THE LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MAKGAKET: A STOBY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME, BY LYNDON. FIFTH THOUSAND. NEW YORK : CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO, 1868. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by CHAKLES SCRIBNER & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. THE TROW t SMITH BOOK MANVFACTUK1KO COXPA 46, 43, 50 Greene Street, N. Y P6 WHATEVER IS GOOD IN MY BOOK I DEDICATE TO THE MEMOET MY MOTHER. 1318680 MARGARET CHAPTER L She hath no scorn of common things ; And, though she seem of other birth, Round us her heart entwines and clings, And patiently she folds her wings, To tread the humbler paths of earth. LOWELL. " I SAY, Aunt Margaret, why don't you tell us the story you promised to, about that lamp that did such queer things ? " " If your aunt ever gets through gazing out of the win dow, I should be glad to hear the paper read." " Oh, dear, that's always the way ; Jack and I never want to hear a story, but what somebody wants something. It's meaner than any thing" and George kicked his heels harder than ever against the wall, as he lay on the floor with his legs at right angles with his body. There was little in the scene upon which Margaret Crosby had been looking out for the last half hour, with her elbow on the window-sill, and her chin in her hand, to at tract and interest one. Even when brightened by sunshine and green trees, and grass and waving grain, it was monoto nous ; but now, in the deepening twilight of a dull clay, late in October, when fields, woods, and sky all wore a cold, gray hue, it was fairly desolate ; and Margaret's face had a dreary look. It was evident that the scene was in keeping with her mood. But the gloom was banished when she heard her father's voice ; and she rose quickly from the window. {( It is a shame, father, that I have kept you waiting all 6 MAEGABET : this time ; but I got mto a web of tangled thoughts, and there is no telling when I should have come out of it, if you had not spoken." "Your tangled webs are more interesting to yourself than to others, Margaret," said her sister Fanny, from her easy-chair by the fire. " You might be a little more consid erate, I think, and not sit speechless an hour together, when we are so entirely dependent upon each other." " It was rather hard, I confess, Fanny, for me to deprive you, for so long, of my wit and wisdom ; but when a body comes suddenly upon her thirtieth birth-day, how can she help a few meditations upon her great antiquity? " " How disagreeable you are, Margaret ! That is the second time to-day that you have harped upon your age. Do choose some other topic ! " "I suppose I may wait till to-morrow, and read the paper myself," said her father, fretfully. " You shan't wait another minute, father. Georgie, you just run up-stairs and bring the Gazette from my bureau, while I light the candle and coax the fire a bit." But George only muttered something about Jack's going, and about stories and promises. Margaret's " Oh, Georgie ! " brought his feet down from their protracted elevation ; but before he had edged him self away from the wall, rolled over and slowly regained, first his hands and knees, and then his feet, the candle stood on the little table between the lounge, where Mr. Crosby lay, and Fanny's easy-chair, the fire was blazing, and Mar garet had brought the paper herself. Just then the kitchen- door opened, and a man in his shirt-sleeves, with an old felt- hat on his head, appeared. " I say, Miss Crosby, be you through with that 'ere news paper ? coz, if you be, I'd like ter borry it a spell." " No, Jotham, I am just going to read it to my father. When I am through with it, I will let Jack bring it to you in the kitchen." " Oh, if you're agoin' ter read it out, I don't mind sittin' A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 7 down an' listenin'. It's a mighty sight easier ter hear readin' nor ter read yerself." Margaret's face flushed a little, but she made no objection to this addition to her audience, having learned wisdom by sorry experience. Fanny gave an impatient hitcli to her chair as Jotham, the man-of-all-work on the farm, seated himself near the fire, comfortably tilting himself back against the wall ; but the reading proceeded. It was worth while to hear even a stupid country gazette read in such clear, ringing tones, and George and Jack came and stood by their aunt, George with an arm around her neck. " Wai, now, that there Congress be a great institution, I should say. Ef I bed my way, I'd hang 'em all up high an' dry. The States 'ud be better off" for it." " It's wicked for you to talk like that, Jotham," said George, indignantly ; " Aunt Margaret says we should re spect the Government, and when I'm a man I'll fight for it, if I have a chance." " I say, Mr. Crosby," said Jotham, coming down on the four legs of his chair, as Mr. Crosby got feebly up from the lounge, signifying to Margaret that he was going to bed ; " them fields where the wheat an' oats was is all ploughed, an' what ther's left I kin do easy in four or five days, an' I want to take the bosses and plough for Tim Simkins to-morra' to pay fer a good turn