyou, and jest as I was settin' you up high, who should come acanterin' up with their long-tailed gowns, and hats like men, but EllaCampbell, and a great white-eyed pucker that came home with her fromschool. Either Ella's horse was scary, or she did it a purpose, forthe minit she got near, it began to rare and she would have fell off, if that man hadn't catched it by the bit, and held her on with t'otherhand. I allus was the most sanguinary of men, (Mr. Knight was never sofar wrong in his life, ) and I was buildin' castles about him, and ourlittle school-marm, when Ella came along, and I gin it up, for I seethat he was took, and she did look handsome with her curls a flyin'. Wall, as I wasn't of no more use, I whipped up old Charlotte and comeon. "

"When did Ella return?" asked Mary, who had not before heard of hersister's arrival. 

"I don't know, " said Mr. Knight. "The first I see of her she wascuttin' through the streets on the dead run; but I mustn't stay here, gabbin', so good night, Miss Mason, --good night, Mary, hope you've gotgood news in that are letter. "

The moment he was gone, Mary ran up to her room, to read her letter, from which we give the following extract. 

"You must have forgotten George Moreland, or you would have mentionedhim to me. I like him very much indeed, and yet I could not helpfeeling a little jealous, when he manifested so much interest in you. Sometimes, Mary, I think that for a brother I am getting too selfish, and do not wish any one to like you except myself, but I surely neednot feel so towards George, the best friend I have in Boston. He isvery kind, lending me books, and has even offered to use his influencein getting me a situation in one of the best law offices in the city. "

After reading this letter, Mary sat for a long time, thinking ofGeorge Moreland, --of the time when she first knew him, --of all thatWilliam Bender had been to her since, --and wondering, as girlssometimes will, which she liked the best. Billy, unquestionably, hadthe strongest claim to her love, but could he have known how muchsatisfaction she felt in thinking that George still remembered andfelt interested in her, he would have had some reason for fearing, ashe occasionally did, that she would never be to him aught save asister. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

JEALOUSY. 

The day following Mr. Stuart's visit was Saturday, and as there was noschool, Mary decided to call upon her sister, whom she had not seenfor some months. Mrs. Mason, who had some shopping to do in thevillage, offered to accompany her, and about two in the afternoon, they set forward in Mr. Knight's covered buggy. The roads were smoothand dry, and in a short time they reached the bridge near the depot. Atrain of cars bound for Boston was just going out, and from one of thewindows Mr. Stuart was looking, and waving his hand towards Mary, whobowed in token of recognition. 

The sight and sound of the cars made "old Charlotte, " whom Mrs. Masonwas driving, prick up her ears, and feet too, and in a few moments shecarried her load to the village. Leaving Mrs. Mason at the store, Maryproceeded at once to Mrs. Campbell's. She rang the door-bell a littletimidly, for the last time she saw her sister, she had been treatedwith so much coldness, that she now felt some anxiety with regard tothe reception she was likely to meet. 

"Is Miss Campbell at home?" she asked of the girl who answered herring. 

"Yes, she's at home, " replied the girl, "but is busy dressing forcompany. "

"Tell her her sister is here, if you please. I won't detain herlong, " said Mary, trying hard to shake off the tremor which alwayscame upon her, when she found herself in Mrs. Campbell's richlyfurnished house. 

Conducting Mary into the parlor, the girl departed with her message toElla, who, together with the young lady whom Mr. Knight had styled a"white-eyed pucker, " but whose real name was Eliza Porter, wasdressing in the chamber above. The door of the room was open, and fromher position, Mary could hear distinctly every word which was uttered. 

"Miss Ella, " said the girl, "your sister is in the parlor, and wantsto see you. "

"My sister, " repeated Ella, "oh, forlorn! What brought her hereto-day? Why didn't you tell her I wasn't at home?"

"I never told a lie in my life, " answered the honest servant girl, while Miss Porter in unfeigned surprise said "Your sister! I didn'tknow you had one. Why doesn't she live at home?"

Concealment was no longer possible, and in a half vexed, half laughingtone, Ella replied, "Why, I thought you knew that I was an orphan whomMrs. Campbell adopted years ago. "

"You an orphan!" returned Miss Porter. "Well, if I ever! Who adoptedyour sister?"

"A poor woman in the country, " was Ella's answer. 

Miss Porter, who was a notorious flatterer, replied, "I must see her, for if she is any thing like you, I shall love her instantly. "

"Oh, she isn't like _me_" said Ella, with a curl of her lip. "She'ssmart enough, I suppose, but she hasn't a bit of polish or refinement. She doesn't come here often, and when she does, I am always in afidget, for fear some of the city girls will call, and she'll dosomething _outré_. "

"I guess, then, I won't go down, at least not till I'm dressed, "answered Miss Porter; and Ella, throwing on a dressing-gown, descendedto the parlor, where she met her sister with the ends of her fingers, and a simple, "Ah, Mary, how d'ye do? Are you well?"

After several commonplace remarks, Ella at last asked, "How did youknow I was at home?"

"Mr. Knight told me, " said Mary. 

"Mr. Knight, " repeated Ella; "and pray, who is he? I don't believehe's on my list of acquaintances. "

"Do you remember the man who carried me to the poor-house?" askedMary. 

"Hush--sh!" said Ella, glancing nervously towards the door. "There isa young lady up stairs, and it isn't necessary for her to know you'vebeen a pauper. "

By this time Miss Porter was dressed. She was very fond of display, and wishing to astonish the "country girl" with her silks and satins, came rustling into the parlor. 

"My sister, " said Ella carelessly. 

Miss Porter nodded, and then throwing herself languidly upon the sofa, looked down the street, as if expecting some one. At last, supportingherself on her elbow, she lisped out, "I don't believe that he'thcoming, for here 'tis after four!"

"Tisn't likely he'll stay in the graveyard all night, " returned Ella. "I wish we'd asked him whose graves he was going to visit, don't you?"Then, by way of saying something more to Mary, she continued, "Oh, youought to know what an adventure I had yesterday. It was a mostmiraculous escape, for I should certainly have been killed, if themost magnificent-looking gentleman you ever saw, hadn't caught mejust in time to keep Beauty from throwing me. You ought to see hiseyes, they were perfectly splendid!"

Mary replied, that she herself thought he had rather handsome eyes. 

"_You!_ where did you ever see him?" asked Ella. 

"He visited my school yesterday afternoon. "

"Oh, no, that can't be the one, " returned Ella, while Miss Porter, too, said, "Certainly not; our cavalier never thaw the inthide of adistrict school-houth, I know. "

"I am quite sure he saw one yesterday, " said Mary, relating thecircumstance of Mr. Knight's meeting him at the spot where Ella cameso near getting a fall. 

"Did he go home with you?" asked Ella, in a tone plainly indicatingthat a negative answer was expected. 

Mary understood the drift of her sister's questioning, and promptlyreplied, "Yes, he went home with me, and staid to tea. "

Ella's countenance lowered, while Miss Porter exclaimed, "I declare, we may as well give up all hope, for your sister, it seems, has thefirst claim. "

"Pshaw!" said Ella, contemptuously, while Miss Porter, again turningto Mary, asked, "Did you learn his name? If you did, you are morefortunate than we were; and he came all the way home with us, too, leading Ella's pony; and besides that, we met him in the street thismorning. "

"His name, " returned Mary, "is Stuart, and he lives in Boston, Ibelieve. "

"Stuart, --Stuart, --" repeated Ella; "I never heard Lizzie Upton, orthe Lincolns, mention the Stuarts, but perhaps they have recentlyremoved to the city. Any way, this young man is somebody, I know. "

Here Miss Porter, again looking down the road, exclaimed, "There, he's coming, I do believe. "

Both girls rushed to the window, but Mr. Stuart was not there; andwhen they were reseated, Mary very gravely remarked, that he wasprobably ere this in Worcester, as she saw him in the eastern train. 

"Why, really, " said Ella, "you seem to be well posted in his affairs. Perhaps you can tell us whose graves he wished to find. He said he hadsome friends buried here, and inquired for the sexton. "

Mary knew nothing about it, and Ella, as if thinking aloud, continued, "It must be that he got belated, and went from the graveyard, acrossthe fields, to the depot;--but, oh horror!" she added, "there comesLizzie Upton and the rest of the Boston girls. Mary, I guess you'llhave to go, or rather, I guess you'll have to excuse me, for I mustrun up and dress. By the way, wouldn't you like some flowers? If youwould just go into the kitchen, and ask Bridget to show you thegarden. "

Mary had flowers enough at home, and so, in spite of Ella's manoeuvre, she went out at the front door, meeting "Lizzie Upton, and the rest ofthe Boston girls, " face to face. Miss Porter, who acted the part ofhostess while Ella was dressing, was quickly interrogated by LizzieUpton, as to who the young lady was they met in the yard. 

"That's Ella Campbell's sister, " said Miss Porter. Then lowering hervoice to a whisper, she continued, "Don't you believe, Ella isn't Mrs. Campbell's own daughter, but an adopted one!"

"I know that, " answered Lizzie; "but this sister, where does shelive?"

"Oh, in a kind of a heathenish, out-of-the-way place, and teachesschool for a living. "

"Well, " returned Lizzie, "she is a much finer looking girl thanElla. "

"How can you say so, " exclaimed three or four girls in a breath, andLizzie replied, "Perhaps she hasn't so much of what is called beautyin her face, but she has a great deal more intellect. "

Here the door-bell again rang; and Ella, having made a hasty toilet, came tripping down the stairs in time to welcome Rose Lincoln, whomshe embraced as warmly as if a little eternity, instead of three days, had elapsed since they met. 

"I had perfectly despaired of your coming, " said she "Oh, how sweetyou do look! But where's Jenny?"

Rose's lip curled scornfully, as she replied, "Why, she met MaryHoward in the store, and I couldn't drag her away. "

"And who is Mary Howard?" asked Lizzie Upton. 

Rose glanced at Ella, who said, "Why, she's the girl you met going outof the yard. "

"Oh, yes. --I know, --your sister, " returned Lizzie. "Isn't she to behere? I have noticed her in church, and should like to get acquaintedwith her. She has a fine eye and forehead. "

Ella dared not tell Lizzie, that Mary was neither polished norrefined, so she answered, that "she could not stay this afternoon, asMrs. Mason, the lady with whom she lived, was in a hurry to go home. "

Miss Porter looked up quickly from her embroidery, and winked slyly atElla in commendation of her falsehood. Jenny now came bounding in, hercheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling like diamonds. 

"I'm late, I know, " said she, "but I met Mary in the store, and Inever know when to leave her. I tried to make her come with me, telling her that as you were her sister 'twas no matter if she weren'tinvited; but she said that Mrs. Mason had accepted an invitation totake tea with Mrs. Johnson, and she was going there too. "

Instantly Lizzie Upton's eyes were fixed upon Ella, who coloredscarlet; and quickly changing the conversation, she commenced talkingabout her adventure of the evening before, and again the"magnificent-looking stranger, with his perfectly splendid eyes, " wasduly described. 

"Oh, yes, " said Jenny, who generally managed to talk all the time, whether she was heard or not. "Yes, Mary told me about him. He was inher school yesterday, and if I were going to describe George Moreland, I could not do it more accurately than she did, in describing Mr. Stuart. You never saw George, did you?"

"No, " said Ella pettishly, "but seems to me Mary is dreadful anxiousto have folks know that Mr. Stuart visited her school. "

"No, she isn't, " answered Jenny. "I told her that I rode past herschool-house yesterday, and should have called, had I not seen a bigman's head protruding above the window sill. Of course, I asked who hewas, and she told me about him, and how he saved you from a brokenneck. "

Ella's temper, never the best, was fast giving way, and by the timethe company were all gone, she was fairly in a fit of the pouts. Running up stairs, and throwing herself upon the bed, she burst intotears, wishing herself dead, and saying she knew no one would care ifshe were, for every body liked Mary better than they did her. 

Miss Porter, who stood by, terribly distressed of course, rightlyguessed that the every body, on this occasion, referred merely to Mr. Stuart and Lizzie Upton. Ella was always jealous of any commendationbestowed upon Mary seeming to consider it as so much taken fromherself, and consequently, could not bear that Lizzie should eventhink well of her. The fact, too, that Mr. Stuart had not only visitedher school, but also walked home with her, was a sufficient reason whyshe should he thoroughly angry. Miss Porter knew that the surestmethod of coaxing her out of her pouting fit, was to flatter her, andaccordingly she repeated at least a dozen complimentary speeches, someof which she had really heard, while others were manufactured for theoccasion. In this way the cloud was gradually lifted from her face, and erelong she was laughing merrily at the idea, that a girl "sowholly unattractive as Mary, should ever have made her jealous!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A NEW PLAN. 

The summer was drawing to a close, and with it Mary's school. She hadsucceeded in giving satisfaction to the entire district with theexception of Mrs. Bradley, who "didn't know why Tim should be lickedand thrashed round just because his folks wasn't wuth quite so much assome others, " this being, in her estimation, the only reason why thenotorious Timothy was never much beloved by his teachers. Mr Knight, with whom Mary was a great favorite, offered her the school for thecoming winter, but she had decided upon attending school herself, andafter modestly declining his offer, told him of her intention. 

"But where's the money coming from?" said he. 

Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes he supposed she hadstitched during the last two years. 

"More'n two hundred, I'll bet, " said he. 

"Not quite as many as that, " answered Mary; "but still I have managedto earn my clothes, and thirty dollars besides; and this, togetherwith my school wages, will pay for one term, and part of another. "

"Well, go ahead, " returned Mr. Knight. "I'd help you if I could. Goahead, and who knows but you'll one day be the President's wife. "

Like the majority of New England farmers, Mr Knight was far frombeing wealthy. From sunrise until sundown he worked upon the oldhomestead where his father had dwelt. Spring after spring, he ploughedand planted the sandy soil. Autumn after autumn he gathered in theslender harvest, and still said he would not exchange his home amongthe hills for all the broad acres of his brother, who at the far West, counted his dollars by the thousands. He would gladly have helpedMary, but around his fireside were six children dependent upon him forfood, clothing, and education, and he could only wish his young friendsuccess in whatever she undertook. 

When Widow Perkins heard that Mary was going away to school, sheforgot to put any yeast in the bread which she was making, and biddingSally Ann "watch it until it riz, " she posted off to Mrs. Mason's toinquire the particulars, reckoning up as she went along how muchfourteen weeks' wages would come to at nine shillings (a dollar and ahalf New England currency) per week. 

"'Tain't no great, " said she, as simultaneously with her arrival atMrs. Mason's door, she arrived at the sum of twenty-one dollars. "'Tain't no great, and I wouldn't wonder if Miss Mason fixed over someof her old gowns for her. "

But with all her quizzing, and "pumping, " as Judith called it, she wasunable to ascertain any thing of importance, and mentally styling Mrs. Mason, Mary, Judith and all, "great gumpheads, " she returned home, andrelieved Sally Ann from her watch over unleavened bread. Both Mrs. Mason and Mary laughed heartily at the widow's curiosity, though, asMary said, "It was no laughing matter where the money was to come fromwhich she needed for her books and clothing. "

Every thing which Mrs. Mason could do for her she did, and evenJudith, who was never famous for generosity; brought in one Saturdaymorning a half-worn merino, which she thought "mebby could be turnedand sponged, and made into somethin' decent, " adding, in an undertone, that "she'd had it out airin' on the clothes hoss for more'n twohours!"

Sally Furbush, too, brought over the old purple silk which "Willie'sfather had given her. " She was getting on finely with her grammar, shesaid, and in a few days she should write to Harper, so that he mighthave time to engage the extra help he would necessarily need, inbringing out a work of that kind!

"I should dedicate it to Mrs. Grundy, " said she, "just to show her howforgiving I can be, but here is a difficulty. A person, on seeing thename, '_Mrs. _ Polly Grundy, ' would naturally be led to inquire for'_Mr. _ Polly Grundy, ' and this inquiry carried out, might cause thelady some little embarrassment, so I've concluded to have thededication read thus:--'To Willie's father, who sleeps on the westernprairie, this useful work is tremblingly, tearfully, yet joyfullydedicated by his relict, Sarah. '"

Mary warmly approved of this plan, and after a few extra flourishes inthe shape of a courtesy, Sally started for home. 

A few days afterward, Jenny Lincoln came galloping up to theschool-house door, declaring her intention of staying until school wasout, and having a good time. "It's for ever and ever since I've seenyou, " said she, as she gathered up the skirt of her blue riding-dress, and followed Mary into the house, "but I've been so bothered withthose city girls. Seems as though they had nothing to do but to get uprides in hay carts, or picnics in the woods and since Henry came homethey keep sending for us. This afternoon they have all goneblackberrying in a hay cart, but I'd rather come here. "

At this point, happening to think that the class in Colburn who weretoeing the mark so squarely, would perhaps like a chance to recite, Jenny seated herself near the window, and throwing off her hat, madefun for herself and some little boys, by tickling their naked toeswith the end of her riding-whip. When school was out, and the twogirls were alone, Jenny entered at once upon the great object of hervisit. 

"I hear you are going to Wilbraham, " said she, "but I want you to goto Mount Holyoke. We are going, a whole lot of us, that is, if we canpass examination. Rose isn't pleased with the idea, but I am. I think'twill be fun to wash potatoes and scour knives. I don't believe thatmother would ever have sent us there if it were not that Ida Selden isgoing. Her father and her aunt Martha used to be schoolmates with MissLyon, and they have always intended that Ida should graduate at MountHolyoke. Now, why can't you go, too?"

Instantly Mary thought of Mr. Stuart, and his suggestion. "I wish Icould, " said she, "but I can't. I haven't money enough, and there isno one to give it to me. "

"It wouldn't hurt Mrs. Campbell to help you a little, " returned Jenny. "Why, last term Ella spent almost enough for candies, and gutta-perchatoys, to pay the expense of half a year's schooling, at Mount Holyoke. It's too bad that she should have every thing, and you nothing. "

Here Jenny's remarks were interrupted by the loud rattling of wheels, and the halloo of many voices. Going to the door she and Mary sawcoming down the road at a furious rate, the old hay cart, laden withthe young people from Chicopee, who had been berrying in Sturbridge, and were now returning home in high glee. The horses werefantastically trimmed with ferns and evergreens, while several of thegirls were ornamented in the same way. Conspicuous among the noisygroup, was Ella Campbell. Henry Lincoln's broad-brimmed hat wasresting on her long curls, while her white sun-bonnet was tied underHenry's chin. 

The moment Jenny appeared, the whole party set up a shout sodeafening, that the Widow Perkins came out in a trice, to see "if theold Harry was to pay, or what. " No sooner did Henry Lincoln get sightof Mary, than springing to his feet, and swinging his arm around hishead, he screamed out, "Three cheers for the school ma'am and herhandsome lover, Billy! Hurrah!"

In the third and last hurrah, the whole company joined, and when thatwas finished, Henry struck up on a high key, "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy, Oh, where have you been charming Billy?"

but only one voice joined in with his, and that was Ella's! Maryreddened at what she knew was intended as an insult, and when sheheard her sister's voice chiming in with Henry, she could not keepback her tears. 

"Wasn't that smart?" said Jenny, when at last the hay cart disappearedfrom view, and the noise and dust had somewhat subsided. Then as shesaw the tears in Mary's eyes, she added, "Oh, I wouldn't care if theydid teaze me about Billy Bender. I'd as lief be teazed about him asnot. "

"It isn't that, " said Mary, smiling in spite of herself, at Jenny'sfrankness. "It isn't that. I didn't like to hear Ella sing with yourbrother, when she must have known he meant to annoy me. "

"That certainly was wrong, " returned Jenny; "but Ella isn't so much toblame as Henry, who seems to have acquired a great influence over herduring the few weeks he has been at home. You know she is easilyflattered, and I dare say Henry has fully gratified her vanity in thatrespect, for he says she is the only decent-looking girl in Chicopee. But see, there comes Mrs. Mason, I guess she wonders what is keepingyou so long. "

The moment Mrs. Mason entered the school-room, Jenny commenced talkingabout Mount Holyoke, her tongue running so fast, that it entirelyprevented any one else from speaking, until she stopped for a momentto take breath. Then Mrs. Mason very quietly remarked, that if Marywished to go to Mount Holyoke she could do so. Mary looked upinquiringly, wondering what mine had opened so suddenly at her feet;but she received no explanation until Jenny had bidden her good-bye, and gone. Then she learned that Mrs. Mason had just received $100 froma man in Boston, who had years before owed it to her husband, and wasunable to pay it sooner. "And now, " said Mrs. Mason, "there is noreason why you should not go to Mount Holyoke, if you wish to. "

The glad tears which came to Mary's eyes were a sufficient evidencethat she did wish to, and the next day a letter was forwarded to MissLyon, who promptly replied, expressing her willingness to receive Maryas a pupil. And now Rice Corner was again thrown into a state offermentation. Mary was going to Mount Holyoke, and what was moremarvellous still, Mrs. Mason had bought her a black silk dress, whichcost her a dollar a yard! and more than one good dame declared herintention of "giving up, " if paupers came on so fast. This having beena pauper was the thing of which Mary heard frequently, now that herprospects were getting brighter. And even Ella, when told that hersister was going to Mount Holyoke, said to Miss Porter, who was stillwith her, "Why, isn't she getting along real fast for one who hasbeen on the town?"

Mrs. Lincoln, too, and Rose were greatly provoked, the formerdeclaring she would not send her daughters to a school which was socheap that paupers and all could go, were it not that Lizzie Upton hadbeen there, and Ida Selden was going. Jenny, however, thoughtdifferently. She was delighted, and as often as she possibly could, she came to Mrs. Mason's to talk the matter over, and tell what goodtimes they'd have, "provided they didn't set her to pounding clothes, "which she presumed they would, just because she was so fat andhealthy. The widow assumed a very resigned air, saying "She never didmeddle with other folks' business, and she guessed she shouldn't beginby 'tendin' to Mary's, but 'twas a miracle where all the money camefrom. "

A few more of the neighbors felt worried and troubled but as noattention was paid to their remarks, they gradually ceased, and by thetime Mary's preparations were completed, curiosity and gossip seemedto have subsided altogether. She was quite a favorite in theneighborhood, and on the morning when she left home, there was many akind good-bye, and word of love spoken to her by those who came to seeher off. Mr. Knight carried her to the depot, where they found SallyFurbush, accompanied by Tasso, her constant attendant. She knew thatMary was to leave that morning, and had walked all that distance, forthe sake of seeing her, and giving her a little parting advice. It wasnot quite time for the cars, and Mr. Knight, who was always in ahurry, said "he guessed he wouldn't stay, " so squeezing both of Mary'shands, he bade her good-bye, telling her "to be a good girl, and notget to running after the sparks. "

Scarcely was he gone, when Mary's attention was attracted by the soundof many voices, and looking from the window, she saw a group of thecity girls advancing towards the depot. Among them was Ella, talkingand laughing very loudly Mary's heart beat very rapidly, for shethought her sister was coming to bid her good-bye, but she wasmistaken. Ella had no thought or care for her, and after glancing inat the sitting-room, without seeming to see its inmates, though not tosee them was impossible, she turned her back, and looking across theriver, which was directly in front, she said in her most drawlingtone, "Why don't Rose come? I shan't have time to see her at all, I'mafraid. "

Lizzie Upton, who was also there, looked at her in astonishment, andthen said, "Why, Ella, isn't that your sister?"

"My sister? I don't know. Where?" returned Ella. 

Mary laughed, and then Ella, facing about, exclaimed, "Why, Mary, youhere? I forgot that you were going this morning. "

Before Mary could reply. Sally Furbush arose, and passed her handcarefully over Ella's head. Partly in fear, and partly in anger, Elladrew back from the crazy woman, who said, "Don't be alarmed, littleone, I only wanted to find the cavity which I felt sure was there. "

Lizzie Upton's half-smothered laugh was more provoking to Ella, thanSally's insinuation of her want of brains, but she soon recovered herequanimity, for Mr. Lincoln's carriage at that moment drove up. Henrysprang nimbly out, kissing his hand to Ella, who blushed, and thenturning to Rose, began wishing she, too, was old enough to go to MountHolyoke. 

"I guess you'd pass about as good an examination now, as some who aregoing, " returned Rose, glancing contemptuously towards Mary, to whomJenny was eagerly talking. 

This directed Henry's attention that way, and simultaneously his ownand Mary's eyes met. With a peculiar expression of countenance, hestepped towards her, saying "Good morning, school ma'am. For what partare you bound with all this baggage?" pointing to a huge chest with afeather bed tied over it, the whole the property of a daughter ofErin, who stood near, carefully guarding her treasure. 

Had he addressed Mary civilly, she would have replied with her usualpoliteness, but as it was, she made no reply and he turned to walkaway. All this time Tasso lay under the table, winking and blinking athis old enemy, with an expression in his eyes, which Henry wouldhardly have relished, could he have seen him. 

"Hark! Isn't that the cars?" said Jenny, as a low, heavy growl fell onher ear; but she soon ascertained what it was, for as Henry wasleaving the room, he kicked aside the blue umbrella, which Sal hadbrought with her for fear of a shower, and which was lying upon thefloor. 

In an instant, Tasso's growl changed to a bark, and bristling withanger, he rushed towards Henry, but was stopped by Sal just in time toprevent his doing any mischief. With a muttered oath, which includedthe "old woman" as well as her dog, the young man was turning away, when Jenny said, "Shame on you, to swear before ladies!"

After assuring himself by a look that Ella and the city girls were allstanding upon the platform, Henry replied with a sneer, "I don't seeany ladies in the room. "

Instantly Sal, now more furious than the dog, clutched her long, bonyfingers around his arm, saying, "Take back that insult, sir, or Tassoshall tear you in pieces! What am I, if I am not a lady?"

Henry felt sure that Sal meant what she said, and with an air ofassumed deference, he replied as he backed himself out of hisuncomfortable quarters, "I beg your pardon Mrs. Furbush, I forgot thatyou were present. "

The whistle of the cars was now heard, and in a moment the locomotivestood puffing before the depot. From one of the open windows a fairyoung face looked out, and a voice which thrilled Mary's every nerve, it seemed so familiar, called out, "Oh, Rosa, Jenny, all of you, I'mso glad you are here; I was afraid there would be some mistake, andI'd have to go alone. "

"Isn't your father with you?" asked Henry, bowing so low, that healmost pitched headlong from the platform. 

"No, " answered the young lady, "he couldn't leave, nor George either, so Aunt Martha is my escort. She's fast asleep just opposite me, neverdreaming, I dare say, that we've stopped. "

"The mischief, " said Henry. "What's to be done? The old gent wasobliged to be in Southbridge to-day, so he bade me put Rose and Jennyunder your father's protection; but as he isn't here I'll have to gomyself. "

"No you won't either, " returned Ida, "Aunt Martha is as good as a manany time, and can look after three as well as one. "

"That's Ida Selden! Isn't she handsome?" whispered Jenny to Mary. 

But Mary hardly heard her. She was gazing admiringly at Ida's animatedface, and tracing in it a strong resemblance to the boyish features, which looked so mischievously out from the golden locket, which atthat moment lay next to her heart. 

"All aboard, " shouted the shrill voice of the conductor and Mary awokefrom her reverie, and twining her arms around Sally Furbush's neck, bade her good-bye. 

"The Lord be with you, " said Sally, "and be sure you pay strictattention to Grammar!"

Mary next looked for Ella, but she stood at a distance jestinglightly with Henry Lincoln, and evidently determined not to see hersister, who was hurrying towards her, when "All aboard" was againshouted in her ear, while at the same moment, the conductor lifted herlightly upon the step where Rose and Jenny were standing. 

"This car is brim full, " said Rose, looking over her shoulder, "but Iguess you can find a good seat in the next one. "

The train was already in motion, and as Mary did not care to peril herlife or limbs for the sake of pleasing Rose, she followed her into thecar, where there was a goodly number of unoccupied seats, notwithstanding Rose's assertion to the contrary. As the train movedrapidly over the long, level meadow, and passed the Chicopeeburying-ground, Mary looked out to catch a glimpse of the thorn-appletree, which overshadowed the graves of her parents, and then, as shethought how cold and estranged was the only one left of all the homecircle, she drew her veil over her face and burst into tears. 

"Who is that young lady?" asked Ida, who was riding backward andconsequently directly opposite to Mary. 

"What young lady?" said Rose; and Ida replied, "The one who kissedthat queer-looking old woman and then followed you and Jenny into thecars. "

"Oh, that was Mary Howard, " was Rose's answer. 

"Mary Howard!" repeated Ida, as if the name were one she had heardbefore, "who is she, and what is she?"

"Nobody but a town pauper, " answered Rose, "and one of Jenny'sprotegee's. You see she is sitting by her. "

"She doesn't seem like a pauper, " said Ida. "I wish she would take offthat veil. I want to see how she looks. "

"Rough and blowsy, of course, like any other country girl, " was Rose'sreply. 