he done me last year. I s'pose you ha'n't got no objections." " Margaret, can't you manage such little affairs, when you know how i'eeble I am ? " said her father, reproachfully. " I do think you might save my nerves a little more than you do." "I had no idea, father, that Jotham was going to speak to you about this. I think, Jotham, that you had better finish our own ploughing first, and then, if you have a day's leisure, you can plough for Mr. Simpkins." " Oh, wal, if you object to obleegin' a feller like that, I'll clear out. Ther's plenty of folks as a'n't so sot up as all that 8 MAEGAEET : comes to," and my lord Jotham stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Mr. Crosby made a despairing motion with his hands, as if utterly hopeless of any thing but trouble. " If you could only learn to be a little more politic, Margaret. What are we to do now ? We can't get another man, far or near. I suppose I shall have to go to work. I could dig and plough a few days, and then drop into my grave, and there would be one less care for you." Margaret was evidently used to such mournful states of mind, for she only stroked his hair softly, assuring him that no trouble should come of this, and she should laugh to see her dear father with a spade or a plough. "I must say, Margaret," said Fanny, "I think things have come to a pretty pass, if you will let that man have the horses for a whole day, to work for some of his low lived cronies, and I am deprived for days together of a drive, when my health demands fresh air ; you know I am not able to walk." " I do know it, Fanny, and I only wish I could see you enjoying every possible comfort that you require. But one needs an extra allowance of wisdom to manage the queer men and maids about here. I think I shall prove equal to this emergency, having learned something from our experi ence with Nancy and Harriet and the rest. I wonder what our next specimen will prove ? for I suppose we must try again, though I wish we might be spared." " It's very well for you to prefer to do without a servant, who are well and strong. I can't expect you to appreciate the trial it is to me," said Fanny. " Why, mother," said George, " it was your fault that Harriet went away ; you made such a fuss about her coming to the table with us, and she wouldn't stay unless she could." " Well, that is something I never will submit to ! It is too much to ask. When another servant comes, I wish it distinctly understood that I shall have my meals by myself." Margaret sighed, as she left the room to see if her father A 6TOEY OF LIFE IN A PBAIBIE HOME. 9 needed her. When she came back, the boys clamored for their story, and she readily began : " Well, once upon a time " " Now, Margaret, you are not going to tell another of those silly stories ? If you are, I shall have to go up-stairs, and read in the cold." " Mother," said George, " I just think you are too bad. You've been reading that old novel all day, and no\v you make a fuss about our hearing a little story." Mrs. Sinclair deigned no reply, and Margaret said, " Well, my dears, we'll go up-stairs, and after you are snugly in bed, I'll tell about the lamp; then you can drop to sleep and dream about the genii and things." So the boys scampered up-stairs, with Margaret after them ; and having read their verses, said their prayers, and buried themselves under the clothes, all but their eager young faces, they were soon absorbed in the adventures of Aladdin ; and before very long, they were fast asleep, with visions of magic dancing through their heads. As Margaret left them, the warm light faded from her eyes, and something of the dreary look came back. But, going to her own little room, she took her Bible to read, saying to herself, " No more retrospection to-night ; I have indulged too much already. But these way-marks what reminders they are." She read on for a time, trying to take the words of wisdom and good cheer home to her tired heart ; but the spell of the past was strong upon her, and gradually the hand holding the book dropped into her lap, and her thoughts were far away. Margaret's life in the days to Avhich her thoughts flew back was not like the pr homely and matter-of-fact. She almost doubted her own identity in the pictures that thronged before her. Their home then was one of comfort and elegance, and their mother was its genius the embodiment of love, purity, gentleness, and wisdom ; seeming ever, by a touch here and a word or a look there, to smooth the wrinkles of every-day life, to draw out the good, and disclose a bright side to every cloud. 