By this time Mary had dried her tears, and when they reached thestation at Warren, she removed her veil, disclosing to view a face, which instead of being "rough and blowsy" was smooth and fair almostas marble. 

"That isn't a pauper, I know, " said Ida; and Rose replied, "Well, shehas been, and what's the difference?"

"But where does she live now?" continued Ida. "I begin to growinterested. "

"I suppose you remember Mrs. Mason, who used to live in Boston, "answered Rose. "Well, she has adopted her, I believe, but I don't knowmuch about it, and care a good deal less. "

"Mrs. Mason!" repeated Ida. "Why, Aunt Martha thinks all the world ofher, and I fancy she wouldn't sleep quite so soundly, if she knew heradopted daughter was in the car. I mean to tell her. --Aunt Martha, Aunt Martha!"

But Aunt Martha was too fast asleep to heed Ida's call, and a gentleshake was necessary to rouse her to consciousness. But when she becamefully awake, and knew why she was roused, she started up, and goingtowards Mary, said in her own peculiarly sweet and winning manner, "Ida tells me you are Mrs. Mason's adopted daughter, and Mrs. Mason isthe dearest friend I ever had. I am delighted to see you. "

Jenny immediately introduced her to Mary, as Miss Selden, whisperingin her ear at the same time that she was George's aunt; then risingshe gave her seat to Aunt Martha, taking another one for herself nearRose and Ida. Without seeming to be curious at all, Aunt Martha had apeculiar way of drawing people out to talk of themselves, and by thetime they reached the station, where they left the cars for Mt. Holyoke, she had learned a good share of Mary's early history, andfelt quite as much pleased with the freshness and simplicity of heryoung friend, as Mary did with her polished and elegant manners. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

MT. HOLYOKE

"Oh, forlorn what a looking place!" exclaimed Rose Lincoln, as fromthe windows of the crowded vehicle in which they had come from thecars, she first obtained a view of the not very handsome village ofSouth Hadley. 

Rose was in the worst of humors, for by some mischance, Mary was onthe same seat with herself, and consequently she was very muchdistressed, and crowded. She, however, felt a little afraid of AuntMartha, who she saw was inclined to favor the object of her wrath, soshe restrained her fault-finding spirit until she arrived at SouthHadley, where every thing came in for a share of her displeasure. 

"_That_ the Seminary!" said she contemptuously, as they drew up beforethe building. "Why, it isn't half as large, or handsome as I supposed. Oh, horror! I know I shan't stay here long. "

The furniture of the parlor was also very offensive to the young lady, and when Miss Lyon came in to meet them, she, too, was secretlystyled, "a prim, fussy, slippery-tongued old maid. " Jenny, however, who always saw the bright side of every thing, was completely charmedwith the sweet smile, and placid face, so well remembered by all whohave seen and known, the founder of Mt. Holyoke Seminary. After someconversation between Miss Lyon and Aunt Martha it was decided thatRose and Jenny should room together, as a matter of course, and thatMary should room with Ida. Rose had fully intended to room with Idaherself, and this decision made her very angry: but there was no helpfor it and she was obliged to submit. 

Our readers are probably aware, that an examination in certainbranches is necessary, ere a pupil can be admitted into the school atMt. Holyoke, where the course of instruction embraces three years, andthree classes, Junior, Middle, and Senior. Rose, who had been muchflattered on account of her scholarship, confidently expected to enterthe Middle class. Jenny, too, had the same desire, though sheconfessed to some misgivings concerning her knowledge of a goodlynumber of the necessary branches. Ida was really an excellent scholar, and was prepared to enter the Senior class, while Mary aspired tonothing higher, than admission into the Junior. She was thereforegreatly surprised, when Aunt Martha, after questioning her as to whatshe had studied, proposed that she should be examined for the Middleclass. 

"Oh, no, " said Mary quickly, "I should fail, and I wouldn't do thatfor the world. "

"Have you ever studied Latin?" asked Aunt Martha. 

Before Mary could reply, Rose exclaimed, "_She_ study Latin! Howabsurd! Why, she was never away to school in her life. "

Aunt Martha silenced her with a peculiar look, while Mary answered, that for more than two years, she had been reading Latin under Mrs. Mason's instruction. 

"And you could not have a better teacher, " said Aunt Martha. "So tryit by all means. "

"Yes, do try, " said Ida and Jenny, in the same breath; and after atime, Mary rather reluctantly consented. 

"I'll warrant she intends to sit by us, so we can tell her everyother word, " muttered Rose to Jenny, but when the trial came shethought differently. 

It would be wearisome to give the examination in detail, so we willonly say, that at its close, Rose Lincoln heard with shame andconfusion, that she could only be admitted into the Junior Class, herexamination having proved a very unsatisfactory one. Poor Jenny, too, who had stumbled over almost every thing, shared the same fate, whileMary, expecting nothing, and hoping nothing, burst into tears whentold that she had acquitted herself creditably, in all the branchesrequisite for an admission into the Middle class. 

"Mrs. Mason will be so glad, and Billy, too, " was her first thought;and then, as she saw how disappointed Jenny looked, she seized thefirst opportunity to throw her arms around her neck, and whisper toher how sorry she was that she had failed. 

Jenny, however, was of too happy a temperament to remain sad for along time, and before night her loud, merry laugh had more than oncerang out in the upper hall, causing even Miss Lyon to listen, it wasso clear and joyous. That afternoon, Aunt Martha, who was going tocall upon Mrs. Mason, started for home, leaving the girls alone amongstrangers. It was a rainy, dreary day, and the moment her aunt wasgone, Ida threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears. Jenny, whooccupied the next room, was also low spirited, for Rose was terriblycross, calling her a "ninny hammer, " and various other dignifiednames. Among the four girls, Mary was the only cheerful one, and aftera time she succeeded in comforting Ida, while Jenny, catchingsomething of her spirit, began to laugh loudly, as she told a group ofgirls how many ludicrous blunders she made when they undertook toquestion her about Euclid, which she had never studied in her life!

And now in a few days life at Mt. Holyoke commenced in earnest. Although perfectly healthy, Mary looked rather delicate, and it wasfor this reason, perhaps, that the sweeping and dusting of severalrooms were assigned to her, as her portion of the labor. Ida and Rosefared much worse, and were greatly shocked, when told that they bothbelonged to the wash circle!

"I declare, " said Rose, "it's too bad. I'll walk home before I'll doit;" and she glanced at her white hands, to make sure they were notalready discolored by the dreaded soap suds!

Jenny was delighted with her allotment, which was dish-washing. 

"I'm glad I took that lesson at the poor-house years ago, " said sheone day to Rose, who snappishly replied, "I'd shut up about thepoor-house, or they'll think you the pauper instead of Madam Howard. "

"Pauper? Who's a pauper?" asked Lucy Downs, eager to hear so desirablea piece of news. 

Ida Selden's large black eyes rested reprovingly upon Rose, who noddedtowards Mary, and forthwith Miss Downs departed with the information, which was not long in reaching Mary's ears. 

"Why, Mary, what's the matter?" asked Ida, when towards the close ofthe day she found her companion weeping in her room. Without liftingher head, Mary replied, "It's foolish in me to cry, I know, but whyneed I always be reproached with having been a pauper. I couldn't helpit. I promised mother I would take care of little Allie as long as shelived, and if she went to the poor-house, I had to go too. "

"And who was little Allie?" asked Ida, taking Mary's hot hands betweenher own. 

In few words Mary related her history, omitting her acquaintance withGeorge Moreland, and commencing at the night when her mother died. Idawas warm-hearted and affectionate, and cared but little whether onewere rich or poor if she liked them. From the first she had beeninterested in Mary, and now winding her arms about her neck, andkissing away her tears, she promised to love her, and to be to her astrue and faithful a friend as Jenny. This promise, which was neverbroken, was of great benefit to Mary, drawing to her side many of thebest girls in school, who soon learned to love her for herself, andnot because the wealthy Miss Selden seemed so fond of her. 

Neither Ida nor Rose were as happy in school, as Mary and Jenny. Bothof them fretted about the rules, which they were obliged to observe, and both of them disliked and dreaded their portion of the work. Ida, however, was happier than Rose, for she was fonder of study, and oneday when particularly interested in her lessons, she said to Mary, that she believed she should be tolerably contented, were it not forthe everlasting washing. 

Looking up a moment after, she saw that Mary had disappeared. But shesoon returned, exclaiming, "I've fixed it. It's all right. I told herI was a great deal stronger than you, that I was used to washing, andyou were not, and that it made your side ache; so she consented tohave us exchange, and after this you are to dust for me, and I am towash for you. "

Ida disliked washing so much, that she raised no very strongobjections to Mary's plan, and then when she found how great akindness had really been shown her, she tried hard to think of someway in which to repay it. At last, George Moreland, to whom she hadwritten upon the subject, suggested something which met her viewsexactly. Both Ida and her aunt had told George about Mary, andwithout hinting that he knew her, he immediately commenced makingminute inquiries concerning her, of Ida, who communicated them toMary, wondering why she always blushed so deeply, and tried to changethe conversation. In reply to the letter in which Ida had told him ofMary's kindness, George wrote, "You say Miss Howard is very fond ofmusic, and that there is no teacher connected with the institution. Now why not give her lessons yourself? You can do it as well as not, and it will be a good way of showing your gratitude. "

Without waiting to read farther, Ida ran in quest of Mary, to whom shetold what George had written. "You don't know, " said she, "how muchGeorge asks about you. I never saw him so much interested in any onebefore, and half the girls in Boston are after him, too. "

"Poor fellow, I pity him, " said Mary; and Ida continued, "Perhaps itseems foolish in me to say so much about him, but if you only knewhim, you wouldn't wonder. He's the handsomest young man I ever saw, and then he's so good, so different from other young men, especiallyHenry Lincoln. "

Here the tea bell rang, and the conversation was discontinued. 

When Rose heard that Mary was taking music lessons, she exclaimed to agroup of girls with whom she was talking, "Well, I declare, beggarstaking music lessons! I wonder what'll come next? Why, you've no ideahow dreadfully poor she is. Our summer residence is near thealms-house, and when she was there I saw a good deal of her. She hadscarcely any thing fit to wear, and I gave her one of my old bonnets, which I do believe she wore for three or four years. "

"Why Rose Lincoln, " said Jenny, who had overheard all, and now cameup to her sister, "how can you tell what you know is not true?"

"Not true?" angrily retorted Rose. "Pray didn't she have my oldbonnet?"

"Yes, " answered Jenny, "but I bought it of you, and paid you for itwith a bracelet Billy Bender gave me, --you know I did. "

Rose was cornered, and as she saw noway of extricating herself, sheturned on her heel and walked away, muttering about the meanness ofdoing a charitable deed, and then boasting of it!

The next day Jenny chanced to go for a moment to Mary's room. As sheentered it, Mary looked up, saying, "You are just the one I want tosee. I've been writing about you to Billy Bender. You can read it ifyou choose. "

When Jenny had finished reading the passage referred to, she said, "Oh, Mary, I didn't suppose you overheard Rose's unkind remarks aboutthat bonnet. "

"But I did, " answered Mary, "and I am glad, too, for I had alwayssupposed myself indebted to her instead of you. Billy thought so, too, and as you see, I have undeceived him. Did I tell you that he had leftMr. Selden's employment, and gone into a law office?"

"Oh, good, good. I'm so glad, " exclaimed Jenny, dancing about theroom. "Do you know whose office he is in?"

"Mr. Worthington's, " answered Mary, and Jenny continued: "Why, Henryis studying there. Isn't it funny? But Billy will beat him, I know hewill, --he's so smart. How I wish he'd write to me! Wouldn't I feelgrand to have a gentleman correspondent?"

"Suppose you write to him, " said Mary, laughingly. "Here's just roomenough, " pointing to a vacant spot upon the paper. "He's alwaysasking about you, and you can answer his questions yourself. "

"I'll do it, " said Jenny, and seizing the pen, she thoughtlesslyscribbled off a ludicrous account of her failure, and of the blundersshe was constantly committing, while she spoke of Mary as the patternfor the whole school, both in scholarship and behavior. 

"There!" said she, wiping her gold pen upon her silk apron (for Jennystill retained some of the habits of her childhood) "I guess he'llthink I'm crazy, but I hope he'll answer it, any way. "

Mary hoped so too, and when at last Billy's letter came, containing aneatly written note for Jenny, it was difficult telling which of thetwo girls was the happier. 

Soon after Mary went to Mount Holyoke, she had received a letter fromBilly, in which he expressed his pleasure that she was at school, butadded that the fact of her being there interfered greatly with hisplan of educating her himself. "Mother's ill health, " said he, "prevented me from doing any thing until now, and just as I am in afair way to accomplish my object, some one else has stepped in beforeme. But it is all right, and as you do not seem to need my services atpresent, I shall next week leave Mr. Selden's employment, go into Mr. Worthington's law office as clerk, hoping that when the proper timearrives, I shall not be defeated in another plan which was formed inboyhood, and which has become the great object of my life. "

Mary felt perplexed and troubled. Billy's letters of late had beenmore like those of a lover than a brother, and she could not helpguessing the nature of "the plan formed in boyhood. " She knew sheshould never love him except with a sister's love, and though shecould not tell him so, her next letter lacked the tone of affectionwith which she was accustomed to write, and on the whole a ratherformal affair. Billy, who readily perceived the change, attributed itto the right cause, and from that time his letters became far lesscheerful than usual. 

Mary usually cried over them, wishing more than once that Billy wouldtransfer his affection from herself to Jenny, and it was for thisreason, perhaps, that without stopping to consider the propriety ofthe matter, she first asked Jenny to write to him, and then encouragedher in answering his notes, which (as her own letters grew shorter)became gradually longer and longer, until at last his letters wereaddressed to Jenny, while the notes they contained were directed toMary!

CHAPTER XX. 

THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR. 

Rapidly the days passed on at Mount Holyoke. Autumn faded into winter, whose icy breath floated for a time over the mountain tops, and thenmelted away at the approach of spring, which, with its swelling budsand early flowers, gave way in its turn to the long bright days ofsummer. And now only a few weeks remained ere the annual examinationat which Ida was to be graduated. Neither Rose nor Jenny were toreturn the next year, and nothing but Mr. Lincoln's firmness and goodsense had prevented their being sent for when their mother first heardthat they had failed to enter the Middle class. 

Mrs. Lincoln's mortification was undoubtedly greatly increased fromthe fact that the despised Mary had entered in advance of herdaughters. "Things are coming to a pretty pass, " said she. "Yes, apretty pass; but I might have known better than to send my children tosuch a school. "

Mr. Lincoln could not forbear asking her in a laughing way, "if theschools which she attended were of a higher order than Mount Holyoke. "

Bursting into tears, Mrs. Lincoln replied that "she didn't think sheought to be _twitted_ of her poverty. "

"Neither do I, " returned her husband. "You were no more to blame forworking in the factory, than Mary is for having been a pauper!"

Mrs. Lincoln was silent, for she did not particularly care to hearabout her early days, when she had been an operative in the cottonmills of Southbridge. She had possessed just enough beauty tocaptivate the son of the proprietor, who was fresh from college, andafter a few weeks' acquaintance they were married. Fortunately herhusband was a man of good sense, and restrained her from thecommission of many foolish acts. Thus when she insisted upon sendingfor Rose and Jenny, he promptly replied that they should not comehome! Still, as Rose seemed discontented, complaining that so muchexercise made her side and shoulder ache, and as Jenny did not wish toremain another year unless Mary did, he consented that they shouldleave school at the close of the term, on condition that they wentsomewhere else. 

"I shall never make any thing of Henry, " said he, "but my daughtersshall receive every advantage, and perhaps one or the other of themwill comfort my old age. "

He had spoken truly with regard to Henry, who was studying, orpretending to study law in the same office with Billy Bender. But hisfather heard no favorable accounts of him, and from time to time largebills were presented for the payment of carriage hire, wine, and"drunken sprees" generally. So it is no wonder the disappointed fathersighed, and turned to his daughters for the comfort his only sonrefused to give. 

But we have wandered from the examination at Mount Holyoke, for whichgreat preparations were being made. Rose, knowing she was not toreturn, seemed to think all further effort on her part unnecessary;and numerous were the reprimands, to say nothing of the black markswhich she received. Jenny, on the contrary, said she wished toretrieve her reputation for laziness, and leave behind a goodimpression. So, never before in her whole life had she behaved sowell, or studied so hard as she did during the last few weeks of herstay at Mount Holyoke. Ida, who was expecting her father, aunt andcousin to be present at the anniversary, was so engrossed with herstudies, that she did not observe how sad and low spirited Maryseemed. She had tasted of knowledge, and now thirsted for more; but itcould not be; the funds were exhausted, and she must leave the school, never perhaps to return again. 

"How much I shall miss my music, and how much I shall miss you, " shesaid one day to Ida, who was giving her a lesson. 

"It's too bad you haven't a piano, " returned Ida, "you are so fond ofit, and improve so fast!" then after a moment she added, "I have aplan to propose, and may as well do it now as any time. Next winteryou must spend with me in Boston. Aunt Martha and I arranged it thelast time I was at home, and we even selected your room, which is nextto mine, and opposite to Aunt Martha's. Now what does your ladyshipsay to it?"

"She says she can't go, " answered Mary. 

"Can't go!" repeated Ida. "Why not? Jenny will be in the city, and youare always happy where she is; besides you will have a rare chance fortaking music lessons of our best teachers; and then, too, you will bein the same house with George, and that alone is worth going to Bostonfor, I think. "

Ida little suspected that her last argument was the strongestobjection to Mary's going, for much as she wished to meet Georgeagain, she felt that she would not on any account go to his own home, lest he should think she came on purpose to see him. There were otherreasons, too, why she did not wish to go. Henry and Rose Lincoln wouldboth be in the city, and she knew that neither of them would scrupleto do or say any thing which they thought would annoy her. Mrs. Mason, too, missed her, and longed to have her at home; so she resisted allIda's entreaties, and the next letter which went to Aunt Martha, carried her refusal. 

In a day or two, Mary received two letters, one from Billy and onefrom Mrs. Mason, the latter of which contained money for the paymentof her bills; but on offering it to the Principal, how was shesurprised to learn that her bills had not only been regularly paid andreceipted, but that ample funds were provided for the defraying of herexpenses during the coming year. A faint sickness stole over Mary, forshe instantly thought of Billy Bender, and the obligations she wouldnow be under to him for ever. Then it occurred to her how impossibleit was that he should have earned so much in so short a time; and assoon as she could trust her voice to speak, she asked who it was thathad thus befriended her. 

Miss ---- was not at liberty to tell, and with a secret suspicion ofAunt Martha, who had seemed much interested in her welfare, Maryreturned to her room to read the other letter, which was stillunopened. It was some time since Billy had written to her alone, andwith more than her usual curiosity, she broke the seal; but her headgrew dizzy, and her spirits faint, as she read the passionateoutpouring of a heart which had cherished her image for years, andwhich, though fearful of rejection, would still tell her how much shewas beloved. "It is no sudden fancy, " said he, "but was conceivedyears ago, on that dreary afternoon, when in your little room at thepoor-house, you laid your head in my lap and wept, as you told me howlonely you were. Do you remember it, Mary? I do; and never now doesyour image come before me, but I think of you as you were then, whenthe wild wish that you should one day be mine first entered my heart. Morning, noon, and night have I thought of you, and no plan for thefuture have I ever formed which had not a direct reference to you. Once, Mary, I believed my affection for you returned, but now you arechanged greatly changed. Your letters are brief and cold, and when Ilook around for the cause, I am led to fear that I was deceived inthinking you ever loved me, as I thought you did. If I am mistaken, tell me so; but if I am not, if you can never be my wife, I willschool myself to think of you as a brother would think of an only anddarling sister. "

This letter produced a strange effect upon Mary. She thought how muchshe was indebted to one who had stood so faithfully by her when allthe world was dark and dreary. She thought, too, of his kindness tothe dead, and that appealed more strongly to her sympathy than aughtelse he had ever done for her. There was no one to advise her, andacting upon the impulse of the moment, she sat down and commenced aletter, the nature of which she did not understand herself, and whichif sent, would have given a different coloring to the whole of herafter life. She had written but one page, when the study bell rang, and she was obliged to put her letter by till the morrow. For severaldays she had not been well, and the excitement produced by Billy'sletter tended to increase her illness, so that on the followingmorning when she attempted to rise, she found herself seriously ill. During the hours in which she was alone that day, she had ample timefor reflection, and before night she wrote another letter to Billy, inwhich she told him how impossible it was for her to be the wife of onewhom she had always loved as an own, and dear brother. This lettercaused Mary so much effort, and so many bitter tears, that for severaldays she continued worse, and at last gave up all hope of beingpresent at the examination. 

"Oh it's too bad, " said Ida, "for I _do_ want you to see CousinGeorge, and I know he'll be disappointed too, for I never saw anything like the interest he seems to take in you. "

A few days afterwards as Mary was lying alone, thinking of Billy, andwondering if she had done right in writing to him as she did, Jennycame rushing in wild with delight. 

Her father was down stairs, together with Ida's father George, andAunt Martha. "Most the first thing I did, " said she, "was to inquireafter Billy Bender! I guess Aunt Martha was shocked, for she looked so_queer_. George laughed, and Mr. Selden said he was doing well, andwas one of the finest young men in Boston. But why don't you ask aboutGeorge? I heard him talking about you to Rose, just as I left theparlor. "

Mary felt sure that any information of her which Rose might give wouldnot be very complimentary, and she thought right; for when Rose wasquestioned concerning "Miss Howard, " she at first affected herignorance of such a person; and then when George explained himselfmore definitely, she said, "Oh, _that_ girl! I'm sure I don't knowmuch about her, except that she's a _charity scholar_, or something ofthat kind. "

At the words "charity scholar, " there was a peculiar smile on George'sface; but he continued talking, saying, "that if that were the case, she ought to be very studious and he presumed she was. "

"As nearly as I can judge of her, " returned Rose, "she is notremarkable for brilliant talents; but, " she added, as she met Ida'seye, "she has a certain way of showing off, and perhaps I am mistakenwith regard to her. "

Very different from this was the description given of her by Ida, whonow came to her cousin's side, extolling Mary highly, and lamentingthe illness which would prevent George from seeing her. Aunt Martha, also, spoke a word in Mary's favor, at the same time endeavoring tostop the unkind remarks of Rose, whom she thoroughly disliked, and whoshe feared was becoming too much of a favorite with George. Rose wasnot only very handsome, but she also possessed a peculiar faculty ofmaking herself agreeable whenever she chose, and in Boston she wasquite a favorite with a certain class of young men. It was for GeorgeMoreland, however, that her prettiest and most coquettish airs werepractised. He was the object which she would secure; and when sheheard Mary Howard so highly commended in his presence, she could notforbear expressing her contempt, fancying that he, with his highEnglish notions, would feel just as she did, with regard to povertyand low origin. As for George, it was difficult telling whom he didprefer, though the last time Rose was in Boston, rumor had said thathe was particularly attentive to her; and Mrs. Lincoln, who was verysanguine, once hinted to Ida, the probability that a relationshipwould sooner or later exist between the two families. 

Rose, too, though careful not to hint at such a thing in Ida'spresence, was quite willing that others of her companions at MountHolyoke should fancy there was an intimacy, if not an engagementbetween herself and Mr. Moreland. Consequently he had not been inSouth Hadley twenty-four hours, ere he was pointed out by some of thevillagers, as being the future husband of the elder Miss Lincoln, whose haughty, disagreeable manners had become subject of generalremark. During the whole of George's stay at Mount Holyoke, Rosemanaged to keep him at her side, entertaining him occasionally withunkind remarks concerning Mary, who, she said, was undoubtedlyfeigning her sickness, so as not to appear in her classes, where sheknew she could do herself no credit; "but, " said she, "as soon as theexamination is over, she'll get well fast enough, and bother us withher company to Chicopee. "

In this Hose was mistaken, for when the exercises closed Mary wasstill too ill to ride, and it was decided that she should remain a fewdays until Mrs. Mason could come for her. With many tears Ida andJenny bade their young friend good-bye, but Rose, when asked to go upand see her turned away disdainfully, amusing herself during theirabsence by talking and laughing with George Moreland. 

The room in which Mary lay, commanded a view of the yard and gateway;and after Aunt Martha, Ida, and Jenny had left her, she arose, andstealing to the window, looked out upon the company as they departed. She could readily divine which was George Moreland, for Rose Lincoln'sshawl and satchel were thrown over his arm, while Rose herself walkedclose to his elbow, apparently engrossing his whole attention. Once heturned around, but fearful of being herself observed, Mary drew backbehind the window curtain, and thus lost a view of his face. He, however, caught a glimpse of her, and asked if that was the room inwhich Miss Howard was sick. 

Rose affected not to hear him, and continued enumerating the manytrials which she had endured at school, and congratulating herselfupon her escape from the "horrid place. " But for once George was notan attentive listener. Notwithstanding his apparent indifference, hewas greatly disappointed at not seeing Mary. It was for this he hadgone to Mount Holyoke; and in spite of Rose's endeavors to make himtalk, he was unusually silent all the way, and when they at lastreached Chicopee, he highly offended the young lady by assisting Jennyto alight instead of herself. 

"I should like to know what you are thinking about, " she said ratherpettishly, as she took his offered hand to say good-bye. 

With a roguish look in his eye, George replied, "I've been thinking ofa young lady. Shall I tell you her name?"

Rose blushed, and looking interestingly embarrassed answered, that ofcourse 'twas no one whom she knew. 

"Yes, 'tis, " returned George, still holding her hand and as AuntMartha, who was jealously watching his movements from the window, justthen called out to him "to jump in, or he'd be left, " he put his faceunder Rose's bonnet, and whispered, "Mary Howard!"

"Kissed her, upon my word!" said Aunt Martha with a groan, which wasrendered inaudible to Ida by the louder noise of the engine. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

VACATION. 

In Mrs. Mason's pleasant little dining parlor, the tea-table wasneatly spread for two, while old Judith, in starched gingham dress, white muslin apron, bustled in and out, occasionally changing theposition of a curtain or chair, and then stepping backward to witnessthe effect. The stuffed rocking chair, with two extra cushions, and apillow, was drawn up to the table, indicating that an invalid wasexpected to occupy that seat, while near one of the plates was ahandsome bouquet, which Lydia Knight had carefully arranged, andbrought over as a present for her young teacher. A dozen times hadLydia been told to "clip down to the gate and see if they werecomin';" and at last, seating herself resignedly upon the hall stairs, Judith began to wonder "what under the sun and moon had happened. "

She had not sat there long, ere the sound of wheels again drew her tothe door, and in a moment old Charlotte and the yellow wagon enteredthe yard. Mary, who was now nearly well, sprang out, and bounding upthe steps, seized Judith's hand with a grasp which told how glad shewas to see her. 

"Why, you ain't dreadful sick, is you?" said Judith peering under herbonnet. 

"Oh, no, not sick at all, " returned Mary; and then, as she saw thechair, with its cushions and pillows, she burst into a loud laugh, which finally ended in a hearty cry, when she thought how kind wasevery one to her. 

She had been at home but a few days when she was solicited to takecharge of a small select school. But Mrs Mason thought it best for herto return to Mount Holyoke, and accordingly she declined Mr. Knight'soffer, greatly to his disappointment, and that of many others. Mrs. Bradley, who never on any occasion paid her school bill, was theloudest in her complaints, saying that, "for all Tim never larnt aspeck, and stood at the foot all summer long when Mary kept before, he'd got so sassy there was no living with him, and she wanted him outof the way. "

Widow Perkins, instead of being sorry was glad, for if Mary didn'tteach, there was no reason why Sally Ann shouldn't. "You'll never havea better chance, " said she to her daughter, "there's no stifficutneeded for a private school, and I'll clap on my things and run overto Mr Knight's before he gets off to his work. "

It was amusing to see Mr. Knight's look of astonishment, when thewidow made her application. Lydia, who chanced to be present, hastilyretreated behind the pantry door, where with her apron over her mouth, she laughed heartily as she thought of a note, which the candidate forteaching had once sent them, and in which "i's" figured conspicuously, while her mother was "_polightly_ thanked for those yeast?"

Possibly Mr. Knight thought of the note, too, for he gave the widow noencouragement, and when on her way home she called for a moment atMrs. Mason's, she "thanked her stars that Sally Ann wasn't obliged tokeep school for a livin', for down below where she came from, teacherswarn't fust cut!"

One morning about a week after Mary's return, she announced herintention of visiting her mother's grave. "I am accustomed to so muchexercise, " said she, "that I can easily walk three miles, and perhapson my way home I shall get a ride. "

Mrs Mason made no objection, and Mary was soon on her way. She was arapid walker, and almost before she was aware of it, reached thevillage. As she came near Mrs. Campbell's, the wish naturally arosethat Ella should accompany her. Looking up she saw her sister in thegarden and called to her. 

"Wha-a-t?" was the very loud and uncivil answer which came back toher, and in a moment Ella appeared round the corner of the house, carelessly swinging her straw flat, and humming a fashionable song. Onseeing her sister she drew back the corners of her mouth intosomething which she intended for a smile, and said, "Why, I thought itwas Bridget calling me, you looked so much like her in that ginghamsun-bonnet. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, " returned Mary, "I was going to mother's grave, andthought perhaps you would like to accompany me. "

"Oh, no, " said Ella, in her usual drawling tone, "I don't know as Iwant to go. I was there last week and saw the monument. "

"What monument?" asked Mary, and Ella replied "Why, didn't you knowthat Mrs. Mason, or the town, or somebody, had bought a monument, withmother's and father's, and Franky's, and Allie's name on it?"

Mary waited for no more, but turned to leave, while Ella, who wasanxious to inquire about Ida Selden, and who could afford to begracious, now that neither Miss Porter, nor the city girls were there, called after her to stop and rest, when she came back. Mary promisedto do so, and then hurrying on, soon reached the graveyard, where, asElla had said, there stood by her parents' graves a large handsomemonument. 

William Bender was the first person who came into her mind, and as shethought of all that had passed between them, and of this last proof ofhis affection, she seated herself among the tall grass and flowers, which grew upon her mother's grave, and burst into tears. She had notsat there long, ere she was roused by the sound of a footstep. Lookingup, she saw before her the young gentleman, who the year previous hadvisited her school in Rice Corner. Seating himself respectfully by herside, he spoke of the three graves, and asked if they were her friendswho slept there. There was something so kind and affectionate in hisvoice and manner, that Mary could not repress her tears, and snatchingup her bonnet which she had thrown aside she hid her face in it andagain wept. 

For a time, Mr. Stuart suffered her to weep, and then gently removedthe gingham bonnet, and holding her hand between his, he tried todivert her mind by talking upon other topics, asking her how she hadbeen employed during the year, and appearing greatly pleased, whentold that she had been at Mount Holyoke. Observing, at length, thather eyes constantly rested upon the monument, he spoke of that, praising its beauty, and asking if it were her taste. 

"No, " said she, "I never saw it until to-day, and did not even know itwas here. "

"Some one wished to surprise you, I dare say, " returned Mr. Stuart. "It was manufactured in Boston, I see. Have you friends there?"

Mary replied that she had one, a Mr. Bender, to which Mr. Stuartquickly rejoined, "Is it William Bender? I have heard of him throughour mutual friend George Moreland, whom you perhaps have seen. "

Mary felt the earnest gaze of the large, dark eyes which were fixedupon her face, and coloring deeply, she replied that they came fromEngland in the same vessel. 

"Indeed!" said Mr. Stuart. "When I return to the city shall I refreshhis memory a little with regard to you?"

"I'd rather you would not, " answered Mary. "Our paths in life are verydifferent; and he of course would feel no interest in me. "

"Am I to conclude that you, too, feel no interest in him?" returnedMr. Stuart, and again his large eyes rested on Mary's face, with acurious expression. 

But she made no reply, and soon rising up, said it was time for her togo home. 

"Allow me to accompany you as far as Mrs. Campbell's, " said Mr. Stuart. "I am going to call upon Miss Ella, whose acquaintance Iaccidentally made last summer. Suppose you call too. You know her, ofcourse?" Mary replied that she did, and was about to speak of therelationship between them, when Mr. Stuart abruptly changed theconversation, and in a moment more they were at Mrs. Campbell's door. Ella was so much delighted at again seeing Mr. Stuart, that she hardlynoticed her sister at all, and did not even ask her to remove herbonnet. After conversing a while upon indifferent subjects, Mr. Stuartasked Ella to play, saying he was very fond of music. But Ella, likeother fashionable ladies, "couldn't of course play any thing, --wasdreadfully out of practice, and besides that her music was all soold-fashioned. "

Mr. Stuart had probably seen such cases before, and knew how to managethem, for he continued urging the matter, until Ella arose, andthrowing back her curls, sauntered to wards the piano, saying sheshould be obliged to have some one turn the leases for her. Mr. Stuartof course volunteered his services, and after a violent turning of themusic-stool by way of elevating it, and a turning back by way oflowering it, Ella with the air of a martyr, declared herself ready toplay whatever Mr. Stuart should select, provided it were not "old. "

A choice being made she dashed off into a spirited waltz, skipping agood many notes, and finally ending with a tremendous crash. Fond asMr. Stuart was of music, he did not call for a repetition from her, but turning to Mary asked if she could play. 

Ella laughed aloud at the idea, and when Mary replied that she didplay a little, she laughed still louder, saying, "Why, _she_ can'tplay, unless it's 'Days of Absence, ' with one hand, or something ofthat kind. "

"Allow me to be the judge, " said Mr. Stuart, and leading Mary to thepiano, he bade her play any thing she pleased. 

Ida had been a faithful teacher, and Mary a persevering pupil, so thatwhatever she played was played correctly and with good taste; at leastMr. Stuart thought so, for he kept calling for piece after piece, until she laughingly told him her catalogue was nearly exhausted, andshe'd soon be obliged to resort to the _scales!_

Ella looked on in amazement, and when Mary had finished playing, demanded of her where she had learned so much, and who was herteacher; adding that her _fingering_ was wretched; "but then, " saidshe, "I suppose you can't help it, your fingers are so stiff!"

For a moment Mr. Stuart regarded her with an expression which itseemed to Mary she had seen before, and then consulting his watch, said he must go, as it was nearly car time, After he was gone, Ellaasked Mary endless questions as to where she met him, what he said, and if she told him they were sisters. "How elegantly he was dressed, "said she, "Didn't you feel dreadfully ashamed of your ginghamsun-bonnet and gown?"

"Why, no, " said Mary. "I never once thought of them. "

"I should, for I know he notices every thing, " returned Ella; and thenleaning on her elbow so as to bring herself in range of the largemirror opposite, she continued, "seems to me my curls are not arrangedbecomingly this morning. "

Either for mischief, or because she really thought so, Mary replied"that they did not look as well as usual;" whereupon Ella grew red inthe face, saying that "she didn't think she looked so very badly. "

Just then the first dinner bell rang, and starting up Ella exclaimed, "Why-ee, _I_ forgot that ma expected General H. To dine. I must go anddress this minute. "

Without ever asking her sister to stay to dinner, she hastily left theroom. Upon finding herself so unceremoniously deserted, Mary tied onthe despised gingham bonnet and started for home. She had reached theplace where Ella the year before met with Mr. Stuart, when she saw aboy, whom she knew was living at the poor-house, coming down the hillas fast as a half blind old horse could bring him. When he gotopposite to her he halted, and with eyes projecting like harvestapples, told her to "jump in, for Mrs. Parker was dying, and they hadsent for her. "

"I've been to your house, " said he, "and your marm thought mebby I'dmeet you. "

Mary immediately sprang in, and by adroitly questioning Mike, whoseintellect was not the brightest in the world, managed to ascertainthat Mrs. Parker had been much worse for several days, that SalFurbush had turned nurse; faithfully attending her night and day, andoccasionally sharing "her vigils" with a "sleek, fancy-looking girl, who dressed up in meetin' clothes every day, and who had firstproposed sending for Mary. " Mary readily guessed that the "sleek, fancy-looking" girl was Jenny, and on reaching the poor house shefound her suspicions correct, for Jenny came out to meet her, followedby Sally, who exclaimed, "Weep, oh daughter, and lament, for earth hasgot one woman less and Heaven one female more!"

Passing into the house, Mary followed Jenny to the same room whereonce her baby sister had lain, and where now upon the same table layall that was mortal of Mrs. Parker. Miss Grundy, who was standing nearthe body, bowed with a look of very becoming resignation, and then asif quite overcome, left the room. Just then a neighbor, who seemed tobe superintending affairs, came in, and Mary asked what she could doto assist them. 

"Nothing until to-morrow, when if you please you can help make theshroud, " answered the woman, and Jenny catching Mary around the neck, whispered, "You'll stay all night with me; there's no one at home butRose, and we'll have such a nice time. "

Mary thought of the little room up stairs where Alice had died, andfelt a desire to sleep there once more, but upon inquiry she foundthat it was now occupied by Sally Furbush. 

"You must come and see my little parlor, " said she to Mary, and takingher hand she led her up to the room, which was greatly improved. Astrip of faded, but rich carpeting was before the bed. A lowrocking-chair stood near the window, which was shaded with a stripedmuslin curtain, the end of which was fringed out nearly a quarter of ayard, plainly showing Sally's handiwork. The contents of the oldbarrel were neatly stowed away in a square box, on the top of whichlay a worn portfolio, stuffed to its utmost capacity with manuscript. 

"For all this elegance, " said Sally, "I am indebted to my worthy andesteemed friend, Miss Lincoln. "

But Mary did not hear, for her eyes were riveted upon another piece offurniture. At the foot of the bed stood Alice's cradle, which BillyBender had brought there on that afternoon now so well remembered byMary. 

"Oh, Sally, " said she, "how came this here?"

"Why, " returned Sally, hitting it a jog, "I don't sleep any now, and Ithought the nights would seem shorter, if I had this to rock and makebelieve little Willie was in it. So I brought it down from the garret, and it affords me a sight of comfort, I assure you!"

Mary afterwards learned that often during the long winter nights thesound of that cradle could be heard, occasionally drowned by Sally'svoice, which sometimes rose almost to a shriek, and then died away ina low, sad wail, as she sang a lullaby to the "Willie who lay sleepingon the prairie at the West. "

As there was now no reason why she should not do so, Mary accompaniedJenny home, where, as she had expected, she met with a cool receptionfrom Rose, who merely nodded to her, and then resumed the book she wasreading. After tea, Mary stepped for a moment into the yard, and thenRose asked Jenny what she intended doing with her "genteel visitor. "

"Put her in the best chamber, and sleep there myself, " said Jenny, adding that "they were going to lie awake all night just to see how itseemed. "

But in spite of this resolution, as midnight advanced Jenny found thatMary's answers, even when Billy Bender was the topic, became more andmore unsatisfactory, and finally ceased altogether. Concluding to lether sleep a few minutes, and then wake her up, Jenny turned on herpillow and when her eyes again opened, the morning sun was shiningthrough the half-closed shutters, and the breakfast bell was jinglingin the lower hall. 

When Mary returned to the poor-house, she found a new arrival in theperson of Mrs. Perkins! The widow had hailed Mike as he passed herhouse the day before, and on learning how matters stood, offered toaccompany him home. Mike, who had an eye for "fancy-looking girls, "did not exactly like Mrs. Perkins' appearance. Besides that, hisorders were to bring Mary, and he had no idea of taking another as asubstitute. Accordingly, when on his return from Mrs. Mason's, he sawthe widow standing at her gate, all equipped with parasol and satchel, he whipped up his horse, and making the circuit of the school-house, was some ways down the road ere the widow suspected his intentions. "Thanking her stars" (her common expression) "that she had a good pairof feet, " Mrs. Perkins started on foot, reaching the poor-house aboutsunset. She was now seated in what had been Mrs. Parker's room, andwith pursed-up lips, and large square collar very much like thepresent fashion, was stitching away upon the shroud, heavingoccasionally a long-drawn sigh, as she thought how lonely and desolatepoor Mr. Parker must feel!

"Will you give me some work?" asked Mary, after depositing her bonnetupon the table. 

"There's nothing for you, " returned Mrs. Perkins. "I can do all thatis necessary, and prefer working alone. "

"Yes, she shall help too, if she wants to, " snapped out Mrs. Grundy, with one of her old shoulder jerks. "Mary's handy with the needle, forI larnt her myself. "

In a short time Mrs. Perkins disappeared from the room, and Sally'slittle bright eyes, which saw every thing, soon spied her out in thewoodshed asking Mr. Parker "if Polly Grundy couldn't be kept in thekitchen where she belonged. "

Scarcely had she left the shed when Miss Grundy herself appeared, fretting about "the meddlesome old widow who had come there stickin'round before Mrs. Parker was hardly cold!"

This put a new idea into Sally's head, and the whole household wasstartled as she broke out singing, "the loss of one is the gain ofanother, " and so forth. Mrs. Perkins proposed that she should be shutup, but Miss Grundy, for once in Sally's favor, declared "she'd fight, before such a thing should be done;" whereupon Mrs. Perkins lamentedthat the house had now "no head, " wondering how poor Mr. Parker wouldget along with "such an unmanageable crew. "

Numerous were the ways with which the widow sought to comfort thewidower, assuring him "that she ached for him clear to her heart'score! and I know how to pity you, too, " said she, "for when myHezekiah died I thought I couldn't stand it. " Then by way ofadministering further consolation, she added that "the _wust_ was tocome, for only them that had tried it knew how lonesome it was to liveon day after day, and night after night, week in and week out, withoutany husband or wife. "

Mr. Parker probably appreciated her kindness, for when after thefuneral the following day she announced her intention of walking home, he ordered Mike to "tackle up, " and carry her. This was hardly inaccordance with the widow's wishes, and when all was in readiness, shedeclared that she was afraid to ride after Mike's driving. Uncle Peterwas then proposed as a substitute, but the old man had such a dread ofMrs. Perkins, who Sal (for mischief) had said was in love with him, that at the first intimation he climbed up the scuttle hole, where anhour afterwards he was discovered peeping cautiously out to see if thecoast was clear. Mr. Parker was thus compelled to go himself, MissGrundy sending after him the very Christian-like wish that "she hopedhe'd tip over and break the widow's neck!"

CHAPTER XXII. 

EDUCATION FINISHED. 

Vacation was over, and again in the halls of Mount Holyoke was heardthe tread of many feet, and the sound of youthful voices, as one byone the pupils came back to their accustomed places. For a time Marywas undecided whether to return or not, for much as she desired aneducation, she could not help feeling delicate about receiving it froma stranger; but Mrs. Mason, to whom all her thoughts and feelings wereconfided, advised her to return, and accordingly the first day of theterm found her again at Mount Holyoke, where she was warmly welcomedby her teachers and companions. Still it did not seem like the oldentime, for Ida was not there, and Jenny's merry laugh was gone. She hadhoped that her sister would accompany her, but in reply to herpersuasions, Ella answered that "she didn't want to work, --she wasn'tobliged to work, --and she wouldn't work!" quoting Rose Lincoln's "painin the side, callous on her hand, and cold on her lungs, " as asufficient reason why every body should henceforth and for ever stayaway from Mount Holyoke. 

Mrs. Lincoln, who forgot that Rose had complained of a pain in herside long before she ever saw South Hadley, advised Mrs. Campbell, byall means, never to send her daughter to such a place. "To be sure itmay do well enough, " said she, "for a great burly creature like MaryHoward, but your daughter and mine are altogether too delicate anddaintily bred to endure it. "

Mrs. Campbell of course consented to this, adding that she had securedthe services of a highly accomplished lady as governess for Ella, andproposing that Rose and Jenny, instead of accompanying their mother tothe city as usual, should remain with her during the winter, and shareElla's advantages. To this proposition, Mrs. Lincoln readily assented, and while Mary, from habitual exercise both indoors and out, wasgrowing more and more healthful and vigorous, Rose Lincoln, who wasreally delicate, was drooping day by day, and growing paler and palerin the closely heated school-room, where a breath of fresh air rarelyfound entrance, as the "accomplished governess" could not endure it. Daily were her pupils lectured upon the necessity of shieldingthemselves from the winter winds, which were sure "to impart such arough, blowzy appearance to their complexion. "

Rose profited well by this advice, and hardly any thing could tempther into the open air, unless it were absolutely necessary. All daylong she half reclined upon a small sofa, which at her request wasdrawn close to the stove, and even then complaining of being chillyshe sometimes sat with her shawl thrown over her shoulders. Jenny, onthe contrary, fanned herself furiously at the farthest corner of theroom, frequently managing to open the window slyly, and regale herselfwith the snow which lay upon the sill. Often, too, when her lessonswere over for the day, she would bound away, and after a walk of amile or so, would return to the house with her cheeks glowing, and hereyes sparkling like stars. Burnishing a striking contrast to her pale, sickly sister, who hovered over the stove, shivering if a window wereraised, or a door thrown open. 

In the course of the winter Mrs. Lincoln came up to visit herdaughters, expressing herself much pleased with Rose's improved looksand manners. "Her complexion was so pure" she said, "so different fromwhat it was when she came from Mount Holyoke. "

Poor Jenny, who, full of life and spirits came rushing in to see hermother, was cut short in her expression of joy by being called "aperfect bunch of fat!"

"Why, Jenny, what does make you so red and coarse?" said thedistressed mother. "I know you eat too much, " and before Mrs. Lincolnwent home, she gave her daughter numerous lectures concerning herdiet; but it only made matters worse; and when six weeks after, Mrs. Lincoln came again she found that Jenny had not only gained fivepounds, but that hardly one of her dresses would meet!

"Mercy me!" said she, the moment her eye fell upon Jenny's round, plump cheeks, and fat shoulders, "you are as broad as you are long. What a figure you would cut in Boston!"

For once the merry Jenny cried, wondering how she could help beinghealthy and fat. Before Mrs. Lincoln left Chicopee, she made adiscovery, which resulted in the removal of Jenny to Boston. With theexception of the year at Mount Holyoke, Jenny had never before passeda winter in the country, and now everything delighted her. In spite ofher governess's remonstrance, all her leisure moments were spent inthe open air, and besides her long walks, she frequently joined thescholars, who from the district school came over at recess to slidedown the long hill in the rear of Mrs. Campbell's barns and stables. For Jenny to ride down hill at all was bad enough, "but to do so with_district school_ girls, and then be drawn up by coarse, vulgar boys, was far worse;" and the offender was told to be in readiness toaccompany her mother home, for she could not stay in Chicopee anotherweek. 

"Oh, I'm so glad, " said Rose, "for now I shan't freeze to deathnights. "

Mrs. Lincoln demanded what she meant, and was told that Jenny insistedupon having the window down from the top, let the weather be what itmight; "and, " added Rose 'when the wind blows hard I am positivelyobliged to hold on to the sheets to keep myself in bed!"

"A Mount Holyoke freak, " said Mrs. Lincoln. "I wish to mercy neitherof you had ever gone there. "

Rose answered by a low cough, which her mother did not hear, or atleast did not notice. Jenny, who loved the country and the countrypeople, was not much pleased with her mother's plan. But for once Mrs. Lincoln was determined, and after stealing one more sled-ride down thelong hill, and bidding farewell to the old desk in the school-house, sacred for the name carved three years before with Billy Bender'sjack-knife, Jenny went back with her mother to Boston, leaving Rose todroop and fade in the hot, unwholesome atmosphere of Miss Hinton'sschool-room. 

Not long after Jenny's return to the city, she wrote to Mary anamusing account of her mother's reason for removing her from Chicopee. "But on the whole, I am glad to be at home, " said she, "for I seeBilly Bender almost every day. I first met him coming down WashingtonStreet, and he walked with me clear to our gate. Ida Selden had aparty last week, and owing to George Moreland's influence, Billy wasthere. He was very attentive to me, though Henry says 'twas right theother way. But it wasn't. I didn't ask him to go out to supper withme. I only told him I'd introduce him to somebody who would go, and heimmediately offered me his arm. Oh, how mother scolded, and how angryshe got when she asked me if I wasn't ashamed, and I told her Iwasn't!

"Billy doesn't appear just as he used to. Seems as though somethingtroubled him; and what is very strange, he never speaks of you, unlessI do first. You've no idea how handsome he is. To be sure, he hasn'tthe air of George Moreland, and doesn't dress as elegantly, but Ithink he's finer looking. Ever so many girls at Ida's party asked whohe was, and said 'twas a pity he wasn't rich, but that wouldn't makeany difference with me, --I'd have him just as soon as though he waswealthy. 

"How mother would go on if she should see this! But I don't care, --Ilike Billy Bender, and I can't help it, and _entre nous_, I believe helikes me better than he did! But I must stop now, for Lizzie Upton hascalled for me to go with her and see a poor blind woman in one of theback alleys. "

From this extract it will be seen that Jenny, though seventeen yearsof age, was the same open-hearted, childlike creature as ever. Sheloved Billy Bender, and she didn't care who knew it. She loved, too, to seek out and befriend the poor, with which Boston, like all otherlarge cities, abounded. Almost daily her mother lectured her upon herbad taste in the choice of her associates, but Jenny was incorrigible, and the very next hour might perhaps be seen either walking with BillyBender, or mounting the rickety stairs of some crazy old building, where a palsied old woman or decrepit old man watched for her coming, and blessed her when she came. 

Early in the spring Mr. Lincoln went up to Chicopee to make somechanges in his house, preparatory to his family's removal thither. When he called at Mrs. Campbell's to see Rose, he was greatly shockedat her altered and languid appearance. The cough, which her mother hadnot observed fell ominously on his ear; for he thought of a youngsister who many years before in the bloom of girlhood had passed awayfrom his side. A physician was immediately called and after anexamination Rose's lungs were pronounced diseased, though not as yetbeyond cure. She was of course taken from school; and with the utmostcare, and skilful nursing, she gradually grew better. 

Jenny, who had never been guilty of any great love for books, was alsotold that her school days were over, and congratulated herself uponbeing a "full grown young lady, " which fact no one would dispute, whosaw her somewhat large dimensions. 

When Ella learned that Jenny as well as Rose was emancipated from theschool-room, she immediately petitioned her mother for a similarprivilege, saying that she knew all that was necessary for her toknow. Miss Hinton, too, being weary of one pupil, and desiring achange for herself, threw her influence in Ella's favor, so that atlast Mrs. Campbell yielded; and Ella, piling up her books, carriedthem away, never again referring to them on any occasion, but spendingher time in anticipating the happiness she should enjoy the followingwinter; when she was to be first introduced to Boston society. 

Unlike this was the closing of Mary's school days. Patiently andperseveringly, through the year she had studied, storing her mind withuseful knowledge; and when at last the annual examination came, notone in the senior class stood higher, or was graduated with more honorthan herself. Mrs. Mason, who was there, listened with all a parent'spride and fondness to her adopted child, as she promptly responded toevery question. But it was not Mrs. Mason's presence alone whichincited Mary to do so well. Among the crowd of spectators she caught aglimpse of a face which twice before she had seen, once in theschool-room at Rice Corner, and once in the graveyard at Chicopee. Turn which way she would, she felt, rather than saw, how intently Mr. Stuart watched her, and when at last the exercises were over, and shewith others arose to receive her Diploma, she involuntarily glanced inthe direction where she knew he sat. For an instant their eyes met, and in the expression of his, she read an approval warmer than wordscould have expressed. 

That night Mary sat alone in her room, listening almost nervously tothe sound of every footstep, and half starting up if it came near herdoor. But for certain reasons Mr. Stuart did not think proper to call, and while Mary was confidently expecting him, he was several miles onhis way home. 

In a day or two Mary returned to Chicopee, but did not, like Ella, layher books aside and consider her education finished. Two or threehours each morning were devoted to study, or reading of some kind. Forseveral weeks nothing was allowed to interfere with this arrangement, but at the end of that time, the quiet of Mrs. Mason's house wasdisturbed by the unexpected arrival of Aunt Martha and Ida, who cameup to Chicopee for the purpose of inducing Mrs. Mason and Mary tospend the coming winter in Boston. At first Mrs. Mason hesitated, butevery objection which either she or Mary raised was so easily putaside, that she finally consented, saying she would be ready to goabout the middle of November. Aunt Martha, who was a bustling, activelittle woman, and fancied that her brother's household always wentwrong without her, soon brought her visit to a close, and within theweek went back to Boston, together with Ida. 

The day following their departure, Mrs. Perkins came over to inquirewho "them stuck up folks was, and if the youngest wasn't some kin tothe man that visited Mary's school two years before;" saying "theyfavored each other enough to be brother and sister. "

"Why, so they do, " returned Mary. "I have often tried to think who itwas that Ida resembled; but they are not at all related, I presume. "

Mrs. Mason said nothing, and soon changing the conversation, told Mrs. Perkins of her projected visit. 

"Wall, if it don't beat all what curis' things turn up!" said thewidow. "You are going to Boston, and mercy knows what'll become ofme, --but laws, I ain't a goin' to worry; I shall be provided for someway. "

"Why, what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Mason, noticing for the firsttime that her visitor seemed troubled. 

After walking to the window to hide her emotions, and then againresuming her rocking chair, the widow communicated to them thestartling information that Sally Ann was going to be married!

"Married! To whom?" asked Mrs. Mason and Mary in the same breath, butthe widow said they must "guess;" so after guessing every marriageableman or boy in town they gave it up, and were told that it was no morenor less than Mr. Parker!

"Mr. Parker!" repeated Mary. "Why, he's old enough to be her father, ain't he?"

"Oh, no, " returned Mrs. Perkins; "Sally Ann will be thirty if shelives till the first day of next January. "

"You have kept the matter very quiet, " said Mrs. Mason; and the widow, exacting from each a promise never to tell as long as they lived, commenced the story of her wrongs. 

It seems that not long after Mrs. Parker's demise, Mr. Parker began tocall at the cottage of the widow, sometime to inquire after herhealth, but oftener to ask about a _red heifer_ which he understoodMrs. Perkins had for sale! On these occasions Sally Ann was usuallyinvisible, so week after week Mr. Parker continued to call, talkingalways about the "red heifer, " and whether he'd better buy her or not. 

"At last, " said the widow, "I got sick on't, and one day after he'dsat more'n two hours, says I, 'Ebenezer, if you want that red heifer, say so, and that'll end it. ' Up he jumps, and says he, 'I'll let youknow in a few days;' then pullin' from his trowsers pocket two littlenurly apples, he laid 'em on the table as a present for Sally Ann!Wall, the next time he come I was sick, and Sally Ann let him in. Idon't know what possessed me, but thinks to me I'll listen, and as I'ma livin' woman, instead of ever mentioning the heifer, he asked asfair and square as ever a man could, if she'd have him! and Sally Ann, scart nigh about to death, up and said 'Yes. '"

Here the widow, unable to proceed further, stopped, but soon regainingbreath continued, "Nobody but them that's passed through it can guesshow I felt. My head swam, and when I come to I was lyin' on the broadstair. "

"Are they to be married soon?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Perkinsanswered, "Of course. Was there ever an old fool of a widower whowasn't in a hurry? Next Thursday is the day sot, and I've come toinvite you, and see if you'd lend me your spoons and dishes, and themlittle towels you use on the table, and your _astor_ lamps, and someflowers if there's any fit, and let Judy come over to help aboutcookin' the turkey and sperrib!"

Mrs. Mason promised the loan of all these things, and then the widowarose to go. Mary, who accompanied her to the door, could not helpasking whether Mr. Parker had finally bought her red heifer. 

The calico sun-bonnet trembled, and the little gray eyes flashedindignantly as she said, "That man never wanted my red heifer a bitmore than he wanted me!"

True to her promise, Mrs. Mason the next Thursday sent Judith over tothe cottage with her "spoons, dishes, little towels, and _astor_lamp, " while she herself carried over the best and fairest flowerswhich had escaped the frosts of autumn. Mary was chosen to dress thebride, who, spite of her red hair, would have looked quite well, hadher skirt been a trifle longer and wider. Mrs. Perkins had insistedthat five breadths of silk was sufficient, consequently Sally Annlooked as Sal Furbush said, "not wholly unlike a long tallow candle, with a red wick. "

Mrs. Perkins, who flourished in a lace cap and scarlet ribbons, greeted her son-in-law with a burst of tears, saying she littlethought when they were young that she should ever be his mother!

For the sake of peace Mr. Parker had invited Miss Grundy to be presentat the wedding, but as this was the first intimation that Miss Grundyhad received of the matter, she fell into a violent fit of anger, bidding him to "go to grass with his invitations, " and adding veryemphatically, that "she'd have him to know she never yet saw the daywhen she'd marry _him_, or any other living man. "

Mr. Parker of course couldn't dispute her, so he turned away, wondering within himself "what made _wimmen_ so queer!"

The day following the wedding, the bride went to her new home, whereshe was received by Miss Grundy with a grunt which was probablyintended for a "how d'ye do. " Uncle Peter expressed his pleasure atmaking the acquaintance of one more of the "fair sect, " but hoped that"estimable lady her mother, wouldn't feel like visiting her often, asmothers were very apt to make mischief. " Sally Furbush was the onlycool and collected one present, and she did the honors of the house sogracefully and well, that but for the wildness of her eyes and anoccasional whispering to herself, the bride would never have suspectedher of insanity. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

LIFE IN BOSTON. 

"Come this way, Mary. I'll show you your chamber. It's right here nextto mine, " said Ida Selden, as on the evening of her friend's arrivalshe led her up to a handsomely furnished apartment, which for manyweeks had borne the title of "Mary's room. "

"Oh, how pleasant!" was Mary's exclamation, as she surveyed the roomin which every thing was arranged with such perfect taste. 