1* 10 MARGARET : The light faded out of their home when Margaret was thirteen and Fanny fifteen. Their mother died, leaving them to the care of an aunt, their father's sister, who thought nothing too good for the beautiful Fanny, and no sacrifices too great for Margaret to make for her ; thus fostering the selfishness, Fanny's besetting sin, which their mother had striven earnestly to eradicate, until she seemed to care for nothing but herself. As they grew older, Fanny devoted herself to society ; and as Margaret cared little for it, but found her enjoyment in books and music, the sisters were nearly as much apart as if they had had separate homes. Margaret formed few friend ships ; and as her father was absorbed in business, and a man of few words, she often felt utterly alone. But there came a time when every craving of her warm heart for love and sympathy was satisfied. Robert Russell was a man whom any woman might be proud to love strong arid manly, yet gentle, earnest, true, and wise, with high aims and standards for himself, unfail ing charity for others, and a power to love that a life time only could exhaust. Margaret rested on his strong heart, grew radiant in the sunshine of his affection, and was happy, as such natures only can be, for one short year. Then came a cloud, no bigger than a woman's hand, but it spread and spread, and grew blacker, until it covered Mar garet's sky, and Robert Russell's as well. One day, the memory of which filled Margaret with unspeakable pain, as she sat in her little room, a letter of farewell came to her, and when it came, the writer was two days on his way to China. Margaret's faith in Robert Russell survived the agony of that time, though she would not harbor the sus picion that pressed upon her as a solution of the mystery. In a few months after, her sister Fanny was married to George Sinclair, and in three years she was left a widow, with two boys, and little besides for her husband, though kind and worthy, was unsuccessful ; and when, soon after his death, Mr. Crosby failed, they all moved to a western A 8TOEY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 11 farm, where they had spent five years when our story opens five tedious, dull, unprofitable years to Fanny ; five com plaining, repining years to Mr. Crosby; and five years of cheerful toil and care, of self-discipline, and growth in every womanly and Christian grace, to Margaret. " I don't think I have utterly failed in drawing the sweet from the bitter," she thought, as she opened the Bible again ; " but if it had not been for the great and precious truths and promises of this dear book, what should I have done ? They have never failed me ; and to-night, notwithstanding my backward look, I feel stronger for the rest of the race." CHAPTER H. Our eyes see all around, in gloom or glow, Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart. KEBLB. THE next morning, almost with the dawn, Margaret was busy in her neat little kitchen ; and the quickness and ease with which she accomplished her homely tasks would have charmed a looker-on. It might even have seemed that skim ming milk, and making bread, and getting breakfast, were her favorite occupations, for her gray eyes were clear and bright, and there was a certain little air of eagerness in the care she bestowed upon one thing after the other ; not so much as if she were in a hurry to see it disposed of, as that she was intent upon doing it as nicely and perfectly as pos sible. As she worked, she sung sweet snatches of her songs of long ago. Her dress was the plainest calico, and a checked apron reached nearly to her feet ; but she wore a fresh linen collar, and her dark hair, for its beauty and the tastefulness of its arrangement, would have adorned a drawing-room. In fact, through all Margaret did, and all she wore, shone the name less grace and refinement that no untoward circumstances could conceal. " Good morning, Jotham," she said, as that individual appeared with his milk-pails. " Mornin'," was his gracious response. Margaret went to the pantry, and brought the shining pans for Jotham to strain the milk into, and as she arranged them on the table, she said : " There is something I should like to have you do for me to-day, if you can manage it." " I guess I ha'n't much more managin to do here," he muttered ; " folks as asks favors the hull time an' never grants none, a'n't the kind o' folks fer me." "You know," said Margaret, nothing daunted by his ill- A STORY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE DOME. 13 nature, "I have been wishing for a month past to go and see Mrs. Johnson, down on Prairie, but I haven't liked to take the horses from the ploughing ; it seemed so necessary that it should be done before the heavy rains come." " Wai, so it is, I s'pose," said Jotham, taking off his hat and scratching his head. " Mrs. Johnson's son told me last week that his mother was worse than ever with the rheumatism, and this morning, when I found it was so bright, I thought we'd all take a half holiday, and do several things go to see Mrs. Johnson, and take some of my crab-apple jam to your mother; you know she was here when I was making it." " She thought it was mighty good, too." " We'll take the boys, and I know my father and Mrs. Sinclair will like to go ; that is, if you think you can spare the time." There was a queer expression of mingled suspicion and sheepishness in Jotham's lanky face, as he looked slyly into Margaret's, but as that gave no sign of " wanting to take him in," as he expressed it mentally, he replied, " I shouldn't much wonder ef I could git that ar patch down by the sheep- lot ploughed this forenoon ef I worked pretty smart, an' I guess this week ull finish up the hull on't. Wai, yes, ef you say so, I'll tackle up the team arter dinner, an' go to Miss John