A cheerful coal fire was blazing in the grate, for no murderous stovewas ever suffered to invade the premises where Aunt Martha ruled. Thedesign of the Brussels carpet was exquisitely beautiful, and the rosesupon it looked as if freshly plucked from the parent stalk. At one endof the room, and just opposite the grate, were two bay windows, overlooking Mr. Selden's fine, large garden, and shaded by curtains ofrichly embroidered lace. In front of the fire was a large easy chair, covered with crimson damask; and scattered about the room wereottomans, divans, books, pictures, and every thing which could in anyway conduce to a young lady's comfort or happiness. On the marblemantel there stood two costly vases, filled with rare flowers, amongwhich Mary recognized her favorites. But ere she had time to speak ofit, Ida opened a side door, disclosing to view a cosy little bedroom, with a large closet and bathing room adjoining. 

"Here, " said she, "you are to sleep; but you needn't expect to beentirely exclusive, for every night when I feel cold or fidgety, Ishall run in here and sleep with you. Is it a bargain?"

Mary was too happy to speak, and dropping into the easy chair sheburst into tears. In a moment Ida, too, was seated in the same chair, and with her arm around Mary's neck was wondering why she wept. Thenas her own eyes chanced to fall upon the vases, she brought one ofthem to Mary, saying, "See, these are for you, --a present from one, who bade me present them with his compliments to the little girl whonursed him on board the Windermere, and who cried because he calledher ugly!"

Mary's heart was almost audible in its beatings, and her cheeks tookthe hue of the cushions on which she reclined. Returning the vase tothe mantel-piece, Ida came back to her side, and bending closer to herface, whispered, "Cousin George told me of you years ago when he firstcame here, but I forgot all about it, and when we were at MountHolyoke, I never suspected that you were the little girl he used totalk so much about. But a few days before he went away he reminded meof it again, and then I understood why he was so much interested inyou. I wonder you never told me you knew him, for of course you likehim. You can't help it. "

Mary only heard a part of what Ida said. "Just before he went away. --"Was he then gone, and should she not see him after all? A cloudgathered upon her brow, and Ida readily divining its cause, replied, "Yes, George is gone. Either he or father must go to New Orleans, andso George of course went. Isn't it too bad? I cried and fretted, buthe only pulled my ears, and said he should think I'd be glad for heknew we wouldn't want a great six-footer domineering over us, andfollowing us every where, as he would surely do were he at home. "

Mary felt more disappointed than she was willing to acknowledge, andfor a moment she half wished herself back in Chicopee, but soonrecovering her equanimity, she ventured to ask how long George was tobe gone. 

"Until April, I believe, " said Ida; "but any way you are to stay untilhe comes, for Aunt Martha promised to keep you. I don't know exactlywhat George said to her about you, but they talked together more thantwo hours, and she says you are to take music lessons and drawinglessons, and all that. George is very fond of music. "

Here thinking she was telling too much, Ida suddenly stopped, and asthe tea bell just then rang, she started up, saying, "Oh, I forgotthat father was waiting in the parlor to see you. I've said so muchabout you that his curiosity is quite roused, but I can introduce youat the table just as well. " Our lady readers will pardon Mary ifbefore meeting Mr. Selden she gave herself a slight inspection in thelong mirror, which hung in her dressing room. Passing the brushseveral times through her glossy hair, and smoothing down the folds ofher neatly fitting merino, she concluded that she looked well enoughfor a traveller, and with slightly heightened color, followed Ida intothe supper room, where she found assembled Mrs. Mason, Aunt Martha, and Mr. Selden. The moment her eye fell upon the latter, sherecognized the same kindly beaming eye and pleasant smile, which hadwon her childish heart, when on board the Windermere he patted herhead, as George told how kind she had been to him. 

"We have met before, I believe, " said he, and warmly shaking her handhe bade her welcome to Boston. 

Then seating her by his side at the table he managed by his kindattentions to make both her and Mrs. Mason feel perfectly at home. Aunt Martha, too, was exceedingly polite, but after what Ida had toldher, Mary could not help feeling somewhat embarrassed in her presence. This, however, gradually wore away, and before the evening was overshe began to feel very much at home, and to converse with Aunt Marthaas freely and familiarly as with Ida. 

The next morning between ten and eleven the door bell rang, and in amoment Jenny Lincoln, whose father's house was just opposite, cametripping into the parlor. She had lost in a measure that rotundity ofperson so offensive to her mother, and it seemed to Mary that therewas a thoughtful expression on her face never seen there before, butin all other respects, she was the same affectionate, merry-heartedJenny. 

"I just this minute heard you were here, and came over just as I was, "said she, glancing at the same time at her rich, though rather untidymorning wrapper. After asking Mary if she wasn't sorry George hadgone, and if she expected to find Mr. Stuart, she said, "I suppose youknow Ella is here, and breaking every body's heart, of course. Shewent to a concert with us last evening, and looked perfectlybeautiful. Henry says she is the handsomest girl he ever saw, and I dohope she'll make something of him, but I'm afraid he is only triflingwith her, just as he tries to do with every body. "

"I am afraid so too, " said Ida, "but now Mary has come perhaps he'lldivide his attentions between the two. "

If there was a person in the world whom Mary thoroughly detested, itwas Henry Lincoln, and the idea of his trifling with _her_, made hereyes sparkle and flash so indignantly that Ida noticed it, andsecretly thought that Henry Lincoln would for once find his match. After a time Mary turned to Jenny, saying, "You haven't told me aword about, --about William Bender. Is he well?"

Jenny blushed deeply, and hastily replying that he was the last timeshe saw him, started up, whispering in Mary's ear, "Oh, I've got somuch to tell you, --but I must go now. "

Ida accompanied her to the door, and asked why Rose too did not call. In her usual frank, open way, Jenny answered, "You know why. Rose isso queer. "

Ida understood her and replied, "Very well; but tell her that if shedoesn't see fit to notice my visitors, I certainly shall not be politeto hers. "

This message had the desired effect; for Rose, who was daily expectinga Miss King, from Philadelphia, felt that nothing would mortify hermore than to be neglected by Ida, who was rather a leader among theyoung fashionables. Accordingly after a long consultation with hermother, she concluded it best to call upon Mary. In the course of theafternoon, chancing to be near the front window, she saw Mr. Selden'scarriage drive away from his door, with Ida and her visitor. 

"Now is my time, " thought she; and without a word to her mother orJenny, she threw on her bonnet and shawl, and in her thin Frenchslippers, stepped across the street and rang Mr. Selden's door bell. Of course she was "so disappointed not to find the young ladies athome, " and leaving her card for them, tripped back, highly pleasedwith her own cleverness. 

Meantime Ida and Mary were enjoying their ride about the city, untilcoming suddenly upon an organ-grinder and monkey, the spirited horsesbecame frightened and ran, upsetting the carriage, and dragging itsome distance. Fortunately Ida was only bruised, but Mary received asevere cut upon her head, which, with the fright, caused her tofaint. A young man, who was passing down the street and saw theaccident, immediately came to the rescue; and when Mary awoke toconsciousness, Billy Bender was supporting her, and gently pushingback from her face the thick braids of her long hair. At first shethought she was not much hurt, but when she attempted to lift her headshe uttered a cry of pain, and laid it heavily back upon his bosom. 

"Who is she?--Who is she?" asked the eager voices of the group around, but no one answered, until a young gentleman, issuing from one of thefashionable drinking saloons, came blustering up, demanding "what therow was. "

Upon seeing Ida, his manner instantly changed, and after learning thatshe, with another young lady, had been upset, he ordered the crowd "tostand back, " at the same time forcing his way forward until he caughta sight of Mary's face. 

"Whew, Bill, " said he, "your old flame the pauper, isn't it?"

It was fortunate for Henry Lincoln that Billy Bender's arms were bothin use, otherwise he might have measured his length upon the sidewalk, which exercise he would hardly have relished in the presence ofIda. As it was, Billy frowned angrily upon him, and in a fiercewhisper bade him beware how he used Miss Howard's name. By this timethe horses were caught, anther carriage procured, and Mary, stillsupported by Billy Bender, was carefully lifted into it, and borneback to Mr. Selden's house. Henry Lincoln also accompanying her, andgiving out numerous orders as to "what ought to be done!"

Many of Ida's friends, hearing of the accident, flocked in to see her, and to inquire after the young lady who was injured. Among the firstwho called was Lizzie Upton, whom the reader has once met in Chicopee. On her way home she stopped at Mrs. Campbell's, where she wasimmediately beset by Ella, to know "who the beautiful young lady wasthat Henry Lincoln had so heroically saved from a violentdeath, --dragging her out from under the horses' heels!"

Lizzie looked at her a moment in surprise, and then replied, "Why, Miss Campbell, is it possible you don't know it was your own sister!"

It was Henry Lincoln himself who had given Ella her information, without, however, telling the lady's name; and now, when she learnedthat 'twas Mary, she was too much surprised to answer, and Lizziecontinued, "I think you are laboring under a mistake. It was not Mr. Lincoln, who saved your sister's life, but a young law student, whomyou perhaps have seen walking with George Moreland. "

Ella replied that she never saw George Moreland, as he left Bostonbefore she came; and then as she did not seem at all anxious to knowwhether Mary was much injured or not, Lizzie soon took her leave. Longafter she was gone, Ella sat alone in the parlor, wondering why Henryshould tell her such a falsehood, and if he really thought Marybeautiful. Poor simple Ella, --she was fast learning to live on HenryLincoln's smile, to believe each word that he said, to watch nervouslyfor his coming and to weep if he stayed away. There were other youngmen in Boston, who, attracted by her pretty face, and the wealth ofwhich she was reputed to be heiress, came fawningly around her, butwith most strange infatuation, she turned from them all, caring onlyfor Henry Lincoln. He, on the contrary, merely sought her society forthe sake of passing away an idle hour, boasting among his maleacquaintances of the influence had acquired over her, bycomplimenting her curls and pretty face! He knew that she was jealousof any praise or attention bestowed by him upon another, and hadpurposely told her what he did of Mary, exulting within himself as hesaw the pain his words inflicted. 

"I know he was only trying to tease me, " was the conclusion to whichElla finally came, and then there arose in her mind a debate as towhether, under the circumstances, it were not best to treat her sisterwith rather more respect than she was wont to do. "The Seldens, "thought she, "are among the first. If they notice her others will, andwhy should not I?"

This question was at last decided in the affirmative, and towards theclose of the afternoon, she started for Mr. Selden's, on her waymeeting with Henry, who asked "where she was going?"

"To see that _beautiful_ young lady, " returned Ella, rather pettishly;whereupon Henry laughed aloud, and asked "if it were not a little therichest joke he had ever put upon her. "

Ella saw no joke at all, but as Henry had turned about, and waswalking back with her, she could not feel angry, and prattled on, drinking in his words of flattery, as he told her how charmingly shelooked at the concert, and how jealous he felt when he saw so manyadmiring eyes gazing upon what he considered his own exclusiveproperty! The very expressive look which accompanied this remark madeElla's heart beat rapidly, for Henry had never before said any thingquite so pointed, and the cloud, which for a time had rested on herbrow, disappeared. 

When they reached Mr. Selden's house, Henry announced his intention ofcalling also to inquire after Mary whom he respected on her sister'saccount! "But, " said he, "I am in something of a hurry, and as yougirls have a thousand things to talk about, I hardly think I can waitfor you. "

"Oh, pray, don't wait, " returned Ella, hoping in her heart that hewould. 

Upon asking for Mary, she was taken immediately to her room, where shefound her reclining upon a sofa, attired in a tasteful crimson morninggown, which gave a delicate tint to her cheeks. She was paler thanusual, and her thick shining hair was combed up from her forehead in amanner highly becoming to her style of beauty. Until that day Ella hadnever heard her sister called handsome--never even thought such athing possible; but now, as she looked upon her, she acknowledged toherself that Henry was more than half right, and she felt a pang ofjealousy, --a fear that Mary might prove her rival. Still she tried tobe agreeable, telling her how fortunate she was in being at Mr. Selden's, "for, " said she, "I dare say some of our first people willnotice you just because you are here!"

Ida hastily walked to the window, standing with her back towards Ella, who continued. "I think it's so funny. I've inquired and inquiredabout Mr. Stuart, but no one knows him, and I've come to theconclusion he was an impostor, --or a country schoolmaster, one or theother. "

There was a suppressed laugh behind the lace curtain where Ida stood, and when Mary began to defend Mr. Stuart, she came out, and with greatapparent interest asked who he was, and where they had seen him. Afterwards Mary remembered the mischief which shone in Ida's eyes asthey described Mr. Stuart, but she thought nothing of it then. 

After asking Mary who paid for her music lessons, --how many newdresses she'd got, and who cut them, Ella started to go, carelesslysaying as she left the room, that when Mary was able she should expectto see her at Mrs. Campbell's. 

In the mean time Henry had become so much engaged in a conversationwith Mr. Selden, that he forgot the lapse of time until he heard Ellacoming down the stairs. Then impelled by a mean curiosity to see whatshe would do, he sat still, affecting not to notice her. She heard hisvoice, and knew that he was still in the parlor. So for a long timeshe lingered at the outer door, talking very loudly to Ida, andfinally, when there was no longer any excuse for tarrying, shesuddenly turned back, and shaking out her cloak and tippet, exclaimed, "Why, where can my other glove be? I must have dropped it in theparlor, for I do not remember of having had it up stairs!"

The parlor was of course entered and searched, and though no missingglove was found, the company of Henry Lincoln was thus secured. Havemy readers never seen a Henry Lincoln, or an Ella Campbell?

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A CHANGE OF OPINION. 

"Oh, mother won't you take this pillow from my head, and put anotherblanket on my feet, and fix the fire, and give me some water, orsomething? Oh, dear, dear!--" groaned poor Rose Lincoln, as withaching head and lungs, she did penance for her imprudence in crossingthe wet, slippery street in thin slippers and silken hose. 

Mrs. Lincoln, who knew nothing of this exposure, loudly lamented theextreme delicacy of her daughter's constitution, imputing it wholly toMount Holyoke discipline, and wishing, as she had often done before, that "she'd been wise and kept her at home. " Jenny would have wishedso, too, if by this means Rose's illness could have been avoided, forit was not a very agreeable task to stay in that close sick room, listening to the complaints of her fault-finding sister, who tossedand turned and fretted, from morning until night, sometimes wishingherself dead, and then crying because she "wanted something, anddidn't know what. "

"Oh, dear, " said she, one evening several days after the commencementof her illness, "how provoking to be obliged to lie here moping withthe dullest of all dull company, when there's Mrs. Russell's partynext week, and I've such a lovely dress to wear. Why ain't I asstrong and healthy as you? though I wouldn't be so fat for any thing. "

Jenny knew that whatever answer she could make would not be the rightone, so she said nothing, and after a moment Rose again, spoke. 

"I'll go to that party sick or well. I wouldn't miss of it for anything. "

This time Jenny looked up in surprise, asking why her sister was soparticularly anxious to attend the party. 

"Because, " returned Rose, "Mary Howard will be there, and you know aswell as I how awkward she'll appear, --never was in any kind of societyin her life. "

"I don't see what inducement that can be for you to expose yourhealth, " said Jenny, and Rose continued: "I want to see Ida mortifiedonce, for she might know better than to bring a green, country girlhere, setting her up as something wonderful, and expecting every bodyto believe it just because _Miss Selden_ said so. Didn't you tell methere was some one continually going to inquire after Mary?"

"Yes, " answered Jenny; whereupon Rose got very angry, complaining thatno one called upon her except that little simpleton Ella, who onlycame, when she thought there was a chance of seeing Henry!

"Seems to me you've changed your mind with regard to Ella, " saidJenny. 

"No I hain't either, " answered Rose, "I always thought her silly, andnow she hangs round Henry so much I'm thoroughly disgusted. Butsee, --there's Henry now, at Mr. Selden's gate, --with anothergentleman. "

The moon was shining brightly, and looking out, Jenny saw Billy Benderand her brother mounting the steps which led to Mr. Selden's door. 

"It's funny that they should be together, " thought she, while Rosecontinued, "Nothing will surprise me now, if Henry has got to runningafter her. I am glad George Moreland is away, though I fancy he's toomuch good sense to swallow a person, just because Ida and his old maidaunt say he must. "

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Lincoln, who came as usual to see his daughter. In the mean time the two youngmen, who accidentally met at the gate, had entered Mr. Selden'sparlor, and inquired for the young ladies. 

"Come, you must go down, " said Ida to Mary, when the message wasdelivered. This is the third time Mr. Bender has called, and you haveno excuse for not now seeing him. "By the way, " she continued, as Marysaid something about 'Billy, ' "don't call him Billy; we know him as_Mr. _ Bender and Billy is so, --so, --"

"So countrified, " suggested Mary. 

"Yes, countrified if you please, " returned Ida. "So after this he is_William_. Haven't you noticed that Jenny calls him so? But come, " sheadded mischievously, "never mind brushing your hair. Mr. Stuart isn'tdown there!"

With the exception of the time when she was hurt, Mary had not seenWilliam for more than two years and a half and now when she met him, she was so much embarrassed that she greeted him with a reserve, amounting almost to coldness. He on the contrary, was perfectlyself-possessed, but after a few commonplace remarks, he seated himselfon the opposite side of the room, and entered into conversation withMrs. Mason concerning Chicopee and its inhabitants. Frequently Mary'seyes rested upon him, and she felt a thrill of pride when she saw howmuch his residence in Boston had improved him, and how handsome hereally was. But any attempt to converse with him was renderedimpossible by Henry Lincoln, who, toady as he was, thought proper tobe exceedingly polite to Mary, now that the Seldens noticed her somuch. Seating himself by her side with all the familiarity of an oldfriend, and laying his arm across the back of the sofa, so that toWilliam it looked as if thrown around her shoulders, he commenced atirade of nonsense as meaningless as it was disagreeable. More thanonce, too, he managed to let fall a very pointed compliment, feelinggreatly surprised to see with what indifference it was received. 

"Confound the girl!" thought he, beginning to feel piqued at hercoldness. "Is she made of ice, or what?"

And then he redoubled his efforts at flattery, until Mary, quitedisgusted, begged leave to change her seat, saying by way of apologythat she was getting too warm. In the course of the evening GeorgeMoreland was mentioned. Involuntarily Mary blushed, and Henry, who waswatching her proposed that she resume her former seat, "for, " said he, "you look quite as warm and red where you are. "

"The nearest I ever knew him come to any thing witty, " whispered Ida, from behind a fire screen. "I do believe you've rubbed up his ideas, and I predict that you win him instead of Ella. "

Mary did not even smile, for to her there was something revolting inthe idea of being even teased about Henry, who was conceited enough toattribute her reserve to the awe which he fancied his "elegantpresence" inspired! If Ella with all her wealth and beauty placed aninvaluable estimate upon his attentions, why should not herunpretending sister be equally in love with him? And the young dandystroked his mustache with his white fingers, and wondered what EllaCampbell would say if she knew how much her sister admired him, andhow very nearly his admiration was returned!

At length William arose to go, and advancing towards Mary, he took herhand, saying in a low tone with marked emphasis on the word _sister_, "I find my sister greatly changed and improved since I last saw her. "

"And you too are changed, " returned Mary, her eyes filling with tears, for William's manner was not as of old. 

"Yes, in more respects than one, " said he, "but I shall see you again. Do you attend Mrs. Russell's party?"

Mary replied in the affirmative, and the next moment he was gone. Halfan hour after, Henry, too, departed, saying to Mary as he went out, "You musn't fail to be at Mrs. Russell's, for I shall only go for thesake of seeing you. --Truth, upon my honor, what little I have, " hecontinued, as Mary's eyes flashed forth her entire disbelief of whathe said. "I am in earnest now, if I never was before. "

Ida laughed aloud at the mystified picture which Mary's face presentedas the door closed upon Henry. "You are too much of a novice to seethrough every thing, but you'll learn in time that opinions frequentlychange with circumstances, " said she. 

That night in his chamber, with his heels upon the marble mantel, andhis box of cigars and bottle of brandy at his side, the man of fashionsoliloquized as follows: "Zounds! How that girl has improved. Neversaw the like in my life. --Talk about family and rank, and all thatstuff. Why, there isn't a lady in Boston that begins to have the _airdistingué_ which Mary Howard has. Of course she'll be all the go. Every thing the Seldens take up is. Ain't I glad Moreland is in NewOrleans; for with his notions he wouldn't hesitate to marry her if heliked her, poor as she is. Now if she only had the chink, I'd walk upto her quick. I don't see why the deuce the old man need to have gotso involved just now, as to make it necessary for me either to work orhave a rich wife. Such eyes too, as Mary's got! Black and fiery oneminute, blue and soft the next. Well, any way I'll have a good timeflirting with her, just for the sake of seeing Ella wince and whimper, if nothing more. Bah! What a simpleton she is, compared with Mary. Iwonder how much Mrs. Campbell _is_ worth, and if Ella will have itall. "

And the young man retired to dream of debts liquidated by the goldwhich a marriage with Ella Campbell would bring him. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE PARTY. 

"Bring me my new dress, Jenny; I want to see if the Honiton lace onthe caps is as wide as Ida Selden's. "

"What do you mean?" asked Jenny, turning quickly towards her sister, whose white, wasted face looked fitter for a shroud than a gay partydress. 

"I mean what I say, " returned Rose; "I'm not going to be cooped uphere any longer. I'm going to the party to-morrow night, if I never goagain!"

"Why, Rose Lincoln, are you crazy?" asked Jenny. "You haven't been inthe street yet, and how do you expect to go to-morrow night? Motherwouldn't let you, if she were here. "

"Well, thank fortune, she and father both are in Southbridge; andbesides that, I'm a great deal better; so hand me my dress. "

Jenny complied, and reclining on pillows scarcely whiter than herself, Rose Lincoln examined and found fault with a thin gossamer fabric, none suited for any one to wear in a cold wintry night, and much lessfor her. 

"There, I knew it wasn't as wide as Ida's into an eighth of an inch, "said she, measuring with her finger the expensive lace. "I'll havesome new. Come, Jenny, suppose you go down street and get it, for I'mbent upon going;" and the thoughtless girl sprang lightly upon thefloor, and _chasséd_ half way across the room to show how well andstrong she was. 

Jenny knew that further expostulation from her was useless, but sherefused to go for the lace, and Sarah, the servant girl, was sent witha note from Rose saying she wanted a nice article, 8 or 10 dollars peryard. 

"I don't believe father would like to have you make such a bill, " saidJenny when Sarah was gone. "Mother didn't dare tell him about your newdress, for he told her she mustn't get any thing charged, and he said, too, something about hard times. Perhaps he's going to fail. Wouldn'tit be dreadful?"

If Rose heard the last part of this sentence she did not need it, forto her the idea of her father's failing was preposterous. When thedinner bell rang she threw on a heavy shawl, and descending to thedining parlor, remained below stairs all the afternoon, forcing backher cough, and chatting merrily with a group of young girls who hadcalled to see her, and congratulated her upon her improved health, forexcitement lent a deep glow to her cheek, which would easily deceivethe inexperienced. The next day, owing to overexertion, Rose's templeswere throbbing with pain, and more than once, she half determined notto go; but her passion for society was strong, and Mrs. Russell'sparty had so long been anticipated and talked about that she felt shewould not miss it for the world, and as she had confessed to Jenny, there was also a mean curiosity to see how Mary Howard would appear ata fashionable party. 

"Saturate my handkerchief with cologne, and put the vinaigrette whereI can reach it while you arrange my hair, " said she to Sarah, who atthe usual hour came up to dress her young mistress for the evening. "There, be careful and not brush so hard, for that ugly pain isn'tquite gone--now bring me the glass and let me see if I do look like aghost. "

"Pale, delicate folks is always more interesting than red, heartyones, " said the flattering servant, as she obeyed. 

"Mercy, how white I am!" exclaimed Rose, glancing at the ashen facereflected by the mirror. "Rub my cheeks with cologne, Sarah, and seeif that won't bring some color into them. There, that'll do. Now handme my dress. Oh, isn't it beautiful?" she continued, as she threwaside the thickly wadded double gown, and assumed a light, thin dress, which fell in soft, fleecy folds around her slight figure. 

"Faith, an ye looks sweet, God bless you, " said Sarah as she claspedthe diamond bracelet around the snowy arms and fastened the costlyornaments in the delicate ears. 

When her toilet was completed, Rose stood up before the long mirror, and a glow of pride came to her cheeks, as she saw how lovely shereally was. 

"You's enough sight handsomer than Miss Jenny, " whispered Sarah, asthe door opened and Jenny appeared, more simply arrayed than hersister, but looking as fresh and blooming as a rose-bud. 

"How beautiful you are, Rosa, " said she, "only it makes me shiver tolook at your neck and arms. You'll wear your woollen sack, besidesyour shawl and cloak, won't you?"

"Nonsense, I'm not going to be bundled up this way, for don't you seeit musses the lace, " said Rose, refusing the warm sack which Jennybrought her. 

A rap at the door and a call from Henry that the carriage was waiting, ended the conversation, and throwing on their cloaks and hoods, thegirls descended to the hall, where with unusual tenderness Henrycaught up his invalid sister, and drawing her veil closely over herface, carried her to the covered sleigh, so that her feet might nottouch the _icy walk_. 

"What! Rose Lincoln here!" exclaimed half a dozen voices as Rosebounded into the dressing-room. 

"Yes, Rose Lincoln _is_ here, " she replied, gayly divesting herself ofher wrapping. "I'm not going to die just yet, I guess, neither am Igoing to be housed up all winter. The fresh air has done me goodalready, --see, " and she pointed to a bright round spot which burntupon her cheeks. 

A young girl, whose family had one by one fallen victims to the greatNew England plague, consumption, shuddered and turned way, for to hereye the glow which Rose called health was but the hectic bloom ofdeath. 

"How beautiful she is!" said more than one, as with her accustomedgrace Rose entered the brilliant drawing-room. And truly Rose wasbeautiful that night, but like the gorgeous foliage of the fadingautumn 'twas the beauty of decay, for death was written on herblue-veined brow, and lurked amid the roses on her cheek. But littlethought she of that, as with smiling lip and beaming eye she receivedthe homage of the admiring throng. 

"Upon my word, you do look very well, " said Henry, coming for a momentto his sister's side. "Why, you'd be the star of the evening, were itnot for _ma belle_ Ella. See, there she comes, " and he pointed to agroup just entering the room. 

An expression of contempt curled Rose's lip, as she glanced at Ella, and thought of being outshone by her dollish figure and face. "I'm inno danger, unless a more formidable rival than that silly thingappears, " thought she; and she drew up her slender form with a morequeenly grace, and bowed somewhat haughtily to Ella, who came up togreet her. There was a world of affection in Ella's soft hazel ayes, as they looked eagerly up to Henry, who for the sake of torturing theyoung girl feigned not to see her until she had stood near him someminutes. Then offering her his hand he said, with the utmostnonchalance, "Why, Ella, are you here? I was watching so anxiously foryour sister that I did not notice your entrance. "

Ella had dressed herself for the party with more than usual care, andas she smoothed down the folds of her delicate pink silk, and shookback her long glossy curls, she thought, "He cannot think Maryhandsomer than I am to-night;" and now when the first remark headdressed to her was concerning her sister, she replied ratherpettishly, "I believe you are always thinking about Mary. "

"Now, don't be jealous, " returned Henry, "I only wish to see thecontrast between you. "

Ella fancied that the preference would of course be in her favor, andcasting aside all unpleasant feelings, she exerted herself to theutmost to keep Henry at her side, asking him numberless questions, andsuddenly recollecting something which she wished to tell him, if hemade a movement towards leaving her. 

"Confound it. How tight she sticks to a fellow, " thought he, "but I'llget away from her yet. "

Just then Ida and Mary were announced. Both Aunt Martha and Ida hadtaken great pains to have their young friend becomingly dressed, andshe looked unusually well in the embroidered muslin skirt, satinwaist, and blonde bertha which Aunt Martha had insisted upon heraccepting as a present. The rich silken braids of her luxuriant hairwere confined at the back of her finely formed head with a goldenarrow, which, with the exception of a plain band of gold on eachwrist, was the only ornament she wore. This was her first introductionto the gay world, but so keen was her perception of what was politeand proper, that none would ever have suspected it and yet there wasabout her something so fresh and unstudied, that she had hardlyentered the room ere many were struck with her easy, unaffectedmanners, so different from the practised airs of the city belles. 

Ella watched her narrowly, whispering aside to Henry how sorry shefelt for poor Mary, she was so _verdant_, and really hoping shewouldn't do any thing very awkward, for 'twould mortify her to death!"but, look, " she added, "and see how many people Ida is introducingher to. "

"Of course, why shouldn't she?" asked Henry; and Ella replied, "Idon't know, --it seems so funny to see Mary here, don't it?"

Before Henry could answer, a young man of his acquaintance touched hisshoulder, saying, "Lincoln, who is that splendid-looking girl withMiss Selden? I haven't seen a finer face in Boston, for many a day. "

"That? Oh, that's Miss Howard, from Chicopee. An intimate friend ofour family. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you, " and Henrywalked away, leaving Ella to the tender mercies of Rose, who, as oneafter another quitted her side, and went over to the "enemy, " grewvery angry, wondering if folks were bewitched, and hoping Ida Selden"felt better, now that she'd _made_ so many notice her protegée. "

Later in the evening, William Bender came, and immediately Jenny beganto talk to him of Mary, and the impression she was making. Placing herhand familiarly upon his arm, as though that were its natural restingplace, she led him towards a group, of which Mary seemed the centre ofattraction. Near her stood Henry Lincoln, bending so low as tothreaten serious injury to his fashionable pants, and redoubling hisflattering compliments, in proportion as Mary grew colder, and morereserved in her manner towards him. Silly and conceited as he was, hecould not help noticing how differently she received William Benderfrom what she had himself. But all in good time, thought he, glancingat Ella, to see how she was affected by his desertion of her, and hisflirtation with her sister. She was standing a little apart from anyone, and with her elbow resting upon a marble stand, her cheeksflushed, and her eyelashes moist with the tears she dared not shed, she was watching him with feelings in which more of real pain thanjealousy was mingled; for Ella was weak and simple-hearted, and lovedHenry Lincoln far better than such as he deserved to be loved. 

"Of what are you thinking, Ella?" asked Rose, who finding herselfnearly alone, felt willing to converse with almost any one. 

At the sound of her voice Ella looked up, and coming quickly to herside, said, "It's so dull and lonesome here, I wish I'd staid athome. "

In her heart Rose wished so too, but she was too proud to acknowledgeit, and feeling unusually kind towards Ella, whose uneasiness shereadily understood, she replied, "Oh, I see you are jealous of Henry, but he's only trying to teaze you, for he can't be interested in thatawkward thing. "

"But he is. I 'most _know_ he is, " returned Ella, with a trembling ofthe voice she tried in vain to subdue; and then, fearing she could notlonger restrain her emotion, she suddenly broke away from Rose, andran hastily up to the dressing-room. 

Nothing of all this escaped Henry's quick eye, and as sundry unpaidbills for wine, brandy, oyster suppers, and livery, came looming upbefore his mind, he thought proper to make some amends for hisneglect. Accordingly when Ella returned to the drawing-room, heoffered her his arm, asking "what made her eyes so red, " and slylypressing her hand, when she averted her face saying, "Nothing, --theyweren't red. "

Meantime William Bender, having managed to drop Jenny from his arm, had asked Mary to accompany him to a small conservatory, which wasseparated from the reception rooms by a long and brilliantly lightedgallery. As they stood together, admiring a rare exotic, William'smanner suddenly changed, and drawing Mary closer to his side, he saiddistinctly, though hurriedly, "I notice, Mary, that you seemembarrassed in my presence, and I have, therefore, sought thisopportunity to assure you that I shall not again distress you by adeclaration of love, which, if returned, would now give me more painthan pleasure, for as I told you at Mr. Selden's, I am changed in morerespects than one. It cost me a bitter struggle to give you up, butreason and judgment finally conquered, and now I can calmly think ofyou, as some time belonging to another, and with all a brother'sconfidence, can tell you that I, too, love another, --not as once Iloved you, for that would be impossible but with a calmer, morerational love. "

All this time Mary had not spoken, though the hand which William hadtaken in his trembled like an imprisoned bird; but when he came tospeak of loving another, she involuntarily raised his hand to herlips, exclaiming, "It's Jenny, it's Jenny. "

"You have guessed rightly, " returned William, smiling at theearnestness of her manner. "It is Jenny, though how such a state ofthings ever came about, is more than I can tell. "

Mary thought of the old saying, "Love begets love, " but she saidnothing, for just then Jenny herself joined them. Looking first atWilliam, then at Mary, and finally passing her arm around the latter, she whispered, "I know he's told you, and I'm glad, for somehow Icouldn't tell you myself. "

Wisely thinking that his company could be dispensed with, Williamwalked away, leaving the two girls alone. In her usual frank way, Jenny rattled on, telling Mary how happy she was, and how funny itseemed to be engaged, and how frightened she was when William askedher to marry him. 

Fearing that they might be missed, they at last returned to theparlor, where they found Ella seated at the piano, and playing a veryspirited polka. Henry, who boasted that he "could wind her around hislittle finger, " had succeeded in coaxing her into good humor, but notat all desiring her company for the rest of the evening, he asked herto play, as the easiest way to be rid of her. She played unusuallywell, but when, at the close of the piece, she looked around forcommendation, from the one for whose ear alone she had played, she sawhim across the room, so wholly engrossed with her sister that heprobably did not even know when the sound of the piano ceased. 

Poor Ella; it was with the saddest heartache she had ever known thatshe returned from a party which had promised her so much pleasure, andwhich had given her so much pain. Rose, too, was bitterlydisappointed. One by one her old admirers had left her for the societyof the "pauper, " as she secretly styled Mary, and more than onceduring the evening had she heard the "beauty" and "grace" of her rivalextolled by those for whose opinion she cared the most; and when, atone o'clock in the morning, she threw herself exhausted upon the sofa, she declared "'twas the last party she'd ever attend. "

Alas, for thee, Rosa, that declaration proved too true!

CHAPTER XXVI. 

MAKING UP HIS MIND. 

For more than an hour there had been unbroken silence in the dingy oldlaw office of Mr. Worthington, where Henry Lincoln and William Benderstill remained, the one as a practising lawyer and junior partner ofthe firm, and the other as a student still, for he had not yet daredto offer himself for examination. Study was something which Henryparticularly disliked; and as his mother had trained him with theidea, that labor for him was wholly unnecessary, he had never bestoweda thought on the future, or made an exertion of any kind. 

Now, however, a different phase of affairs was appearing. His father'sfortune was threatened with ruin; and as, on a morning several weekssubsequent to Mrs. Russell's party, he sat in the office with hisheels upon the window sill, and his arms folded over his head, hedebated the all-important question, whether it were better to marryElla Campbell, for the money which would save him from poverty, or torouse himself to action for the sake of Mary Howard, whom he reallyfancied he loved!

Frequently since the party had he met her, each time becoming more andmore convinced of her superiority over the other young ladies of hisacquaintance. He was undoubtedly greatly assisted in this decision bythe manner with which she was received by the fashionables of Boston, but aside from that, as far as he was capable of doing so, he likedher, and was now making up his mind whether to tell her so or not. 

At last, breaking the silence, he exclaimed, "Hang me if I don'tbelieve she's bewitched me, or else I'm in love. --Bender, how does achap feel when he's in love?"

"Very foolish, judging from yourself, " returned William; and Henryreplied, "I hope you mean nothing personal, for I'm bound to avenge myhonor, and t'would be a deuced scrape for you and me to fight about'your sister, ' as you call her, for 'tis she who has inspired me, ormade a fool of me, one or the other. "

"You've changed your mind, haven't you?" asked William, a littlesarcastically. 

"Hanged if I have, " said Henry. "I was interested in her years ago, when she was the ugliest little vixen a man ever looked upon, andthat's why I teazed her so, --I don't believe she's handsome now, butshe's something, and that something has raised the mischief with me. Come, Bender, you are better acquainted with her than I am, so tell mehonestly if you think I'd better marry her. "

The expression of William's face was a sufficient answer, and withsomething of his old insolence, Henry continued, "You needn't feeljealous, for I tell you Mary Howard looks higher than you. Why, she'dwear the crown of England, as a matter of course, any day. "

With a haughty frown, William replied, "You have my permission, sir, to propose as soon as you please. I rather wish you would, " thentaking his hat, he left the office, while Henry continued hissoliloquy, as follows:--"I wonder what the old folks would say to apenniless bride. Wouldn't mother and Rose raise a row? I'd soon quietthe old woman, though, by threatening to tell that she was once afactory girl, --yes, a factory girl. But if dad smashes up I'll haveto work, for I haven't brains enough to earn my living by my wit. Iguess on the whole, I'll go and call on Ella, she's handsome, andbesides that, has the rhino too, but, Lord, how shallow!" and theyoung man broke the blade of his knife as he struck it into the hardwood table, by way of emphasizing his last words. 

Ella chanced to be out, and as Henry was returning, he overtook IdaSelden and Mary Howard, who were taking their accustomed walk. Sinceher conversation with William a weight seemed lifted from Mary'sspirits, and she now was happier far than she ever remembered ofhaving been before. She was a general favorite in Boston, where all ofher acquaintances vied with each other in making her stay among themas agreeable as possible. Her facilities for improvement, too, weregreat, and what was better than all the rest, George Moreland was toreturn much sooner than he at first intended. While she was so happyherself, Mary could not find it in her heart to be uncourteous toHenry, and her manner towards him that morning was so kind and affablethat it completely upset him; and when he parted with her at Mr. Selden's gate, his mind was quite made up to offer her his heart andhand. 

"I shall have to work, " thought he, as he entered his room to decideupon the best means by which to make his intentions known. "I shallhave to work, I know, but for her sake I'd do any thing. "

There was a bottle of Madeira standing upon the table and as heannounced his determination of "doing any thing for the sake of MaryHoward, " his eye fell upon his favorite beverage. A deep blush mountedto his brow, and a fierce struggle between his love for Mary and hislove for the wine-cup ensued. The former conquered, and seizing thebottle he hurled it against the marble fire jamb, exclaiming, "I'llbe a _man_, a sober man, and never shall the light of Mary's eyes growdim with tears wept for a drunken husband!"

Henry was growing eloquent, and lest the inspiration should leave him, he sat down and wrote to Mary, on paper what he could not tell herface to face. Had there been a lingering doubt of her acceptance, hewould undoubtedly have wasted at least a dozen sheets of the tinygilt-edged paper, but as it was, one would suffice, for _she_ wouldnot scrutinize his handwriting, --_she_ would not count the blots, ormark the omission of punctuating pauses. She would almost say _yes_before she read it. So the letter, which contained a sincere apologyfor his uncivil treatment of her in former years, and an ardentdeclaration of love for her now, was written sealed, and directed, andthen there was a gentle rap upon the door. Jenny wished to come in fora book which was lying upon the table. 

Henry had resolved to keep his family ignorant of his intentions, butat the sight of Jenny he changed his mind, --Jenny loved Mary, too. Jenny would be delighted at the prospect of having her for a sister, and would help him brave the storm of his mother's displeasure. 

"Jenny, " said he, grasping at her dress, as she passed him on her wayfrom the room, "Jenny, sit down here. I want to tell you something. "Jenny glanced at the fragments of the wine bottle, then at herbrother's flushed face, and instantly conjecturing that he had beendrinking, said reproachfully, as she laid her soft, white hand on hisbrow "Oh, brother, brother!"

He understood her meaning, and drawing her so closely to him that hiswarm breath floated over her cheek, replied, "I'm not drunk, for see, there is no scent of alcohol in my breath, for I have sworn toreform, --sworn that no drop of ardent spirits shall ever again pass mylips. "

The sudden exclamation of joy, the arms thrown so affectionatelyaround his neck, the hot tears upon his cheek, and the kisses thatwarm-hearted sister imprinted upon his lips should have helped him toratify that vow. But not for her sake had it been made, and shakingher off, he said, "Don't make a fool of yourself, Jenny, I wasn't inany danger of disgracing you, for I was only a moderate drinker. Butreally, I do want to talk with you on a very important subject. I wantto ask who of all your acquaintances you would prefer to have for asister, for I am going to be married. "

"To Ella?" asked Jenny, and Henry replied scornfully, "No, ma'am! mywife must have a soul, a heart, and a mind, to make up for mydeficiency on those points. To be plain, how would you like to have memarry Mary Howard?"

"Not at all--Not at all, " was Jenny's quick reply, while her brothersaid angrily, "And why not? Are you, too, proud as Lucifer, like therest of us? I could tell you something, Miss, that would bring yourpride down a peg or two. But answer me, why are you unwilling for meto marry Mary?"

Jenny's spirit was roused too, and looking her brother fully in hisface, she unhesitatingly replied, "You are not worthy of her; neitherwould she have you. "

"And this from my own sister?" said Henry, hardly able to control hiswrath. "Leave the room, instantly, --But stay, " he added, "and let mehear the reasons for what you have asserted. "

"You know as well as I, " answered Jenny, "that one as pure and gentleas Mary Howard, should never be associated with you, who wouldtrample upon a woman's better nature and feelings, for the sake ofgratifying your own wishes. Whenever it suits your purpose, youflatter and caress Ella Campbell, to whom your slightest wish is alaw, and then when your mood changes, you treat her with neglect; andthink you, that knowing all this, Mary Howard would look favorablyupon you, even if there were no stronger reason why she should refuseyou?"

"If you mean the brandy bottle, " said Henry, growing more and moreexcited, "have I not sworn to quit it, and is it for you to goad me onto madness, until I break that vow?"

"Forgive me if I have been too harsh, " said Jenny, taking Henry'shand. "You are my brother, and Mary my dearest friend, and when I sayI would not see her wedded to you, 'tis not because I love you less, but her the more. You are wholly unlike, and would not be happytogether. But oh, if her love would win you back to virtue, I wouldalmost beg her, on my bended knees, not to turn away from you. "

"And I tell you her love _can_ win me back, when nothing else in thekingdom will, " said Henry, snatching up the note and hurrying away. 

For a time after he left the room, Jenny sat in a kind of stupefiedmaze. That Mary would refuse her brother, she was certain, and shetrembled for the effect that refusal would produce upon him. Otherthoughts, too, crowded upon the young girl's mind, and made her tearsflow fast. Henry had hinted of something which he could tell her if hewould, and her heart too well foreboded what that something was. Theheavy sound of her father's footsteps, which sometimes kept her awakethe livelong night, his pale haggard face in the morning, and hermother's nervous, anxious manner, told her that ruin was hanging overthem. 

In the midst of her reverie, Henry returned. He had delivered theletter, and now, restless and unquiet, he sat down to await itsanswer. It came at last, --his rejection, yet couched in language sokind and conciliatory, that he could not feel angry. Twice, --threetimes he read it over, hoping to find some intimation that possiblyshe might relent; but no, it was firm and decided, and while shethanked him for the honor he conferred upon her, she respectfullydeclined accepting it, assuring him that his secret should be keptinviolate. 

"There's some comfort in that, " thought he, "for I wouldn't like tohave it known that I had been refused by a poor unknown girl, " andthen, as the conviction came over him that she would never he his, helaid his head upon the table, and wept such tears as a spoiled childmight weep when refused a toy, too costly and delicate to be trustedin its rude grasp. 

Erelong, there was another knock at the door, and, hastily wiping awayall traces of his emotion, Henry admitted his father, who had come totalk of their future prospects, which were even worse than he hadfeared. But he did not reproach his wayward son, nor hint that hisreckless extravagance had hastened the calamity which otherwise mightpossibly have been avoided. Calmly he stated the extent to which theywere involved, adding that though an entire failure might be preventeda short time, it would come at last; and that an honorable payment ofhis debts would leave them beggars. 

"For myself I do not care, " said the wretched man, pressing hard hisaching temples, where the gray hairs had thickened within a few shortweeks. "For myself I do not care but for my wife and children, --forRose, and that she must miss her accustomed comforts, is the keenestpang of all. "

All this time, Henry had not spoken, but thought was busily at work. He could not bestir himself; he had no energy for that now; but hecould marry Ella Campbell, whose wealth would keep him in the positionhe now occupied, besides supplying many of Rose's wants. 

Cursing the fate which had reduced him to such an extremity, towardsthe dusk of evening, Henry started again for Mrs. Campbell's. Lightswere burning in the parlor and as the curtains were drawn back, hecould see through the partially opened shutter, that Ella was alone. Reclining in a large sofa chair, she sat, leaning upon her elbow, thesoft curls of her brown hair falling over her white arm, which thefull blue cashmere sleeve exposed to view. She seemed deeply engagedin thought, and never before had she looked so lovely to Henry, who, as he gazed upon her, felt a glow of pride, in thinking that fairyoung girl could be his for the asking. 

"I wish she was not so confounded flat, " thought he, hastily ringingthe door-bell. 

Instantly divining who it was, Ella sprang up, and when Henry enteredthe parlor, he found her standing in the centre of the room, where thefull blaze of the chandelier fell upon her childish features, lightingthem up with radiant beauty. 

"And so my little pet is alone, " said he, coming forward, and raisingto his lips the dainty fingers which Ella extended towards him. "Ihope the old aunty is out, " he continued, "for I want to see you onspecial business. "

Ella noticed how excited he appeared, and always on the alert forsomething when he was with her, she began to tremble, and withoutknowing what she said, asked him "what he wanted of her?"

"Zounds!" thought Henry, "she meets me more than half-way;" and then, lest his resolution should fail, he reseated her in the chair she hadleft, and drawing an ottoman to her side, hastily told her of hislove, ending his declaration, by saying that from the first time heever saw her, he had determined that she should be his wife! And Ella, wholly deceived, allowed her head to droop upon his shoulder, whileshe whispered to him her answer. Thus they were betrothed, --HenryLincoln and Ella Campbell. 

"Glad am I to be out of that atmosphere, " thought the newly engagedyoung man, as he reached the open air, and began to breathe morefreely. "Goodness me, won't I lead a glorious life, with that jar oftomato sweetmeats! Now, if she'd only hung back a little, --but no, shesaid yes before I fairly got the words out; but money covereth amultitude of sins, --I beg your pardon, ma'am, " said he quickly, as hebecame conscious of having rudely jostled a young lady, who wasturning the corner. 

Looking up, he met Mary Howard's large, dark eyes fixed ratherinquiringly upon him. She was accompanied by one of Mr. Selden'sservants, and he felt sure she was going to visit her sister. Ofcourse, Ella would tell her all, and what must Mary think of one whocould so soon repeat his vows of love to another? In all the worldthere was not an individual for whose good opinion Henry Lincoln caredone half so much as for Mary Howard's; and the thought that he shouldnow surely lose it maddened him. The resolution of the morning wasforgotten, and that night a fond father watched and wept over hisinebriate son, for never before had Henry Lincoln been so beastlyintoxicated. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE SHADOWS DEEPEN. 

From one of the luxuriously furnished chambers of her father's elegantmansion, Jenny Lincoln looked mournfully out upon the thick angryclouds, which, the livelong day, had obscured the winter sky. Dreamilyfor a while she listened to the patter of the rain as it fell upon thedeserted pavement below, and then, with a long, deep sigh, she turnedaway and wept. Poor Jenny!--the day was rainy, and dark, and dreary, but darker far were the shadows stealing over her pathway. Turn whichway she would, there was not one ray of sunshine, which even herbuoyant spirits could gather from the surrounding gloom. Her onlysister was slowly, but surely dying, and when Jenny thought of thisshe felt that if Rose could only live, she'd try and bear the rest;try to forget how much she loved William Bender, who that morning hadhonorably and manfully asked her of her parents, and been spurned withcontempt, --not by her father, for could he have followed the dictatesof his better judgment, he would willingly have given his daughter tothe care of one who he knew would carefully shield her from the stormsof life. It was not he, but the cold, proud mother, who so haughtilyrefused William's request, accusing him of taking underhanded means towin her daughter's affections. 

"I had rather see you dead!" said the stony-hearted woman, when Jennyknelt at her feet, and pleaded for her to take back the words she hadspoken--"I had rather see you dead, than married to such as _he_. Imean what I have said, and you will never be his. "

Jenny knew William too well to think he would ever sanction an act ofdisobedience to her mother, and her heart grew faint, and her eyes dimwith tears, as she thought of conquering the love which had grown withher growth, and strengthened with her strength. There was anotherreason, too, why Jenny should weep as she sat there alone in her room. From her father she had heard of all that was to happen. The luxuriesto which all her life she had been accustomed, were to be hers nolonger. The pleasant country house in Chicopee, dearer far than hercity home, must be sold, and nowhere in the wide world, was there aplace for them to rest. 

It was of all this that Jenny was thinking that dreary afternoon; andwhen at last she turned away from the window, her thoughts went backagain to her sister, and she murmured, "If _she_ could only live. "

But it could not be;--the fiat had gone forth, and Rose, like the fairsummer flower whose name she bore, must fade and pass away. Forseveral days after Mrs. Russell's party she tried to keep up, but thelaws of nature had been outraged, and now she lay all day in adarkened room, moaning with pain, and wondering why the faces of thosearound her were so sad and mournful. 

"Jenny, " said she one day when the physician, as usual, had left theroom without a word of encouragement--"Jenny, what does make you lookso blue and forlorn. I hope you don't fancy I'm going to die? Ofcourse I'm not. "

Here a coughing fit ensued, and after it was over, she continued, "Isn't George Moreland expected soon?"

Jenny nodded, and Rose proceeded, "I must, and _will_ be well beforehe comes, for 'twill never do to yield the field to that Howard girl, who they say is contriving every way to get him, --coaxing round oldAunt Martha, and all that. But how ridiculous! George Moreland, withhis fastidious, taste, marry a pauper!" and the sick girl's fadingcheek glowed, and her eyes grew brighter at the absurd idea!

Just then Mr. Lincoln entered the room. He had been consulting withhis wife the propriety of taking Rose to her grandmother's in thecountry. She would thus be saved the knowledge of his failure, whichcould not much longer be kept a secret; and besides that, they all, sooner or later, must leave the house in which they were living; andhe judged it best to remove his daughter while she was able to endurethe journey. At first Mrs. Lincoln wept bitterly for if Rose went toGlenwood, she, too, must of course go and the old brown house, withits oaken floor and wainscoted ceiling, had now no charms for the gaywoman of fashion who turned with disdain from the humble roof whichhad sheltered her childhood. 

Lifting her tearful eyes to her husband's face, she said "Oh, I can'tgo there. Why not engage rooms at the hotel in Glenwood village. Mother is so odd and peculiar in her ways of living, that I never canendure it, " and again Mrs. Lincoln buried her face in the folds of herfine linen cambric, thinking there was never in the world a woman aswretched as herself. 

"Don't, Hatty, don't; it distresses me to see you feel thus. Rooms andboard at the hotel would cost far more than I can afford to pay, andthen, too, --" here he paused, as if to gather courage for what he wasnext to say; "and then, too, your mother will care for Rose's _soul_as well as body. "

Mrs. Lincoln looked up quickly, and her husband continued, "Yes, Hatty, we need not deceive ourselves longer. Rose must die, and youknow as well as I whether our training has been such as will best fither for another world. "

For a time Mrs. Lincoln was silent, and then in a more subdued tone, she said, "Do as you like, only you must tell Rose. _I_ never can. "

Half an hour after, Mr. Lincoln entered his daughter's room, andbending affectionately over her pillow, said, "How is my darlingto-day?"

"Better, better, --almost well, " returned Rose, raising herself in bedto prove what she had said. "I shall be out in a few days, and thenyou'll buy me one of those elegant plaid silks, won't you? All thegirls are wearing them, and I haven't had a new dress this winter, andhere 'tis almost March. "

Oh, how the father longed to tell his dying child that her next dresswould be a shroud. But he could not. He was too much a man of theworld to speak to her of death, --he would leave that for hergrandmother; so without answering her question, he said, "Rose, do youthink you are able to be moved into the country?"

"What, to Chicopee? that horrid dull place! I thought we were notgoing there this summer. "

"No, not to Chicopee, but to your grandma Howland's, in Glenwood. Thephysician thinks you will be more quiet there, and the pure air willdo you good. "

Rose looked earnestly in her father's face to see if he meant what hesaid, and then replied, "I'd rather go any where in the world than toGlenwood. You've no idea how, I hate to stay there. Grandma is soqueer, and the things in the house so fussy and countrified, --andcooks by a _fireplace_, and washes in a tin basin, and wipes on acrash towel that hangs on a roller!"

Mr. Lincoln could hardly repress a smile at Rose's reasoning, butperceiving that he must be decided, he said, "We think it best for youto go, and shall accordingly make arrangements to take you in thecourse of a week or two. Your mother will stay with you, and Jenny, too, will be there a part of the time;" then, not wishing to witnessthe effect of his words, he hastily left the room, pausing in the hallto wipe away the tears which involuntarily came to his eyes, as heoverheard Rose angrily wonder, "why she should be turned out of doorswhen she wasn't able to sit up!"

"I never can bear the scent of those great tallow candles, never, "said she; "and then to think of the coarse sheets and patchworkbedquilts--oh, it's dreadful!"

Jenny's heart, too, was well-nigh bursting, but she forced down herown sorrow, while she strove to comfort her sister, telling her howstrong and well the bracing air of the country would make her, and howrefreshing when her fever was on would be the clear, cold water whichgushed from the spring near the thorn-apple tree, where in childhoodthey so oft had played. Then she spoke of the miniature waterfall, which not far from their grandmother's door, made "fairy-like music;"all the day long, and at last, as if soothed by the sound of thatfar-off falling water, Rose forgot her trouble, and sank into a sweet, refreshing slumber, in which she dreamed that the joyous summer-timehad come, and that she, well and strong as Jenny had predicted, wasthe happy bride of George Moreland, who led her to a grass-growngrave, --the grave of Mary Howard, who had died of consumption and beenburied in Glenwood!

While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down the stairs, andthrowing on her shawl and bonnet, went across the street, to confideher troubles with Mary Howard; who, while she sympathized deeply withher young friend, was not surprised, for, from her slightacquaintance with Mrs Lincoln, she could readily believe that one soambitious and haughty, would seek for her daughter a wealthieralliance than a poor lawyer. All that she could say to comfort Jennyshe did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the best. 

"You are blue and dispirited, " said she, "and a little fresh air willdo you good. Suppose we walk round a square or two; for see, the rainis over now. "

Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the length of a streetwhen William himself joined them. Rightly guessing that her absencewould not be noticed, Mary turned suddenly into a side street, leavingWilliam and Jenny to themselves. From that walk Jenny returned to herhome much happier than she left it. She had seen William, --had talkedwith him of the past, present, and future, --had caught from hishopeful spirit the belief that all would be well in time, and in a farmore cheerful frame of mind, she re-entered her sister's room; andwhen Rose, who was awake, and noticed the change in her appearance, asked what had happened, she could not forbear telling her. 

Rose heard her through, and then very kindly informed her that "shewas a fool to care for such a rough-scuff. "

In a few days, preparations were commenced for moving Rose toGlenwood, and in the excitement of getting ready, she in a measureforgot the tallow candles and patchwork bedquilt, the thoughts ofwhich had so much shocked her at first. 

"Put in my embroidered merino morning gown, " said she to Jenny, whowas packing her trunk, "and the blue cashmere one faced with whitesatin; and don't forget my best cambric skirt, the one with so muchwork on it, for when George Moreland comes to Glenwood I shall want tolook as well as possible; and then, too, I like to see the countryfolks open their mouths, and stare at city fashions. '

"What makes you think George will come to Glenwood?" asked Jenny, asshe packed away dresses her sister would never wear. 

"I know, and that's enough, " answered Rose; "and now, before youforget it, put in my leghorn flat, for if I stay long, I shall wantit; and see how nicely you can fold the dress I wore at Mrs. Russell'sparty!"

"Why, Rose, what can you possibly want of that?" asked Jenny, and Rosereplied, "Oh, I want to show it to grandma, just to hear her groanover our extravagance, and predict that we'll yet come to ruin!"

Jenny thought that if Rose could have seen her father that morning, when the bill for the dress and its costly trimmings was presented, she would have wished it removed for ever from her sight. Early in thewinter Mr. Lincoln had seen that all such matters were settled, and ofthis bill, more recently made, he knew nothing. 

"I can't pay it now, " said he promptly to the boy who brought it. "Tell Mr. Holton I will see him in a day or two. "

The boy took the paper with an insolent grin, for he had heard thefast circulating rumor, "that one of the _big bugs_ was about to smashup;" and now, eager to confirm the report, he ran swiftly back to hisemployer, who muttered, "Just as I expected. I'll draw on him for whatI lent him, and that'll tell the story. My daughters can't afford towear such things, and I'm not going to furnish money for his. "

Of all this Rose did not dream, for in her estimation there was no endto her father's wealth, and the possibility of his failing had neverentered her mind. Henry indeed had once hinted it to her on theoccasion of her asking him "how he could fancy Ella Campbell enough tomarry her. "

"I'm not marrying _her_, but her _money_" was his prompt answer; "andI assure you, young lady, we are more in need of that article than youimagine. "

Rose paid no attention to this speech, and when she found that herfavorite Sarah was not to accompany her, she almost wept herself intoconvulsions, declaring that her father, to whom the mother imputed theblame, was cruel and hard-hearted, and that if it was Jenny instead ofherself who was sick, she guessed "she'd have forty waiting-maids ifshe wanted them. "

"I should like to know who is to take care of me?" said she. "Jennyisn't going, and grandma would think it an unpardonable extravaganceto hire a servant. I will not go, and that ends it! If you want to berid of me, I can die fast enough here. "

Mrs. Lincoln had nothing to say, for she well knew she had trained herdaughter to despise every thing pertaining to the old brown house, once her childhood home, and where even now the kind-heartedgrandmother was busy in preparing for the reception of the invalid. From morning until night did the little active form of Grandma Howlandflit from room to room, washing windows which needed no washing, dusting tables on which no dust was lying, and doing a thousand thingswhich she thought would add to the comfort of Rose. On one room inparticular did the good old lady bestow more than usual care. 'Twasthe "spare chamber, " at whose windows Rose, when a little girl, hadstood for hours, watching the thin, blue mist and fleecy clouds, asthey floated around the tall green mountains, which at no greatdistance seemed to tower upward, and upward, until their tops werelost in the sky above. At the foot of the mountain and nearerGlenwood, was a small sheet of water which now in the spring time wasplainly discernible from the windows of Rose's chamber, and withcareful forethought Mrs. Howland arranged the bed so that the sickgirl could look out upon the tiny lake and the mountains beyond. Snowywhite, and fragrant with the leaves of rose and geranium which hadbeen pressed within their folds, were the sheets which covered thebed, the last Rose Lincoln would ever rest upon. Soft and downy werethe pillows, and the patchwork quilt, Rose's particular aversion, wasremoved, and its place supplied by one of more modern make. 

Once Mrs. Howland thought to shade the windows with the Venetianblinds which hung in the parlor below; but they shut out so muchsunlight, and made the room so gloomy, that she carried them back, substituting in their place plain white muslin curtains. The bestrocking chair, and the old-fashioned carved mirror, were brought upfrom the parlor; and then when all was done, Mrs. Howland gave a sighof satisfaction that it was so well done, and closed the room untilRose should arrive. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

GLENWOOD. 

Through the rich crimson curtains which shaded Rose Lincoln's sleepingroom, the golden beams of a warm March sun wore stealing, lighting upthe thin features of the sick girl with a glow so nearly resemblinghealth, that Jenny, when she came to wish her sister good morning, started with surprise at seeing her look so well. 

"Why, Rose, you are better, " said she, kissing the fair cheek on whichthe ray of sunlight was resting. 

Rose had just awoke from her deep morning slumber, and now rememberingthat this was the day appointed for her dreaded journey to Glenwood, she burst into tears, wondering "why they would persist in draggingher from home. "

"It's only a pretence to get me away, I know, " said she, "and you mayas well confess it at once. You are tired of waiting upon me. "

Mr. Lincoln now came in to see his daughter, but all his attempts tosoothe her were in vain. She only replied, "Let me stay at home, herein this room, my own room;" adding more in anger than sorrow, "I'lltry to die as soon as I can; and be out of the way, if that's what youwant!"

"Oh, Rose, Rose! poor father don't deserve that, " said Jenny, raisingher hand as if to stay her sister's thoughtless words while MrLincoln, laying his face upon the pillow so that his silvered locksmingled with the dark tresses of his child, wept bitterly, --bitterly. 

And still he could not tell her _why_ she must leave her home. Hewould rather bear her unjust reproaches, than have her know that theywere beggars; for a sudden shock the physician said, might at any timeend her life. Thoroughly selfish as she was, Rose still loved herfather dearly, and when she saw him thus moved, and knew that she wasthe cause, she repented of her hasty words, and laying her long whitearm across his neck, asked forgiveness for what she had said. 

"I will go to Glenwood, " said she; "but must I stay there long?"

"Not long, not long, my child, " was the father's reply, and Jennybrushed away a tear as she too thought, "not long. "

And so, with the belief that her stay was to be short, Rose passivelysuffered them to dress her for the journey, which was to be performedpartly by railway and partly in a carriage. For the first time sincethe night of his engagement with Ella Campbell, Henry was this morningfree from intoxicating drinks. He had heard them say that Rose mustdie, but it had seemed to him like an unpleasant dream, from which henow awoke to find it a reality. They had brought her down from herchamber, and laid her upon the sofa in the parlor, where Henry cameunexpectedly upon her. He had not seen her for several days, and whenhe found her lying there so pale and still, her long eyelashes restingheavily upon her colorless cheek, and her small white hands hanginglistlessly by her side, he softly approached her thinking her asleep, kissed her brow, cheek and lips, whispering as he did so, "Poor girl!poor Rosa! so young and beautiful. "

Rose started, and wiping from her forehead the tear her brother hadleft there, she looked anxiously around. Henry was gone, but his wordshad awakened in her mind a new and startling idea. Was she going todie? Did they think so, and was this the reason of Henry's unwontedtenderness? and sinking back upon her pillows, she wept as only thoseweep to whom, in the full flush of youth and beauty, death comes adreaded and unwelcome guest. 

"I cannot die, --I will not die, " said she at last, rousing herselfwith sudden energy; "I feel that within me which says I shall not die. The air of Glenwood will do me good, and grandma's skill in nursing iswonderful. "

Consoled by these reflections, she became more calm, and had herfather now given his consent for her to remain in Boston, she would ofher own accord have gone to Glenwood. 

 * * * * *

The morning train bound for Albany stood in the depot, waiting thesignal to start; and just before the final "all aboard" was sounded, ahandsome equipage drove slowly up, and from it alighted Mr. Lincoln, bearing in his arms his daughter, whose head rested wearily upon hisshoulder. Accompanying him were his wife, Jenny, and a gray-hairedman, the family physician. Together they entered the rear car, andinstantly there was a hasty turning of heads, a shaking of curls, andlow whispers, as each noticed and commented upon the unearthly beautyof Rose, who in her father's arms, lay as if wholly exhausted with theeffort she had made. 

The sight of her, so young, so fair, and apparently so low, hushed allselfish feelings, and a gay bridal party who had taken possession ofthe ladies' saloon, immediately came forward, offering it to Mr. Lincoln, who readily accepted it, and laying Rose upon the longsettee, he made her as comfortable as possible with the numerouspillows and cushions he had brought with him. As the creaking enginemoved slowly out of Boston, Rose asked that the window might beraised, and leaning upon her elbow, she looked out upon her nativecity, which she was leaving for ever. Some such idea came to her mind;but quickly repressing it, she turned towards her father, saying witha smile, "I shall be better when I see Boston again. "

Mr. Lincoln turned away to hide a tear, for he had no hope that shewould ever return. Towards nightfall of the next day they reachedGlenwood, and Rose, more fatigued than she was willing to acknowledge, now that she was so determined to get well, was lifted from thecarriage and carried into the house. Mrs. Howland hastened forward toreceive her, and for once Rose forgot to notice whether the cut of hercap was of this year's fashion or last. 

"I am weary, " she said. "Lay me where I can rest. " And with thegrandmother leading the way, the father carried his child to thechamber prepared for her with so much care. 

"It's worse than I thought 'twas, " said Mrs. Howland, returning to theparlor below, where her daughter, after looking in vain for the bigrocking-chair, had thrown herself with a sigh upon the chintz-coveredlounge. "It's a deal worse than I thought 'twas. Hasn't she catchedcold, or been exposed some way?"

"Not in the least, " returned Mrs. Lincoln, twirling the golden stopperof her smelling bottle. "The foundation of her sickness was laid atMount Holyoke, and the whole faculty ought to be indicted formanslaughter. "

Jenny's clear, truthful eyes turned towards her mother, who frowneddarkly, and continued: "She was as well as any one until she wentthere, and I consider it my duty to warn all parents against sendingtheir daughters to a place where neither health, manners, nor anything else is attended to, except religion and housework. "

Jenny had not quite got over her childish habit of occasionallysetting her mother right on some points, and she could not forbearsaying that Dr. Kleber thought Rose injured herself by attending Mrs. Russell's party. 

"Dr. Kleber doesn't know any more about it than I do, " returned hermother. "He's always minding other folks' business, and so are you. Iguess you'd better go up stairs, and see if Rose doesn't wantsomething. "

Jenny obeyed, and as she entered her sister's chamber, Rose lifted herhead languidly from her pillow, and pointing to a window, which hadbeen opened that she might breathe more freely, said, "Just listen;don't you hear that horrid croaking?"

Jenny laughed aloud, for she knew Rose had heard "that horridcroaking" move than a hundred times in Chicopee, but in Glenwood everything must necessarily assume a goblin form and sound. Seating herselfupon the foot of the bed, she said, "Why, that's the frogs. I love tohear them dearly. It makes me feel both sad and happy, just as thecrickets do that sing under the hearth in our old home at Chicopee. "

Jenny's whole heart was in the country, and she could not so wellsympathize with her nervous, sensitive sister, who shrank from countrysights and country sounds. Accidentally spying some tall locustbranches swinging in the evening breeze before the east window, sheagain spoke to Jenny, telling her to look and see if the tree leanedagainst the house, "for if it does, " said she, "and creaks I shan'tsleep a wink to-night. "

After assuring her that the tree was all right, Jenny added, "I loveto hear the wind howl through these old trees, and were it not foryou, I should wish it might blow so that I could lie awake and hearit. "

When it grew darker, and the stars began to come out. Jenny was told"to close the shutters. "

"Now, Rose, " said she, "you are making half of this, for you know aswell as I, that grandma's house hasn't got any shutters. "

"Oh, mercy, no more it hasn't. What _shall_ I do?" said Rose, halfcrying with vexation. "That coarse muslin stuff is worse than nothing, and everybody'll be looking in to see me. "

"They'll have to climb to the top of the trees, then, " said Jenny, "for the ground descends in every direction, and the road, too, is sofar away. Besides that, who is there that wants to see you?"

Rose didn't know. She was sure there was somebody, and when Mrs. Howland came up with one of the nicest little suppers on a smalltea-tray, how was she shocked to find the window covered with her bestblankets, which were safely packed away in the closet adjoining. 

"Rose was afraid somebody would look in and see her, " said Jenny, asshe read her grandmother's astonishment in her face. 

"Look in and see her!" repeated Mrs. Howland. "I've undressed withoutcurtains there forty years, and I'll be bound nobody ever peeked atme. But come, " she added, "set up, and see if you can't eat a mouthfulor so. Here's some broiled chicken, a slice of toast, some currantjelly that I made myself, and the swimminest cup of black tea youever see. It'll eenamost bear up an egg. "

"Sweetened with brown sugar, ain't it?" said Rose sipping a little ofthe tea. 

In great distress the good old lady replied that she was out of whitesugar, but some folks loved brown just as well. 

"Ugh! Take it away, " said Rose. "It makes me sick and I don't believeI can eat another mite, " but in spite of her belief the food rapidlydisappeared, while she alternately made fun of the little silverspoons, her grandmother's bridal gift, and found fault because thejelly was not put up in porcelain jars, instead of the old blueearthen tea-cup, tied over with a piece of paper!

Until a late hour that night, did Rose keep the whole household (hermother excepted) on the alert, doing the thousand useless things whichher nervous fancy prompted. First the front door, usually secured witha bit of whittled shingle, must be _nailed_, "or somebody would breakin. " Next, the windows, which in the rising wind began to rattle, mustbe made fast with divers knives, scissors, combs and keys; and lastly, the old clock must be stopped, for Rose was not accustomed to itsstriking, and it would keep her awake. 

"Dear me!" said the tired old grandmother, when, at about midnight, she repaired to her own cosy little bedroom, "how fidgety she is. Ishould of s'posed that livin' in the city so, she'd got used tonoises. "

In a day or two Mr. Lincoln and Jenny went back to Boston, bearingwith them a long list of articles which Rose must and would have. Asthey were leaving the house Mrs Howland brought out her black leathernwallet, and forcing two ten dollar bills into Jenny's hand, whispered, "Take it to pay for them things. Your pa has need enough for hismoney, and this is some I've earned along, knitting, and sellingbutter. At first I thought I would get a new chamber carpet, but theold one answers my turn very well, so take it and buy Rose every thingshe wants. "

And all this time the thankless girl up stairs was fretting andmuttering about her grandmother's _stinginess_, in not having a bettercarpet "than the old faded thing which looked as if manufacturedbefore the flood!"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A NEW DISCOVERY. 

On the same day when Rose Lincoln left Boston for Glenwood, Mrs. Campbell sat in her own room, gloomy and depressed. For several daysshe had not been well, and besides that, Ella's engagement with HenryLincoln filled her heart with dark forebodings, for rumor said that hewas unprincipled, and dissipated, and before giving her consent Mrs. Campbell had labored long with Ella, who insisted "that he was noworse than other young men, --most of them drank occasionally, andHenry did nothing more!"

On this afternoon she had again conversed with Ella, who angrilydeclared, that she would marry him even if she knew he'd be adrunkard, adding, "But he won't be. He loves me better than all theworld, and I shall help him to reform. "

"I don't believe your sister would marry him, " continued Mrs. Campbell, who was becoming much attached to Mary. 

"I don't believe she would, either, and for a very good reason, too, "returned Ella, pettishly jerking her long curls. "But I can't see whyyou should bring her up, for he has never been more than polite toher, and that he assured me was wholly on my account. "

"She isn't pleased with your engagement!" said Mrs. Campbell; and Ellareplied, "Well, what of that? It's nothing to her, and I didn't meanshe should know it; but Jenny, like a little tattler, must needs tellher, and so she has read me a two hours' sermon on the subject. Sheacted so queer, too, I didn't know what to think of her, and when sheand Henry are together, they look so funny, that I almost believe shewants him herself, but she can't have him, --no, she can't havehim, "--and secure in the belief that _she_ was the first and onlyobject of Henry's affection, Ella danced out of the room to attend tothe seamstress who was doing her plain sewing. 

After she was gone, Mrs. Campbell fell asleep, and for the first timein many a long year dreamed of her old home in England. She did notremember it herself, but she had so often heard it described by theaunt who adopted her, that now it came up vividly before her mind, with its dark stone walls, its spacious grounds, terraced gardens, running vines and creeping roses. Something about it, too, remindedher of what Ella had once said of her mother's early home, and whenshe awoke, she wondered that she had never questioned the child moreconcerning her parents. She was just lying back again upon her pillow, when there was a gentle rap at the door, and Mary Howard's soft voiceasked permission to come in. 

"Yes, do, " said Mrs. Campbell. "Perhaps you can charm away myheadache, which is dreadful. "

"I'll try, " answered Mary. "Shall I read to you?"

"If you please; but first give me my salts. You'll find them there inthat drawer. "

Mary obeyed, but started as she opened the drawer, for there, on thetop, lay a small, old-fashioned miniature, of a fair young child, sonearly resembling Franky, that the tears instantly came to her eyes. 

"What is it?" asked Mrs Campbell, and Mary replied, "Thispicture, --so much like brother Franky. May I look at it?"

"Certainly, " said Mrs. Campbell. "That is a picture of my sister. "

For a long time Mary gazed at the sweet childish face, which, with itsclustering curls, and soft brown eyes, looked to her so much likeFranky. At last, turning to Mrs. Campbell, she said, "You must haveloved her very much. What was her name?"

"Ella Temple, " was Mrs. Campbell's reply, and Mary instantlyexclaimed, "Why, _that was my mother's name_!"

"Your mother, Mary!--your mother!" said Mrs. Campbell, starting upfrom her pillow. "But no; it cannot be. Your mother is lying inChicopee, and Ella, my sister, died in England. "

Every particle of color had left Mary's face, and her eyes, now blackas midnight, stared wildly at Mrs. Campbell. The sad story, which hermother had once told her, came back to her mind, bringing with it thethought, which had so agitated her companion. 

"Yes, " she continued, without noticing what Mrs. Campbell had said, "my mother was Ella Temple, and she had two sisters, one her own, andthe other, a half sister, --Sarah Fletcher and Jane Temple, --both ofwhom came to America many years ago. "

"Tell me more, --tell me all you know!" whispered Mrs. Campbell, grasping Mary's hand; "and how it came bout that I thought she wasdead, --my sister. "

Upon this point Mary could throw no light, but of all that she hadheard from her mother she told, and then Mrs Campbell, pointing to herwriting desk, said, "Bring it to me. I must read that letter again. "

Mary obeyed, and taking out a much soiled, blotted letter, Mrs. Campbell asked her to read it aloud. It was as follows--"DaughterJane, --I now take this opportunity of informing you, that I've lostyour sister Ella, and have now no child saving yourself, who, if youbehave well, will be my only heir. Sometimes I wish you were here, forit's lonesome living alone, but, I suppose you're better off where youare. Do you know any thing of that girl Sarah? Her cross-grained unclehas never written me a word since he left England. If I live threeyears longer I shall come to America, and until that time, adieu. Yourfather, --Henry Temple Esq. M. P. "

"How short and cold!" was Mary's first exclamation, for herimpressions of her grandfather were not very agreeable. 

"It is like all his letters, " answered Mrs. Campbell "But it was cruelto make me think Ella was dead, for how else could I suppose he hadlost her? and when I asked the particulars of her death, he sent me noanswer; but at this I did not so much wonder, for he never wroteoftener than once in two or three years, and the next that I heard, hewas dead, and I was heiress of all his wealth. "

Then, as the conviction came over her that Mary was indeed the childof her own sister, she wound her arms about her neck, and kissing herlips, murmured, "My child, --my Mary. Oh, had I known this sooner, youshould not have been so cruelly deserted, and little Allie shouldnever have died in the alms-house. But you'll never leave me now, forall that I have is yours--yours and Ella's. "

The thought of Ella touched a new chord, and Mrs Campbell's tears wererendered less bitter, by the knowledge that she had cared for, andbeen a mother, to one of her sister's orphan children. 

"I know now, " said she, "why, from the first, I felt so drawn towardsElla, and why her clear, large eyes, are so much like my own lostdarling's, and even you, Mary--"

Here Mrs. Campbell paused, for proud as she now was of Mary, there hadbeen a time when the haughty lady turned away from the sober, homelylittle child, who begged so piteously "to go with Ella" where therewas room and to spare. All this came up in sad review, before Mrs. Campbell, and as she recalled the incidents of her sister's death, andthought of the noble little Frank, who often went hungry and cold thathis mother and sisters might be warmed and fed, she felt that herheart would burst with its weight of sorrow. 

"Oh, my God!" said she, "to die so near me, --my only sister, and _I_never know it, --never go near her. _I_ with all my wealth, as muchhers as mine, --and she dying of starvation. "

Wiping the hot tears from her own eyes, Mary strove to comfort heraunt by telling her how affectionately her mother had alwaysremembered her. "And even on the night of her death, " said she, "shespoke of you, and bade me, if I ever found you, love you for hersake. "

"Will you, do you love me?" asked Mrs. Campbell. 

Mary's warm kiss upon her cheek, and the loving clasp of her armsaround her aunt's neck, was a sufficient answer. 

"Do you know aught of my Aunt Sarah?" Mary asked at last; and Mrs. Campbell replied, "Nothing definite. From father we first heard thatshe was in New York, and then Aunt Morris wrote to her uncle, makinginquiries concerning her. I think the Fletchers were rather peculiarin their dispositions, and were probably jealous of our family for theletter was long unanswered, and when at last Sarah's uncle wrote, hesaid, that 'independent of _old Temple's_ aid she had received a goodeducation;' adding further, that she had married and gone west, andthat he was intending soon to follow her. He neither gave the name ofher husband, or the place to which they were going, and as all oursubsequent letters were unanswered, I know not whether she is dead oralive; but often when I think how alone I am, without a relative inthe world, I have prayed and wept that she might come back; for thoughI never knew her, --never saw her that I remember, she was my mother'schild, and I should love her for that. "

Just then Ella came singing into the room, but started when she sawhow excited Mrs. Campbell appeared, and how swollen her eyelids were. 

"Why, what's the matter?" said she. "I never saw you cry before, excepting that time when I told you I was going to marry Henry, " andElla laughed a little spiteful laugh, for she had not yet recoveredfrom her anger at what Mrs. Campbell had said when she was in therebefore. 

"Hush--sh, " said Mary softly; and Mrs. Campbell, drawing Ella to herside, told her of the strange discovery she had made; then beckoningMary to approach, she laid a hand upon each of the young girls' heads, and blessing them, called them "her own dear children. "

It would be hard telling what Ella's emotions were. One moment she wasglad, and the next she was sorry, for she was so supremely selfish, that the fact of Mary's being now in every respect her equal, gave hermore pain than pleasure. Of course, Mrs. Campbell would love herbest, --every body did who knew her, --every body but Henry. And whenMrs. Campbell asked why she did not speak, she replied, "Why, whatshall I say? shall I go into ecstasies about it? To be sure I'mglad, --very glad that you are my aunt. Will Mary live here now?"

"Yes, always, " answered Mrs. Campbell; and "No never, " thought Mary. 

Her sister's manner chilled her to the heart. She thoroughlyunderstood her, and felt sure they could not be happy together, forElla was to live at home even after her marriage. There was alsoanother, and stronger reason, why Mary should not remain with heraunt. Mrs. Mason had the first, best claim upon her. She it was whohad befriended her when a lonely, neglected orphan, taking her fromthe alms-house, and giving her a pleasant, happy home. She it was, too, who in sickness and health had cared for her with all a mother'slove, and Mary would not leave her now. So when Mrs. Campbell began tomake plans for the future, each one of which had a direct reference toherself, she modestly said she should never desert Mrs. Mason, statingher reasons with so much delicacy, and yet so firmly, that Mrs. Campbell was compelled to acknowledge she was right, while at the sametime she secretly wondered whether Ella for _her_ sake would refuse amore elegant home were it offered her. 

All that afternoon the contrast between the two girls grew upon her sopainfully, that she would almost gladly have exchanged her selfish, spoilt Ella, for the once despised and neglected orphan; and when atevening Mary came to say "Good night, " she embraced her with afervency which seemed to say she could not give her up. 

Scarcely had the door closed upon Mary, ere there was a violent bellring, and Henry Lincoln was ushered into the parlor, where Ella, radiant with smiles, sat awaiting him. They were invited that eveningto a little sociable, and Ella had bestowed more than usual time andattention upon her toilet, for Henry was very observant of ladies'dresses, and now that "he had a right, " was constantly dictating, asto what she should wear, and what she should not. On this eveningevery thing seemed fated to go wrong. Ella had heard Henry say that hewas partial to mazarine blue, and not suspecting that his preferencearose from the fact of his having frequently seen her sister in aneatly fitting blue merino she determined to surprise him with hisfavorite color. Accordingly, when Henry entered the parlor, he foundher arrayed in a rich blue silk, made low in the neck with loose, fullsleeves, and flounced to the waist. The young man had just met Mary atthe gate, and as usual after seeing her was in the worst of humors. 

His first salutation to Ella was "Well, Mother Bunch, you look pretty, don't you?"

"I don't know. Do I?" said Ella, taking him literally. 

"Do you?" he repeated, with an impatient toss of his head. "All butthe pretty. I advise you to take off that thing" (pointing to thedress), "I never saw you look worse. "

Since Ella's engagement she had cried half the time, and now, asusual, the tears came to her eyes, provoking Henry still more. 

"Now make your eyes red, " said he. "I declare, I wonder if there's anything of you but tears. "

"Please don't talk so, " said Ella, laying her hand on his arm. "I hadthis dress made on purpose to please you, for you once said you likeddark blue. "

"And so I do on your sister, but your complexion is different fromhers, and then those _ruffles_ and bag sleeves make you look like alittle barrel!"

"You told me you admired flounces, and these sleeves are all thefashion, " said Ella, the tears again flowing in spite of herself. 

"Well, I do think Mary looks well in flounces, " returned Henry, "butshe is almost a head taller than you, and better proportioned everyway. "

Ella longed to remind him of a time when he called her sister "a haypole, " while he likened herself to "a little sylph, fairy;" &c. , butshe dared not; and Henry, bent on finding fault, touched her whitebare shoulder, saying "I wish you wouldn't wear such dresses. Marydon't except at parties, and I heard a gentleman say that shedisplayed better taste than any young lady of his acquaintance. "

Ella was thoroughly angry, and amid a fresh shower of tears exclaimed, "_Mary_, --_Mary_, --I'm sick of the name. It's nothing but Mary, --Maryall day long with Mrs. Campbell, and now _you_ must thrust her in myface. If you think her so perfect, why don't you marry her, instead ofme?"

"Simply because she won't have me, " returned Henry, and then notwishing to provoke Ella too far, he playfully threw his arm around herwaist, adding "But come, my little beauty, don't let's quarrel anymore about her. I ought to like _my sister_, and you shouldn't bejealous. So throw on your cloak, and let's be off. "

"Oh, no, not yet. It's too early" answered Ella, nothing loth to havean hour alone with him. 

So they sat down together upon the sofa, and after asking about Rose, and how long Jenny was to remain in Glenwood, Ella, chancing to thinkof the strange discovery that day made with regard to herself andMary, mentioned it to Henry, who seemed much more excited about itthan she had been. 

"Mrs. Campbell, your mother's sister!" said he. "And Mary's aunt too?Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because I didn't think of it, " returned Ella. "And it's nothing sovery marvellous either, or at least it does not affect _me_ in theleast. " Henry did not reply, but there was that passing through hismind which might affect Ella not a little. As the reader knows, he wasmarrying her for her money; and now if that money was to be sharedwith another, the bride lost half her value! But such thoughts mustnot be expressed, and when Henry next spoke, he said very calmly, "Well, I'm glad on Mary's account, for your aunt will undoubtedlyshare her fortune with her;" and Henry's eyes turned upon Ella with adeeper meaning than she could divine. 

It was so long since Ella had felt the need of money that she hadalmost ceased to know its value, and besides this, she had nosuspicion of Henry's motive in questioning her; so she carelesslyreplied that nothing had been said on the subject, though she presumedher aunt would make Mary heiress with herself, as she had recentlytaken a violent fancy to her. Here the conversation flagged, and Henryfell into a musing mood, from which Ella was forced to rouse him whenit was time to go. As if their thoughts were flowing in the samechannel, Mrs. Campbell that evening was thinking of Mary, and tryingto devise some means by which to atone for neglecting her so long. Suddenly a new idea occurred to her, upon which she determinedimmediately to act, and the next morning Mr. Worthington was sent for, to draw up a new will, in which Mary Howard was to share equally withher sister. 

"Half of all I own is theirs by right, " said she, "and what I want is, that on their 21st birth-day they shall come into possession of theportion which ought to have been their mother's, while at my death theremainder shall be equally divided between them. "

The will was accordingly drawn up, signed and sealed, Mr. Worthingtonkeeping a rough draft of it, which was thrown among some loose papersin his office. A few afterwards Henry coming accidentally upon it, read it without any hesitation. 

"_That_ settles it at once, " said he, "and I can't say I'm sorry, forI was getting horribly sick of her. Now I'd willingly marry Marywithout a penny, but Ella, with only one quarter as much as Iexpected, and that not until she's twenty-one, is a different matterentirely. But what am I to do? I wish Moreland was here, for though hedon't like me (and I wonder who does), he wouldn't mind lending me afew thousand. Well, there's no help for it; and the sooner the old manbreaks now, the better. It'll help me out of a deuced mean scrape, forof course I shall be _magnanimous_, and release Ella at once from herengagement with a _ruined man_. "

The news that Mary was Mrs. Campbell's niece spread rapidly, and amongthose who came to congratulate her, none was more sincere than WilliamBender. Mary was very dear to him, and whatever conduced to herhappiness added also to his. Together with her he had heard the rumorof Mr. Lincoln's downfall, and while he felt sorry for the family, hecould not help hoping that it would bring Jenny nearer to him. Of thishe told Mary, who hardly dared trust herself to reply, lest she shoulddivulge a darling secret, which she had cherished ever since Mrs. Campbell had told her that, in little more than a year, she was to bethe rightful owner of a sum of money much larger than she had everdreamed it possible for her to possess. Wholly unselfish, her thoughtsinstantly turned towards her adopted brother. A part of that sumshould be his, and with that for a stepping stone to future wealth, Mrs. Lincoln, when poor and destitute, could no longer refuse him herdaughter Mrs Campbell, to whom alone she confided her wishes, gave herconsent, though she could not understand the self-denying love whichprompted this act of generosity to a stranger. 

And now Mary was very happy in thinking how much good she could do. Mrs. Mason, her benefactress, should never want again. Sally Furbush, the kind-hearted old crazy woman who had stood by her so long and sofaithfully, should share her home wherever that home might be; whilebetter than all the rest, William Bender, the truest, best friend sheever had, should be repaid for his kindness to her when a little, unknown pauper. And still the world, knowing nothing of the hiddencauses which made Mary's laugh so merry and her manner so gay, saidthat "the prospect of being an heiress had turned her head, just as italways did those who were suddenly elevated to wealth. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE CRISIS. 

Mr. Lincoln had failed. At the corners of the streets, groups of menstood together, talking over the matter, and ascribing it, some to hiscarelessness, some to his extreme good nature in indorsing for any onewho asked, and others, the knowing ones, winking slyly as they said"they guessed he knew what he was about, --they'd known before of suchthings as failing rich;" but the mouths of these last were stoppedwhen they heard that the household furniture, every thing, was givenup for the benefit of his creditors, and was to be sold at auctionduring the coming week. 

In their parlors at home wives and daughters also discussed thematter, always ending by accusing Mrs. Lincoln of unwarrantableextravagance, and wondering how the proud Rose would bear it, andsuggesting that "she could work in the factory just as her motherdid!". It was strange how suddenly Mrs. Lincoln's most intimatefriends discovered that she had once been a poor factory girl, remembering too that they had often noticed an air of vulgarity abouther! Even Mrs. Campbell was astonished that she should have been sodeceived, though she pitied the daughters, "who were really refinedand lady-like, considering--" and then she thought of Henry, hopingthat Ella would be now willing to give him up. 

But with a devotion worthy of a better object, Ella replied, that hewas dearer to her than ever. "I have not loved him for his wealth, "said she, "and I shall not forsake him now" And then she wondered whyhe staid so long away, as day after day went by, and still he camenot. It was in vain that Mary, who visited the house frequently, toldher of many things which might detain him. Ella saw but one. Hefancied she, too, would desert him, like the cold unfeeling world. Andthen she begged so imploringly of her sister to go to him, and ask himto come, that Mary, loth as she was to do so, finally complied. Shefound him in his office, and fortunately alone. He was looking verypale and haggard, the result of last night's debauch, but Mary did notknow of this. She only saw grief for his misfortune, and her voice andmanner were far more cordial than usual as she bade him goodafternoon. 

"It is kind in you, Miss Howard, to come here, " said he, nervouslypressing the hand she offered. "I knew _you_ would not forsake me, andI'd rather have your sympathy than that of the whole world. "

Wishing to end such conversation, Mary replied, "I came here, Mr. Lincoln, at Ella's request. Ever since your father's failure she haswaited anxiously for you--"

She was prevented from saying more by Henry, who, with a feignedbitterness of manner, exclaimed, "Ella need not feel troubled, for Iam too honorable to insist upon her keeping an engagement, which Iwould to Heaven had never been made. Tell her she is free to do as shepleases. "

"You are mistaken, sir, " answered Mary; "Ella does not wish to befree. But come with me; I promised to bring you. "

With an air of desperation, Henry took his hat, and started with Maryfor Mrs. Campbell's. Oh, how eagerly Ella sprang forward to meet him, and burying her face in his bosom, she sobbed like a child. 

"Hush, Ella, this is foolish, " said he; and then seating her in achair, he asked, "why he was sent for. "

"I was afraid, --afraid you might think I did not love you now, "answered Ella. 

"I could not blame you if you did not, " said Henry. "Matters havechanged since we last met, and I am not mean enough to expect you tokeep your engagement. "

"But if _I_ expect it, --If _I_ wish it?" asked Ella, raising hertear-wet eyes to his face. 

"You are excited now, " said he, "but in a few days you'll thank me formy decision. An alliance with poverty could be productive of nothingbut unhappiness to you; and while I thank you for your unselfish love, I cannot accept it, for I am determined that, so long as I am poor, Ishall never marry; and the sooner you forget me, the better, for, Ella, I am not deserving of your love. "

Then, with a cold adieu, he left her; and when, half an hourafterwards, Mary entered the parlor, she found her sister lying uponthe sofa, perfectly motionless, except when a tremor of anguish shookher slight frame. A few words explained all, and taking her head inher lap, Mary tried to soothe her. But Ella refused to be comforted;and as she seemed to prefer being alone, Mary ere long left her, andbent her steps towards Mr. Lincoln's dwelling, which presented a sceneof strange confusion. The next day was the auction, and many people ofboth sexes had assembled to examine, and find fault with, the numerousarticles of furniture, which were being removed to the auction room. 

"Where's them silver candlesticks, and that cake-basket that costup'ards of a hundred dollars?" asked one fussy, vulgar-looking oldwoman, peering into closets and cupboards, and even lifting trunklids in her search. "I want some such things, and if they go for halfprice or less, mebby Israel will bid; but I don't see 'em. I'llwarrant they've hid 'em. "

Mary was just in time to hear this remark, and she modestly replied, that Mr. Lincoln's creditors had generously presented him with all thesilver, which was now at Mr. Selden's. 

The woman stared impudently at her a moment, and then said, "Now, that's what I call downright cheatin'? What business has poor folkswith so much silver. Better pay their debts fust. That's my creed. "

Mary turned away in disgust, but not until she heard the woman'sdaughter whisper, "Don't, mother, --that's Miss Howard, --Mrs. Campbell's niece, " to which the mother replied, "Wall, who cares forthat? Glad I gin her a good one. Upper crust ain't no better than Ibe. "

Passing through the hall, where several other women were examining anddepreciating Mrs. Lincoln's costly carpets, pronouncing them "halfcotton, " &c. , Mary made her way up the stairs, where in a chamber asyet untouched, she found Jenny and with her William Bender. Mrs. Lincoln's cold, scrutinizing eyes were away, and Mr. Lincoln hadcordially welcomed William to his house, telling him of his own accordwhere his daughter could be found. Many a time in his life for Mary'ssake had William wished that he was rich, but never had he felt sointense a longing for money, as he did when Jenny sat weeping at hisside, and starting at each new sound which came up from the rabblebelow. 

"Oh, Mary, Mary!" she said, as the latter entered the room, "to-morrowevery thing will be sold, and I shall have no home. It's dreadful tobe poor. "

Mary knew that from bitter experience, and sitting down by her youngfriend, her tears flowed as freely as Jenny's had often flowed forher, in the gray old woods near Chicopee poor-house. Just then therewas an unusual movement in the yard below, and looking from thewindow, Jenny saw that they were carrying the piano away. 

"This is worse than all, " said she. "If they only knew how dear thatis to me, or how dear it will be when--"

She could not finish, but Mary knew what she would say. The pianobelonged to Rose, whose name was engraved upon its front, and when shewas dead, it would from that fact be doubly dear to the sister. Astylish-looking carriage now drew up before the house, from which Mrs. Campbell alighted and holding up her long skirts, ascended the stairs, and knocked at Jenny's door. 

"Permeely, " called out the old lady who had been disappointed in hersearch for the silver candlesticks, "wasn't that Miss Campbell? Wall, she's gone right into one of them rooms where t'other gal went. Ishouldn't wonder if Mr. Lincoln's best things was hid there, for theykeep the door locked. "

Accidentally Mr. Lincoln overheard this remark, and in his heart hefelt that his choicest treasure was indeed there. His wife, from whomhe naturally expected sympathy, had met him with desponding looks andbitter words, reproaching him with carelessness, and saying, as insimilar circumstances ladies too often do, that "she had forseen itfrom the first, and that had he followed her advice, 'twould not havehappened. "

Henry, too, seemed callous and indifferent, and the father alone foundcomfort in Jenny's words of love and encouragement. From the first shehad stood bravely by him refusing to leave the house until all wasover; and many a weary night, when the great city was hushed andstill, a light had gleamed from the apartment where, with her father, she sat looking over his papers, and trying to ascertain as far aspossible, to what extent he was involved. It was she who firstsuggested the giving up of every thing; and when Henry, less uprightthan his noble sister, proposed the withholding of a part, she firmlyanswered, "No, father don't do it. You have lost your property, but donot lose your self-respect. "

Always cheerful, and sometimes even gay in his presence, she hadsucceeded in imbuing him with a portion of her own hopeful spirit, andhe passed through the storm far better than he could otherwise havedone. Mrs. Campbell's visit to the house was prompted partly fromcuriosity, and partly from a desire to take away Jenny, who was quitea favorite with her. 

"Come, my dear, " said she, pushing back the short, thick curls whichclustered around Jenny's forehead, "you must go home with me. This isno place for you. Mary will go too, " she continued; and then on an"aside" to Mary, she added, "I want you to cheer up Ella; she sitsalone in her room, without speaking or noticing me in any way. "

At first Jenny hesitated, but when William whispered that she hadbetter go; and Mrs. Campbell, as the surest way of bringing her to adecision, said, "Mr. Bender will oblige me by coming to tea, " sheconsented, and closely veiled, passed through the crowd below, whoinstinctively drew back, and ceased speaking, for wherever she wasknown, Jenny was beloved. Arrived at Mrs. Campbell's, they found Ella, as her mother had said, sitting alone in her room, not weeping, butgazing fixedly down the street, as if expecting some one who did notcome!

In reply to Jenny's anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, Maryfrankly told all, and then Jenny, folding her arms around the younggirl, longed to tell her how unworthy was the object of such love. ButHenry was her brother, and she could not. Softly caressing Ella'scheek, she whispered to her of brighter days which perhaps would come. The fact that it was _his_ sister--Henry's sister--opened anew thefountain of Ella's tears, and she wept for a long time; but it did hergood, and for the remainder of the afternoon she seemed more cheerful, and inclined to converse. 

The next day was the auction, and it required the persuasion of bothMrs. Campbell and Mary to keep Jenny from going, she knew not whitherherself, but any where, to be near and take one more look at the dearold furniture as it passed into the hands of strangers. At last Mrs. Campbell promised that black Ezra, who had accompanied her fromChicopee, should go and report faithfully all the proceedings, andthen Jenny consented to remain at home, though all the day she seemedrestless and impatient, wondering how long before Uncle Ezra wouldreturn, and then weeping as in fancy she saw article after articledisposed of to those who would know little how to prize it. 

About five o'clock Uncle Ezra came home, bringing a note from Ida, saying that the carriage would soon be round for Mary and Jenny, bothof whom must surely come, as there was a pleasant surprise awaitingthem. While Mary was reading this, Jenny was eagerly questioning UncleEzra with regard to the sale, which, he said, "went off uncommonwell, " owing chiefly, he reckoned, "to a tall, and mighty good-lookin'chap, who kept bidding up and up, till he got 'em about where theyshould be. Then he'd stop for someone else to bid. "

"Who was he?" asked Mary, coming forward, and joining Jenny. 

"Dun know, Miss; never seen him afore, " said Uncle Ezra, "but he's gotheaps of money, for when he paid for the pianner, he took out a rollof bills near about big as my two fists!"

"Then the piano is gone, " said Jenny sadly, while Mary asked how muchit brought. 

"Three hundred dollars was the last bid I heard from that youngfeller, and somebody who was biddin' agin him said, 'twas more'n 'twaswuth. "

"It wasn't either, " spoke up Jenny, rather spiritedly, "It cost fivehundred, and it's never been hurt a bit. "

"Mr. Bender bought that _little fiddle_ of your'n, " continued UncleEzra, with a peculiar wink, which brought the color to Jenny's cheeks;while Mary exclaimed, "Oh, I'm so glad you can have your guitaragain. "

Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the carriage, which came for the young ladies, who were soon on their way to Mr. Selden's, Mary wondering what the surprise was, and Jenny hopingWilliam would call in the evening. At the door they met Ida, who wasunusually merry, --almost too much so for the occasion, it seemed toMary, as she glanced at Jenny's pale, dispirited face. Aunt Martha, too, who chanced to cross the hall, shook Mary's hand as warmly as ifshe had not seen her for a year, and then with her broad, whitecap-strings flying back, she repaired to the kitchen to give ordersconcerning the supper. 

Mary did not notice it then, but she afterwards remembered, that Idaseemed quite anxious about her appearance, for following her to herroom, she said, "You look tired, Mary. Sit down and rest you awhile. Here, take my vinaigrette, --that will revive you. " Then as Mary wasarranging her hair, she said, "Just puff out this side a littlemore;--there, that's right. Now turn round, I want to see how youlook. "

"Well, how do I?" asked Mary, facing about as Ida directed. 

"I guess you'll do, " returned Ida. "I believe Henry Lincoln was right, when he said that this blue merino, and linen collar, was the mostbecoming dress you could wear: but you look well in every thing, youhave so fine a form. "

"Don't believe all her flattery, " said Jenny, laughingly "She's onlycomparing your tall, slender figure with little dumpy me; but I'mgrowing thin, --see, " and she lapped her dress two or three inches infront. 

"Come, now let's go down, " said Ida, "and I'll introduce you, toJenny's surprise, first. "

With Ida leading the way, they entered the music room, where in onecorner stood Rose's piano, open, and apparently inviting Jenny to itsside. With a joyful cry, she sprang forward, exclaiming, "Oh, how kindin your father; I almost know we can redeem it some time. I'll teachschool, --any thing to get it again. "

"Don't thank father too much, " answered Ida, "for he has nothing to dowith it, except giving it house room, and one quarter's teaching willpay that bill!"

"Who _did_ buy it, then?" asked Jenny; and Ida replied, "Can't tellyou just yet. I must have some music first. Come, Mary, you like toplay. Give me my favorite, 'Rosa Lee, ' with variations. "

Mary was passionately fond of music, and, for the time she had takenlessons, played uncommonly well. Seating herself at the piano, shebecame oblivious to all else around her, and when a tall figure for amoment darkened the doorway, while Jenny uttered a suppressedexclamation of surprise, she paid no heed, nor did she becomeconscious of a third person's presence until the group advancedtowards her, Ida and Jenny leaning upon the piano, and the otherstanding at her right, a little in the rear. Thinking, if she thoughtat all, that it was William Bender, Mary played on until the piece wasfinished, and then, observing that her companions had left the room, she turned and met the dark, handsome eyes, --not of William Bender, but of one who, with a peculiar smile, offered her his hand, saying, "I believe I need no introduction to Miss Howard, except a slightchange in the name, which instead of being _Stuart_ is Moreland!"

Mary never knew what she said or did. She only remembered a dizzysensation in her head, a strong arm passed round her, and a voicewhich fully aroused her as it called her "Mary, " and asked if she werefaint. Just then Ida entered the room, announcing tea, and asking herif she found "Mr. Stuart" much changed? At the tea-table Mary satopposite George, and every time she raised her eyes, she met his fixedupon her, with an expression so like that of the picture in the goldenlocket which she still wore, that she wondered she had not beforerecognized George Moreland in the Mr. Stuart who had so puzzled andmystified her. After supper she had an opportunity of seeing whyGeorge was so much beloved at home. Possessing rare powers ofconversation, he seemed to know exactly what to say, and when to sayit, and with a kind word and pleasant smile for all, he generallymanaged to make himself a favorite, notwithstanding his propensity totease, which would occasionally show itself in some way or other. During the evening William Bender called, and soon after Henry Lincolnalso came in, frowning gloomily when he saw how near to each otherwere William and his sister, while he jealously watched them, stillkeeping an eye upon George and Mary, the latter of whom remembered heryoung sister, and treated him with unusual coldness. At last, complaining of feeling _blue_, he asked Ida to play, at the same timesauntering towards the music room, where stood his sister's piano. "Upon my word, " said he, "this looks natural. Who bought it?" and hedrummed a few notes of a song. 

"Mr. Moreland bought it. Wasn't he kind?" said Jenny, who all theevening had been trying for a chance to thank George, but now when sheattempted to do so he prevented her by saying, "Oh don't--don't--I canimagine all you wish to say, and I hate to be thanked. Rose and I areparticular friends, and it afforded me a great deal of pleasure topurchase it for her--but, " he added, glancing at his watch, "I must beexcused now, as I promised to call upon my ward. "

"Who's that?" asked Jenny, and George replied that it was a MissHerndon, who had accompanied him from New Orleans to visit her aunt, Mrs. Russell. 

"He says she's an heiress, and very beautiful, " rejoined Ida, seatingherself at the piano. 

Instantly catching at the words "heiress" and "beautiful, " Henrystarted up, asking "if it would be against all the rules of proprietyfor him to call upon her thus early. "

"I think it would, " was George's brief answer, while Mary's eyesflashed scornfully upon the young man, who, rather crestfallen, announced himself ready to listen to Ida whom he secretly styled "anold maid, " because since his first remembrance she had treated himwith perfect indifference. 

That night before retiring the three girls sat down by the cheerfulfire in Mary's room to talk over the events of the day, when Marysuddenly asked Ida to tell her truly, if it were not George who hadpaid her bills at Mount Holyoke. 

"What bills?" said Jenny, to whom the idea was new while Ida replied, "And suppose it was?"

"I am sorry, " answered Mary, laying her head upon the table. 

"What a silly girl, " said Ida. "He was perfectly able, and more thanwilling, so why do you care?"

"I do not like being so much indebted to any one, " was Mary's reply, and yet in her secret heart there was a strange feeling of pleasure inthe idea that George had thus cared for her, for would he have doneso, if--. She dared not finish that question even to herself, --darednot ask if she hoped that George Moreland loved her one half as wellas she began to think she had always loved him. Why should he, withhis handsome person and princely fortune, love one so unworthy, and somuch beneath him? And then, for the first time, she thought of herchanged position since last they met. Then she was a poor, obscureschoolmistress, --now, flattered, caressed, and an heiress. Yearsbefore, when a little pauper at Chicopee, she had felt unwilling thatGeorge should know how destitute she was, and now in the time of herprosperity she was equally desirous that he should, for a time atleast, remain ignorant of her present condition. 

"Ida, " said she, lifting her head from the table "does George knowthat I am Mrs. Campbell's niece?"

"No, " answered Ida, "I wanted to tell him, but Aunt Martha said I'dbetter not. "

"Don't then, " returned Mary, and resuming her former position she fellinto a deep reverie, from which she was at last aroused, by Jenny'sasking "if she intended to sit up all night?"

The news that George Moreland had returned, and bought Rose Lincoln'spiano, besides several other articles, spread rapidly, and the dayfollowing his arrival Mary and Ida were stopped in the street by agroup of their companions, who were eager to know how George bore thenews that his betrothed was so ill, and if it was not that which hadbrought him home so soon, and then the conversation turned upon MissHerndon, the New Orleans lady who had that morning appeared in thestreet; "And don't you think, " said one of the girls, "that HenryLincoln was dancing attendance upon her? If I were you, " turning toMary, "I'd caution my sister to be a little wary of him. But let mesee, their marriage is to take place soon?"

Mary replied that the marriage was postponed indefinitely, whereuponthe girls exchanged meaning glances and passed on. In less thantwenty-four hours, half of Ella's acquaintances were talking of herdiscarding Henry on account of his father's failure, and saying "thatthey expected it, 'twas like her. "

Erelong the report, in the shape of a condolence, reached Henry, whocaring but little what reason was assigned for the broken engagement, so that he got well out of it assumed a much injured air, but said "hereckoned he should manage to survive;" then pulling his sharp-pointedcollar up another story, and brushing his pet mustache, wherein laymost of his mind, he walked up street, and ringing at Mrs. Russell'sdoor, asked for Miss Herndon, who vain as beautiful, suffered hisattentions, not because she liked him in the least, but because shewas fond of flattery, and there was something exceedingly gratifyingin the fact that at the North, where she fancied the gentlemen to beicicles, she had so soon made a conquest. It mattered not that Mrs. Russell told her his vows were plighted to another. She cared nothingfor that. Her life had been one long series of conquests, until now attwenty-five there was not in the whole world a more finished orheartless coquette than Evren Herndon. 

Days passed on, and at last rumors reached Ella, that Henry wasconstant in his attendance upon the proud southern beauty, whosefortune was valued by hundreds of thousands. At first she refused tobelieve it, but when Mary and Jenny both assured her it was true, andwhen she her self had ocular demonstration of the fact, she gave wayto one long fit of weeping; and then, drying her eyes, declared thatHenry Lincoln should see "that she would not die for him. "

Still a minute observer could easily have seen that her gayety wasfeigned, for she had loved Henry Lincoln as sincerely as she wascapable of loving, and not even George Moreland, who treated her withhis old boyish familiarity could make her for a moment forget one whonow passed her coldly by, or listened passively while the sarcasticEvren Herndon likened her to a waxen image, fit only for a glass case!

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A QUESTION

Towards the last of April, Mrs. Mason and Mary returned to their oldhome in the country. On Ella's account, Mrs. Campbell had decided toremain in the city during a part of the summer, and she labored hardto keep Mary also, offering as a last inducement to give Mrs. Mason ahome too. But Mrs. Mason preferred her own house in Chicopee, andthither Mary accompanied her, promising, however, to spend the nextwinter with her aunt, who wept at parting with her more than she wouldprobably have done had it been Ella. 

Mary had partially engaged to teach the school in Rice Corner, butGeorge, assuming a kind of authority over her, declared she shouldnot. 

"I don't want your eyes to grow dim and your cheeks pale, in thatlittle pent-up room, " said he. "You know I've been there and seen formyself. "

Mary colored, for George's manner of late had puzzled her, and Jennyhad more than once whispered in her ear "I know George loves you, forhe looks at you just as William does at me, only a little more so!"

Ida, too, had once mischievously addressed her as "Cousin, " addingthat there was no one among her acquaintances whom she would aswillingly call by that name. "When I was a little girl, " said she, "they used to tease me about George, but I'd as soon think of marryingmy brother. You never saw Mr. Elwood, George's classmate, for he's inEurope now. Between you and me, I like him and--"

A loud call from Aunt Martha prevented Ida from finishing, and theconversation was not again resumed. The next morning Mary was toleave, and as she stood in the parlor talking with Ida, George came inwith a travelling satchel in his hand, and a shawl thrown carelesslyover his arm. 

"Where are you going?" asked Ida. 

"To Springfield. I have business there, " said George. 

"And when will you return?" continued Ida, feeling that it would bedoubly lonely at home. 

"That depends on circumstances, " said he. "I shall stop at Chicopee onmy way back, provided Mary is willing. "

Mary answered that she was always glad to see her friends, and as thecarriage just then drove up, they started together for the depot. Marynever remembered of having had a more pleasant ride than that fromBoston to Chicopee George was a most agreeable companion, and with himat her side she seemed to discover new beauties in every object whichthey passed, and felt rather sorry when the winding river, and theblue waters of Pordunk Pond warned her that Chicopee Station was nearat hand. 

"I shall see you next week, " said George, as he handed her from thecars, which the next moment rolled over the long meadow, anddisappeared through the deep cut in the sandy hillside. 

For a week or more Judith had been at Mrs. Mason's house, puttingthings to rights, and when the travellers arrived they found everything in order. A cheerful fire was blazing in the little parlor, andbefore it stood the tea-table nicely arranged, while two beautifulMalta kittens, which during the winter had been Judith's specialcare, lay upon the hearth-rug asleep, with their soft velvet pawslocked lovingly around each other's neck. 

"Oh, how pleasant to be at home once more, and alone, " said Mrs. Mason, but Mary did not reply. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and muchas she liked being alone, the presence of a certain individual wouldnot probably have marred her happiness to any great extent. But _he_was coming soon, and with that in anticipation, she appeared cheerfuland gay as usual. 

Among the first to call upon them was Mrs. Perkins who came early inthe morning, bringing her knitting work and staying all day. She hadtaken to dressmaking, she said, and thought may-be she could get somenew ideas from Mary's dresses, which she very coolly asked to see. With the utmost good humor, Mary opened her entire wardrobe to theinspection of the widow, who, having recently forsaken the Unitarianfaith, and gone over to the new Methodist church in River street, turned conscientiously away from the gay party dresses, wondering howsensible people, to say nothing of Christian people, could findpleasure in such vanities!

"But then, " said she, "I hear you've joined the Episcopals, and thataccounts for it, for they allow of most any thing, and in my opinionain't a whit better than the Catholics. "

"Why, we are Catholic. Ain't you?" asked Mary. 

The knitting work dropped, and with a short ejaculatory prayer of"Good Lord, " Mrs. Perkins exclaimed, "Well, I'm glad you've owned up. Half on 'em deny it, --but there 'tis in black and white in the PrayerBook, 'I believe in the Holy Catholic Church. '"

It was in vain that Mary referred her to the Dictionary for adefinition of the word 'Catholic. ' She knew all she wanted to know, and she shouldn't wonder, bein' 'twas Friday, if Miss Mason didn'thave no meat for dinner. 

The appearance of a nicely roasted bit of veal quieted her fears onthat subject, and as the effects of the strong green tea becameapparent, she said, "like enough she'd been too hard on theEpiscopals, for to tell the truth, she never felt so solemn in herlife as she did the time she went to one of their meetins'; but, " sheadded, "I do object to them two gowns, and I can't help it!"

At last the day was over, and with it the visit of the widow, who hadgathered enough gossiping materials to last her until the Mondayfollowing, when the arrival in the neighborhood of George Moreland, threw her upon a fresh theme, causing her to wonder "if 'twan't Mary'sbeau, and if he hadn't been kinder courtin' her ever since the time hevisited her school. "

She felt sure of it when, towards evening, she saw them enter theschool-house, and nothing but the presence of a visitor prevented herfrom stealing across the road, and listening under the window. Shewould undoubtedly have been highly edified, could she have heard theirconversation. The interest which George had felt in Mary when a littlechild, was greatly increased when he visited her school in RiceCorner, and saw how much she was improved in her manners andappearance; and it was then that he conceived the idea of educatingher, determining to marry her if she proved to be all he hoped shewould. 

That she did meet his expectations, was evident from the fact that hisobject in stopping at Chicopee, was to settle a question which shealone could decide. He had asked her to accompany him to theschool-house, because it was there his resolution had been formed, andit was there he would make it known. Mary, too, had something whichshe wished to say to him. She would thank him for his kindness to herand her parents' memory; but the moment she commenced talking upon thesubject, George stopped her, and for the first time since they werechildren, placed his arm around her waist, and kissing her smoothwhite brow, said, "Shall I tell you, Mary, how you can repay it?"

She did not reply, and he continued, "Give me a husband's right tocare for you, and I shall be repaid a thousand fold. "

Whatever Mary's answer might have been, and indeed we are not surethat she answered at all, George was satisfied; and when he told herhow dear she was to him, how long he had loved her, and asked if hemight not hope that he, too, had been remembered, the little goldenlocket which she placed in his hand was a sufficient reply. WithoutIda's aid he had heard of the relationship existing between Mrs. Campbell and Mary, but it made no difference with him. His mind hadlong been made up, and in taking Mary for his wife, he felt that hewas receiving the best of Heaven's blessings. 

Until the shadows of evening fell around them they sat there, talkingof the future, which George said should be all one bright dream ofhappiness to the young girl at his side, who from the very fulness ofher joy wept as she thought how strange it was that she should be thewife of George Moreland, whom many a dashing belle had tried in vainto win. The next morning George went back to Boston, promising toreturn in a week or two, when he should expect Mary to accompany himto Glenwood, as he wished to see Rose once more before she died. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

GOING HOME. 

The windows of Rose Lincoln's chamber were open, and the balmy air ofMay came in, kissing the white brow of the sick girl, and whisperingto her of swelling buds and fair young blossoms, which its breath hadwakened into life, and which she would never see. 

"Has Henry come?" she asked of her father, and in the tones of hervoice there was an unusual gentleness, for just as she was dying Rosewas learning to live. 

For a time she had seemed so indifferent and obstinate, that Mrs. Howland had almost despaired. But night after night, when her daughterthought she slept, she prayed for the young girl, that she might notdie until she had first learned the way of eternal life. And, as if inanswer to her prayers, Rose gradually began to listen, and as shelistened, she wept, wondering though why her grandmother thought herso much more wicked than any one else. Again, in a sudden burst ofpassion, she would send her from the room, saying, "she had heardpreaching enough, for she wasn't going to die, --she wouldn't die anyway. "

But at last such feelings passed away, and as the sun of her shortlife was setting, the sun of righteousness shone more and morebrightly over her pathway, lighting her through the dark valley ofdeath. She no longer asked to be taken home, for she knew that couldnot be, but she wondered why her brother stayed so long from Glenwood, when he knew that she was dying. 

On her return from the city, Jenny had told her as gently as possibleof his conduct towards Ella, and of her fears that he was becomingmore dissipated than ever. For a time Rose lay perfectly still, andJenny, thinking she was asleep, was about to leave the room, when hersister called her back, and bidding her sit down by her side, said, "Tell me, Jenny, do you think Henry has any love for me?"

"He would be an unnatural brother if he had not, " answered Jenny, herown heart yearning more tenderly towards her sister, whose gentlemanner she could not understand. 

"Then, " resumed Rose, "if he loves me, he will be sorry when I amdead, and perhaps it may save him from ruin. "

The tears dropped slowly from her long eyelashes, while Jenny, layingher round rosy cheek against the thin pale face near her, sobbed out, "You must not die, --dear Rose. You must not die, and leave us. "

From that time the failure was visible and rapid, and though letterswent frequently to Henry, telling him of his sister's danger, he stilllingered by the side of the brilliant beauty, while each morning Roseasked, "Will he come to-day?" and each night she wept that he was notthere. 

Calmly and without a murmur she had heard the story of their ruin fromher father, who could not let her die without undeceiving her. Beforethat time she had asked to be taken back to Mount Auburn, designatingthe spot where she would be buried, but now she insisted upon beinglaid by the running brook at the foot of her grandmother's garden, andnear a green mossy bank where the spring blossoms were earliest found, and where the flowers of autumn lingered longest. The music of thefalling water, she said would soothe her as she slept, and its coolmoisture keep the grass green and fresh upon her early grave. 

One day, when Mrs. Lincoln was sitting by her daughter and, as shefrequently did, uttering invectives against Mount Holyoke, &c. , Rosesaid, "Don't talk so, mother. Mount Holyoke Seminary had nothing to dowith hastening my death. I have done it myself by my owncarelessness;" and then she confessed how many times she had deceivedher mother, and thoughtlessly exposed her health, even when her lungsand side were throbbing with pain. "I know you will forgive me, " saidshe, "for most severely have I been punished. "

Then, as she heard Jenny's voice in the room below, she added, "Thereis one other thing which I would say to you Ere I die, you mustpromise that Jenny shall marry William Bender. He is poor, I know, andso are we, but he has a noble heart, and now for my sake, mother, takeback the bitter words you once spoke to Jenny, and say that she maywed him. She will soon be your only daughter, and why should youdestroy her happiness? Promise me, mother, promise that she shallmarry him. "

Mrs. Lincoln, though poor, was proud and haughty still, and thestruggle in her bosom was long and severe, but love for her dyingchild conquered at last, and to the oft-repeated question, "Promiseme, mother, will you not?" she answered, "Yes, Rose, yes, for yoursake I give my consent though nothing else could ever have wrung itfrom me. "

"And, mother, " continued Rose, "may he not be sent for now? I cannotbe here long, and once more I would see him, and tell him that Igladly claim him as a brother. "

A brother! How heavily those words smote upon the heart of the sickgirl. Henry was yet away, and though in Jenny's letter Rose herselfhad once feebly traced the words, "Come, brother, --do come, " he stilllingered, as if bound by a spell he could not break. And so days wentby and night succeeded night, until the bright May morning dawned, thelast Rose could ever see. Slowly up the eastern horizon came the warmspring sun, and as its red beams danced for a time upon the wall ofRose's chamber, she gazed wistfully upon it, murmuring, "It is thelast, --the last that will ever rise for me. "

William Bender was there. He had come the night before, bringing wordthat Henry would follow the next day. There was a gay party to whichhe had promised to attend Miss Herndon, and he deemed that asufficient reason why he should neglect his dying sister, who everyfew minutes asked eagerly if he had come. Strong was the agony at workin the father's heart, and still he nerved himself to support hisdaughter while he watched the shadows of death as one by one theycrept over her face. The mother, wholly overcome, declared she couldnot remain in the room, and on the lounge below she kept two of theneighbors constantly moving in quest of the restoratives which shefancied she needed. Poor Jenny, weary and pale with watching andtears, leaned heavily against William; and Rose, as often as her eyesunclosed and rested upon her, would whisper, "Jenny, --dear Jenny, Iwish I had loved you more. "

Grandma Howland had laid many a dear one in the grave, and as she sawanother leaving her, she thought, "how grew her store in Heaven, " andstill her heart was quivering with anguish, for Rose had grownstrongly into her affection. But for the sake of the other strickenones she hushed her own grief, knowing it would not be long ere shemet her child again. And truly it seemed more meet that she with hergray hair and dim eyes should die even then, than that Rose, with thedew of youth still glistening upon her brow, should thus early be laidlow. 

"If Henry does not come, " said Rose, "tell him it was my last requestthat he turn away from the wine-cup, and say, that the bitterest pangI felt in dying, was a fear that my only brother should fill adrunkard's grave. He cannot look upon me dead, and feel angry that Iwished him to reform. And as he stands over my coffin, tell him topromise never again to touch the deadly poison. "

Here she became too much exhausted to say more, and soon after fellinto a quiet sleep. When she awoke, her father was sitting across theroom, with his head resting upon the window sill, while her own waspillowed upon the strong arm of George Moreland, who bent tenderlyover her, and soothed her as he would a child. Quickly her fadingcheek glowed, and her eye sparkled with something of its olden light;but "George, --George, " was all she had strength to say, and when Mary, who had accompanied him, approached her, she only knew that she wasrecognized by the pressure of the little blue-veined hand, which soondropped heavily upon the counterpane, while the eyelids closedlanguidly, and with the words, "He will not come, " she again slept, but this time 'twas the long, deep sleep, from which she would neverawaken. 

 * * * * *

Slowly the shades of night fell around the cottage where death had solately left its impress. Softly the kind-hearted neighbors passed upand down the narrow staircase, ministering first to the dead, and thenturning aside to weep as they looked upon the bowed man, who with hishead upon the window sill, still sat just as he did when they told himshe was dead. At his feet on a little stool was Jenny, pressing hishands, and covering them with the tears she for his sake tried in vainto repress. 

At last, when it was dark without, and lights were burning upon thetable, there was the sound of some one at the gate, and in a momentHenry stepped across the threshold, but started and turned pale whenhe saw his mother in violent hysterics upon the lounge, and MaryHoward bathing her head and trying to soothe her. Before he had timeto ask a question, Jenny's arms were wound around his neck, and shewhispered, "Rose is dead. --Why were you so late?"

He could not answer. He had nothing to say, and mechanically followinghis sister he entered the room where Rose had died. Very beautiful hadshe been in life; and now, far more beautiful in death, she lookedlike a piece of sculptured marble; as she lay there so cold, andstill, and all unconscious of the scalding tears which fell upon herface, as Henry bent over her, kissing her lips, and calling upon herto awake and speak to him once more. 

When she thought he could bear it, Jenny told him of all Rose hadsaid, and by the side of her coffin, with his hand resting upon herwhite forehead, the conscience-stricken young man swore, that neveragain should ardent spirits of any kind pass his lips, and the fatherwho stood by and heard that vow, felt that if it were kept, hisdaughter had not died in vain. 

The day following the burial. George and Mary returned to Chicopee, and as the next day was the one appointed for the sale of Mr. Lincoln's farm and country house, he also accompanied them. 

"Suppose you buy it, " said he to George as they rode over thepremises. "I'd rather you'd own it than to see it in the hands ofstrangers. "

"I intended doing so, " answered George, and when at night he was theowner of the farm, house and furniture, he generously offered it toMr. Lincoln rent free, with the privilege of redeeming it whenever hecould. 

This was so unexpected, that Mr. Lincoln at first could hardly findwords to express his thanks, but when he did he accepted the offer, saying, however, that he could pay the rent, and adding that he hopedtwo or three years of hard labor in California, whither he intendedgoing, would enable him to purchase it back. On his return toGlenwood, he asked William, who was still there, "how he would like toturn farmer for a while. "

Jenny looked up in surprise, while William asked what he meant. 

Briefly then Mr. Lincoln told of George's generosity, and stating hisown intentions of going to California, said that in his absencesomebody must look after the farm, and he knew of no one whom he wouldas soon trust as William. 

"Oh, that'll be nice, " said Jenny, whose love for the country was asstrong as ever. "And then, Willie, when pa comes back we'll go toBoston again and practise law, you and I!"

William pressed the little fat hand which had slid into his, andreplied, that much as he would like to oblige Mr. Lincoln, he couldnot willingly abandon his profession, in which he was succeeding evenbeyond his most sanguine hopes. "But, " said he, "I think I can find agood substitute in Mr. Parker, who is anxious to leave the poor-house. He is an honest, thorough-going man, and his wife, who is an excellenthousekeeper, will relieve Mrs. Lincoln entirely from care. "

"Mercy!" exclaimed the last-mentioned lady, "I can never endure thatvulgar creature round me. First, I'd know she'd want to be eating atthe same table, and I couldn't survive that!"

Mr. Lincoln looked sad. Jenny smiled, and William replied, that hepresumed Mrs. Parker herself would greatly prefer taking her mealsquietly with her husband in the kitchen. 

"We can at least try it, " said Mr. Lincoln, in a manner so decidedthat his wife ventured no farther remonstrance, though she cried andfretted all the time, seemingly lamenting their fallen fortune, morethan the vacancy which death had so recently made in their midst. 

Mr. Parker, who was weary of the poor-house, gladly consented to takecharge of Mr. Lincoln's farm, and in the course of a week or two Jennyand her mother went out to their old home, where every thing seemedjust as they had left it the autumn before. The furniture wasuntouched, and in the front parlor stood Rose's piano and Jenny'sguitar, which had been forwarded from Boston. Mr. Lincoln urged hismother-in-law to accompany them, but she shook her head, saying, "theold bees never left their hives, " and she preferred remaining inGlenwood. 

Contrary to Mrs. Lincoln's fears, Sally Ann made no advances whatevertowards an intimate acquaintance, and frequently days and even weekswould elapse without her ever seeing her mistress, who spent nearlyall her time in her chamber, musing upon her past greatness, andscolding Jenny, because she was not more exclusive. While the familywere making arrangements to move from Glenwood to Chicopee. Henry forthe first time in his life began to see of how little use he was tohimself or any one else. Nothing was expected of him, consequentlynothing was asked of him, and as his father made plans for the future, he began to wonder how he himself was henceforth to exist. His fatherwould be in California, and he had too much pride to lounge around theold homestead, which had come to them through George Moreland'sgenerosity. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that he too would go with his father, --hewould help him repair their fortune, --he would not be in the way of somuch temptation as at home, --he would be a man, and when he returnedhome, hope painted a joyful meeting with his mother and Jenny, whoshould be proud to acknowledge him as a son and brother. Mr. Lincolnwarmly seconded his resolution, which possibly would have never beencarried out, had not Henry heard of Miss Herndon's engagement with arich old bachelor whom he had often heard her ridicule. Cursing thefickleness of the fair lady, and half wishing that he had not brokenwith Ella, whose fortune, though not what he had expected, wasconsiderable, he bade adieu to his native sky, and two weeks after thefamily removed to Chicopee, he sailed with his father for the land ofgold. 

But alas! The tempter was there before him, and in an unguarded momenthe fell. The newly-made grave, the narrow coffin, the pale, deadsister, and the solemn vow were all forgotten, and a debauch of threeweeks was followed by a violent fever, which in a few days cut shorthis mortal career. He died alone, with none but his father to witnesshis wild ravings, in which he talked of his distant home, of Jenny andRose, Mary Howard, and Ella, the last of whom he seemed now to lovewith a madness amounting almost to frenzy. Tearing out handfuls of hisrich brown hair, he thrust it into his father's hand, bidding him tocarry it to Ella, and tell her that the heart she had so earnestlycoveted was hers in death. And the father, far more wretched now thanwhen his first-born daughter died, promised every thing, and when hisonly son was dead, he laid him down to sleep beneath the blue sky ofCalifornia, where not one of the many bitter tears shed for him in hisfar off home could fall upon his lonely grave. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

CONCLUSION. 

Great was the excitement in Rice Corner when it was known that on theevening of the tenth of September a grand wedding would take place, atthe house of Mrs. Mason. Mary was to be married to the "richest man inBoston, " so the story ran, and what was better yet, many of theneighbors were to be invited. Almost every day, whether pleasant ornot, Jenny Lincoln came over to discuss the matter, and to ask if itwere not time to send for William, who was to be one of the groomsmen, while she, together with Ida, were to officiate as bridesmaids. Inthis last capacity Ella had been requested to act, but the tears camequickly to her large mournful eyes, and turning away she wondered howMary could thus mock her grief!

From one fashionable watering place to another Mrs. Campbell had takenher, and finding that nothing there had power to rouse her droopingenergies, she had, towards the close of the summer, brought her backto Chicopee, hoping that old scenes and familiar faces would effectwhat novelty and excitement had failed to do. All unworthy as HenryLincoln had been, his sad death had cast a dark shadow across Ella'spathway. Hour after hour would she sit, gazing upon the locks ofshining hair, which over land and sea had come to her in a letter fromthe father, who told her of the closing scene, when Henry called forher, to cool the heat of his fevered brow. Every word and look oftenderness was treasured up, and the belief fondly cherished that hehad always loved her thus, else why in the last fearful struggle wasshe alone remembered of all the dear ones in his distant home?

Not even the excitement of her sister's approaching marriage couldawaken in her the least interest, and if it were mentioned in herpresence she would weep, wondering what she had done that Mary shouldbe so much happier than herself, and Mrs. Campbell remembering thepast, could but answer in her heart that it was just. Sometimes Ellaaccused her sister of neglect, saying she had no thought for any one, except George Moreland, and his elegant house in Boston. It was invain that Mary strove to convince her of her mistake. She only shookher head, hoping her sister would never know what it was to bewretched and desolate as she was. Mary could have told her of manyweary days and sleepless nights, when there shone no star of hope inher dark sky, and when even her only sister turned from her in scorn;but she would not, and wiping away the tears which Ella's unkindnesshad called forth, she went back to her home, where busy preparationswere making for her bridal. 

Never before had Mrs. Perkins, or the neighborhood generally, had somuch upon their hands at one time. Two dressmakers were sewing forMary. A colored cook, with a flaming red turban, came up fromWorcester to superintend the culinary department, and a week beforethe wedding Aunt Martha also arrived, bringing with her a quantity ofcut glass of all sizes and dimensions, the uses of which could noteven be guessed, though the widow declared upon her honor, a virtue bywhich she always swore, that two of them were called "cellar dishes, "adding that the "Lord only knew what that was!"

With all her quizzing, prying, and peeking, Mrs. Perkins was unable tolearn any thing definite with regard to the wedding dress, and as alast resort, she appealed to Jenny, "who of course ought to know, seein' she was goin' to stand up with 'em. "

"O, yes, I know, " said Jenny, mischievously, and pulling from herpocket a bit of brown and white plaid silk, --Mary's travellingdress, --she passed it to the widow, who straightway wondered at Mary'staste in selecting "that gingham-looking thing!"

Occasionally the widow felt some doubt as she heard rumors of pinkbrocades, India muslins, heavy silks, and embroidered merinomorning-gowns; "but law, " thought she "them are for the city. Anything 'll do for the country, though I should s'pose she'd want tolook decent before all the Boston top-knots that are comin'. "

Three days before the wedding, the widow's heart was made glad with acard of invitation, though she wondered why Mrs. Mason should say shewould be "at home. " "Of course she'd be to hum, --where else should shebe!"

It was amusing to see the airs which Mrs. Perkins took upon herself, when conversing with some of her neighbors, who were not fortunateenough to be invited. "They couldn't ask every body, and 'twas naturalfor them to select from the best families. "

Her pride, however, received a fall when she learned that SallyFurbush had not only been invited, and presented with a black silkdress for the occasion, but that George Moreland, who arrived the daypreceding the wedding, had gone for her himself, treating her with allthe deference that he would the most distinguished lady. And truly foronce Sally acquitted herself with a great deal of credit, andremembering Miss Grundy's parting advice, to "keep her tongue betweenher teeth, " she so far restrained her loquacity, that a stranger wouldnever have thought of her being crazy. 

The bridal day was bright, beautiful, and balmy, as the first days ofSeptember often are, and when the sun went down, the full silvery mooncame softly up, as if to shower her blessings upon the nuptials aboutto be celebrated. Many and brilliant lights were flashing from thewindows of Mrs. Mason's cottage, which seemed to enlarge itsdimensions as one after another the guests came in. First and foremostwas the widow with her rustling silk of silver gray, and the redribbons which she had sported at Sally Ann's wedding. After a seriesof manoeuvres she had succeeded in gaining a view of the supper table, and now in a corner of the room she was detailing the particulars toan attentive group of listeners. 

"The queerest things I ever see, " said she, "and the queerest names, too. Why, at one end of the table is a _muslin de laine puddin'_--"

"A what?" asked three or four ladies in the same breath, and the widowreplied, --"May-be I didn't get the name right, --let me see:--No, cometo think, it's a _Charlotte_ somebody puddin' instead of a muslin delaine. And then at t'other end of the table is what I should call adish of _hash_, but Judith says it's 'chicken Sally, ' and it took thewhite meat of six or seven chickens to make it. Now what in the worldthey'll ever do with all them legs and backs and things, is more'n Ican tell, but, land sake there come some of the _puckers_. Is my capon straight?" she continued, as Mrs. Campbell entered the room, together with Ella, and a number of Boston ladies. 

Being assured that her cap was all right, she resumed theconversation by directing the attention of those nearest her to Ella, and saying in a whisper, "If she hain't faded in a year, then I don'tknow; but, poor thing, she's been disappointed, so it's no wonder!"and thinking of her own experience with Mr. Parker, the widow's heartwarmed toward the young girl, who, pale and languid, dropped into thenearest seat, while her eyes moved listlessly about the room. Therich, showy dresses of the city people also, came in for observation, and while the widow marvelled at their taste in wearing "collars asbig as capes, " she guessed that Mary'd feel flat in her checkeredsilk, when she came to see every body so dressed up. 

And now guest after guest flitted down the narrow staircase andentered the parlor, which with the bedroom adjoining was soon filled. Erelong Mr. Selden, who seemed to be master of ceremonies appeared, and whispered something to those nearest the door. Immediately thecrowd fell back, leaving a vacant space in front of the mirror. Thebusy hum of voices died away, and only a few suppressed whispers of, "There!--Look!--See!--Oh, my!" were heard, as the bridal party tooktheir places. 

The widow, being in the rear, and rather short, slipped off her shoes, and mounted into a chair, for a better view, and when Mary appeared, she was very nearly guilty of an exclamation of surprise, for in placeof the "checkered silk" was an elegant _moire antique_, and anexpensive bertha of point lace, while the costly bridal veil, whichswept the floor, and fell in soft folds on either side of her head, was confined to the heavy braids of her hair by diamond fastenings. Adiamond necklace encircled her slender throat, and bracelets of thesame shone upon her round white arms. The whole was the gift of GeorgeMoreland, who had claimed the privilege of selecting and presentingthe bridal dress, and who felt a pardonable pride when he saw how wellit became Mary's graceful and rather queenly form. 

At her left stood her bridesmaids, Ida and Jenny, while at George'sright, were Mr. Elwood and William Bender the latter of whom looked oncalmly while the solemn words were spoken which gave the idol of hisboyhood to another and if he felt a momentary pang when he saw howfondly the newly made husband bent over his young bride, it passedaway as his eye fell upon Jenny, who was now dearer to him, ifpossible, than Mary had ever been. 

Among the first to congratulate "Mrs. Moreland, " was Sally Furbush, followed by Mrs. Perkins, who whispered to George that "she kinder hada notion how 'twoud end when she first saw him in the school-house;but I'm glad you've got him, " turning to Mary, "for it must be easierlivin' in the city than keepin' school. You'll have a hired girl, Is'pose?"

When supper was announced, the widow made herself very useful inwaiting upon the table, and asking some of the Boston ladies "ifthey'd be helped to any thing in them dishes, " pointing to the _fingerglasses_, which now for the first time appeared in Rice Corner! Thehalf suppressed mirth of the ladies convinced the widow that she'dmade a blunder, and perfectly disgusted with "new-fangled fashions"she retreated into the kitchen, were she found things more to hertaste, and "thanked her stars, she could, if she liked, eat with herfingers, and wipe them on her pocket handkerchief!"

Soon after her engagement, Mary had asked that Sally should go withher to her city home. To this George willingly consented, and it wasdecided that she should remain with Mrs. Mason until the bridal partyreturned from the western tour they were intending to take. Sallyknew nothing of this arrangement until the morning following thewedding, when she was told that she was not to return to thepoor-house again. 

"And verily, I have this day met with a great deliverance, " said she, and tears, the first shed in many a year mingled with the oldcreature's thanks for this unexpected happiness. As Mary was leaving, she whispered in her ear "If your travels lead you near Willie'sgrave, drop a tear on it for my sake. You'll find it under the buckeyetree, where the tall grass and wild flowers grow. "

George had relatives in Chicago, and after spending a short time inthat city, Mary, remembering Sally's request, expressed a desire tovisit the spot renowned as the burial place of "Willie and Willie'sfather. " Ever ready to gratify her slightest wish, George consented, and towards the close of a mild autumnal day, they stopped at a smallpublic house on the border of a vast prairie. The arrival of sodistinguished looking people caused quite a commotion, and after dulyinspecting Mary's handsome travelling dress, and calculating itsprobable cost, the hostess departed to prepare the evening meal, whichwas soon forthcoming. 

When supper was over, and the family had gathered into the pleasantsitting room, George asked if there was ever a man in those parts bythe name of "Furbush. "

"What! Bill Furbush?" asked the landlord. 

George did not know, but thought likely that might have seen his name, as his son was called William. 

"Lud, yes, " returned the landlord. "I knowed Bill Furbush well, --hecame here about the same time I did, he from Massachusetts, and I fromVarmount; but, poor feller, he was too weakly to bear much, and thefirst fever he took finished him up. His old woman was as clever acreature as ever was, but she had some high notions. "

"Did she die too?" asked George. 

Filling his mouth with an enormous quid of tobacco, the landlordcontinued, "No, but it's a pity she didn't, for when Bill and the boydied, she went ravin' mad, and I never felt so like cryin' as I didwhen I see her a tearin' her hair an goin' on so. We kept her a spell, and then her old man' brother's girl came for her and took her off;and the last I heard, the girl was dead, and she was in the poor-housesomewhere east. She was born there, I b'lieve. "

"No she warn't, either, " said the landlady, who for some minutes hadbeen aching to speak. "No she warn't, either. I know all about it. Shewas born in England, and got to be quite a girl before she came over. Her name was Sarah Fletcher, and Peter Fletcher, who died with thecholera, was her own uncle, and all the connection she had in thiscountry;--but goodness suz, what ails you?" she added, as Mary turneddeathly white, while George passed his arm around her to keep her fromfalling. "Here, Sophrony, fetch the camphire; she's goin' to faint. "

But Mary did not faint, and after smelling the camphor, she said, "Goon, madam, and tell me more of Sarah Fletcher. "

"She can do it, " whispered the landlord with a sly wink. "She knowsevery body's history from Dan to Beersheby. "

This intimation was wholly lost on the good-humored hostess, whocontinued, "Mr. Fletcher died when Sarah was small, and her mothermarried a Mr. ----, I don't justly remember his name"

"Temple?" suggested Mary. 

"Yes, Temple, that's it. He was rich and cross, and broke her heart bythe time she had her second baby. Sarah was adopted by her GrandmotherFletcher who died, and she came with her uncle to America. "

"Did she ever speak of her sisters?" asked Mary, and the womanreplied, "Before she got crazy, she did. One of 'em, she said, was inthis country somewhere, and t'other the one she remembered the best, and talked the most about, lived in England. She said she wanted towrite to 'em, but her uncle, he hated the Temples, so he wouldn't lether, and as time went on she kinder forgot 'em, and didn't know whereto direct, and after she took crazy she never would speak of hersisters, or own that she had any. "

"Is Mr. Furbush buried near here?" asked George; and the landlordanswered, "Little better than a stone's throw. I can see the very treefrom here, and may-be your younger eyes can make out the graves. Heought to have a grave stun, for he was a good feller. "

The new moon was shining, and Mary, who came to her husband's side, could plainly discern the buckeye tree and the two graves where"Willie and Willie's father" had long been sleeping. The next morningbefore the sun was up, Mary stood by the mounds where often in yearsgone by Sally Furbush had seen the moon go down, and the stars growpale in the coming day, as she kept her tireless watch over her lovedand lost. 

"Willie was my cousin--your cousin, " said Mary, resting her foot uponthe bit of board which stood at the head of the little graves. Georgeunderstood her wishes, and when they left the place, a handsome marbleslab marked the spot where the father and his infant son were buried. 

 * * * * *

Bewildered, and unable to comprehend a word, Sally listened while Marytold her of the relationship between them; but the mists which foryears had shrouded her reason were too dense to be suddenly clearedaway; and when Mary wept, winding her arms around her neck and callingher "Aunt;" and when the elegant Mrs. Campbell, scarcely lessbewildered than Sally herself, came forward addressing her as"sister, " she turned aside to Mrs. Mason, asking in a whisper "whathad made them crazy. "

But when Mary spoke of little Willie's grave, and the tree whichovershadowed it, of the green prairie and cottage by the brook, onceher western home, Sally listened, and at last one day, a week or twoafter her arrival in Boston, she suddenly clasped her hands closelyover her temples, exclaiming, "It's come! It's come! I remembernow, --the large garden, --the cross old man, --the dead mother, --therosy-cheeked Ella I loved so well--"

"That was my mother, --my mother, " interrupted Mary. 

For a moment Sally regarded her intently, and then catching her in herarms, cried over her, calling her, "her precious child, " and wonderingshe had never noticed how much she was like Ella. 

"And don't you remember the baby Jane?" asked Mrs Campbell, who waspresent. 

"Perfectly, --perfectly, " answered Sally. "He died, and you came in acarriage; but didn't cry, --nobody cried but Mary. "

It was in vain that Mary tried to explain to her that Mrs. Campbellwas her sister, --once the baby Jane. Sally was not to be convinced. Toher Jane and the little Alice were the same. There was none of herblood in Mrs. Campbell's veins, "or why, " said she, "did she leave usso long in obscurity, me and my niece, _Mrs. George Moreland, Esq. !_"

This was the title which she always gave Mary when speaking of her, while to Ella, who occasionally spent a week in her sister's pleasanthome, she gave the name of "little cipher, " as expressing exactly heropinion of her. Nothing so much excited Sally, or threw her into soviolent a passion, as to have Ella call her aunt. 

"If I wasn't her kin when I wore a sixpenny calico, " said she, "Icertainly am not now that I dress in purple and fine linen. "

When Sally first went to Boston, George procured for her the bestpossible medical advice, but her case was of so long standing that butlittle hope was entertained of her entire recovery. Still every thingwas done for her that could be done, and after a time she became farless boisterous than formerly, and sometimes appeared perfectlyrational for days. She still retained her taste for literature, andnothing but George's firmness and decision prevented her from sendingoff the manuscript of her grammar, which was now finished. It was invain that he told her she was not now obliged to write for a living, as he had more than enough for her support. 

She replied it was not _money_ she coveted, but _reputation_, --aname, --to be pointed at as Mrs. Sarah Furbush, authoress of "Furbush'sGrammar, " &c. , --_this_ was her aim!

"You may write all you choose for the entertainment of ourselves andour friends, " said George, "but I cannot allow you to send any thingto a publisher, "

Sally saw he was in earnest, and at last yielded the point, tellingMary in confidence that "she never saw any one in her life she fearedas she did Esquire Moreland when he set his foot down!"

And George did seem to have a wonderful influence over her, for asingle look from him would quiet her when in her wildest moods. Inspite of the desire she once expressed of finding her sister, Mrs. Campbell's pride at first shrank from acknowledging a relationshipbetween herself and Sally Furbush, but the fact that George Morelandbrought her to his home, treating her in every respect as his equal, and always introducing her to his fashionable friends as his aunt, gradually reconciled her to the matter, and she herself became at lastvery attentive to her, frequently urging her to spend a part of thetime with her. But Sal always refused, saying that "for the sake ofher niece she must be very particular in the choice of herassociates!"

True to her promise, on Mary's twenty-first birth-day, Mrs Campbellmade over to her one fourth of her property, and Mary, remembering herintentions towards William Bender, immediately offered him one half ofit. But he declined accepting it, saying that his profession wassufficient to support both himself and Jenny, for in a few weeksJenny, whose father had returned from California, was coming, andalready a neat little cottage, a mile from, the city, was beingprepared for her reception. Mary did not urge the matter, but many anarticle of furniture more costly than William was able to purchasefound its way into the cottage, which with its overhanging vines, climbing roses, and profusion of flowers, seemed just the home forJenny Lincoln. 

And when the flowers were in full bloom, when the birds sung amid thetrees, and the summer sky was bright and blue, Jenny came to thecottage, a joyous, loving bride, believing her own husband the best inthe world, and wondering if there was ever any one as happy asherself. And Jenny was very happy. Blithe as a bee she flitted aboutthe house and garden, and if in the morning a tear glistened in herlaughing eyes as William bade her adieu, it was quickly dried, and allday long she busied herself in her household matters, studying someagreeable surprise for her husband, and trying for his sake to be veryneat and orderly. Then when the clock pointed the hour for his return, she would station herself at the gate, and William, as he kissed themoisture from her rosy cheek, thought her a perfect enigma to weepwhen he went away, and weep when he came home. 

There was no place which Ella loved so well to visit, of where sheseemed so happy, as at the "Cottage, " and as she was of but little useat home, she frequently spent whole weeks with Jenny, becominggradually more cheerful, --more like herself, but always insisting thatshe should never be married. 

The spring following Mary's removal to Boston, Mrs. Mason came down tothe city to live with her adopted daughter, greatly to the delight ofAunt Martha, whose home was lonelier than it was wont to be, forGeorge was gone, and Ida too had recently been married to Mr. Elwood, and removed to Lexington, Kentucky. 

And now a glance at Chicopee, and our story is done. Mr. Lincoln'sCalifornia adventure had been a successful one, and not long after hisreturn he received from George Moreland a conveyance of the farm, which, under Mr. Parker's efficient management, was in a high state ofcultivation. Among the inmates of the poor-house but few changes havetaken place. Miss Grundy, who continues at the helm, has grownsomewhat older and crosser; while Uncle Peter labors industriously athis new fiddle, the gift of Mary, who is still remembered with muchaffection. 

Lydia Knight, now a young lady of sixteen, is a pupil at MountHolyoke, and Mrs. Perkins, after wondering and wondering where themoney came from, has finally concluded that "some of _George's folks_must have sent it!"

THE END. 

NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS, RECENTLY ISSUED BY THE PUBLISHER

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