son's." Jotham bolted from the kitchen, and Margaret, with a merry smile on her face, proceeded \vith her preparations for breakfast. " Just in time, my dears," she said, as the sitting-room door burst open and the two boys rushed in, each clamoring for the first kiss. " You got the first yesterday morning, too, George," cried Jack, as he received a hearty one from his aunt, and gave as hearty a one in return. " Good reason why ; I'm the smartest. I hurry up most, and get dressed first," answered George, as he went hopping about the kitchen on one foot, holding the other up with his hand. 14 MAKGAKET I " Oh, George, what a fib ! Aunt Margaret, after I was all dressed, and had my hair brushed, he put me into bed again, and then started to run; but I got here 'most as soon." " Yes, so you did. ISTow, Georgie, put both your feet on the floor, take this dish in both your hands and put it on the breakfast-table ; Jack, you carry this." " Aunty, grandpa says, why don't we have breakfast ? " said George, coming back. " Here, I'll carry the coffee in." " No, no, Georgie," said his aunt. But she was too late ; the handle was hot, and he dropped it as suddenly as he had taken hold of it. The boys stood aghast, and Margaret in dismay and vexation, to see the boiling-hot, fragrant liquid spilled over the floor. " Oh, George ! how could you do such a careless thing ? " " Oh, aunty, I'm sorry I'm just as sorry as ever I can be." " "Well, never mind, dear ; only don't undertake such am bitious things another time. The water is boiling, and I can make more in a few minutes." " Can't I wipe it up, aunty ? " asked George, in a sub dued manner, not knowing but that might come under the head of " ambitious things." Margaret would have preferred to send him into the other room, but he looked so penitent and downcast that she gave him a kiss of forgiveness which sunk deep into his boyish heart, telling him to get the cleaning-pail and cloth, and see what he could do. Jack wanted to help, but George would not let him. He " sopped " up the coffee and wrung out the cloth a great many times, until the floor was very dry, and until he was quite out of breath with his exertions. Then his aunt told him to wash his hands, for the new coffee was made, and breakfast was all ready. At the table Margaret made known the little compromise she had effected with Jotham for a ride, instead of a day's ploughing for Tim Simpkins, to the intense delight of the boys, and the subdued satisfaction of Mr. Crosby. A 8TOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 15 " Nothing could induce me to go on such an expedition," Fanny declared. " Oh, Fanny, you can't mean that you will not go ? I thought it would be such a pleasant little change for you. I am sure you would enjoy it, the day is so bright and bra cing," pleaded Margaret. " I am not so anxious for a drive, much as I need it, as to be willing to go in a farm-wagon, with half a dozen people." " That need hardly be an objection, one would think, if the half dozen people are your father and children and sis ter," said Margaret, coldly. "It would be an objection if it were so many editions of myself," answered Fanny; "my nerves wouldn't bear it. Besides, I am not anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of Granny Johnson and her tribe." Mr. Crosby saAV that Margaret looked disappointed and discouraged, and said, " I think you had better go, Fanny." " It is useless to urge it, father ; it would lay me on my back for a week." " I know it would lay me on my back for a week if I couldn't go," said George ; " wouldn't it you, Jack ? " Jack assented with emphasis. Margaret was tempted to say " we'll give it all up," she felt so disheartened in her efforts to let a little sunshine into their daily round, and so impatient with her sister's selfish ness ; but she forced herself to say, cheerfully, " Well, I am sorry my plan does not please you, Fanny ; but I think the boys will enjoy it, and it may do father good." "IIuiTah for Auut Margaret, say I!" cried George; " she knows what's good for boys and grandfathers." Margaret shook her head, but George could not be sup pressed, with such a prospect before him. " I say, Jack, don't you remember that old woman that looked just like old Mother llubbard in the books, and how mad she got 'cause I said, ' Mother llubbard, why don't you give your poor dog a bone ? ' "' 16 MARGAEET I " Yes," cried Jack ; " and the poor dog looked as if he never saw any bones " "Except his own and Mother Hubbard's," interposed George ; " if I'd been him, I'd have picked hers for not giv ing me any better ones ; " and the boys shouted beyond con trol at their own wit, until their mother retreated to save her nerves. Margaret waited till they had spent some of their wild spirits, before she attempted to show them how thoughtless they had been in talking so lightly of an old woman, and how careless of their mother's comfort and the respect they owed her. She disliked noise so much, and it would be so much more manly for them to be gentle and considerate for her. Margaret wondered how she could have lost patience with Fanny herself, as she talked to the boys of her poor health, and her having so little to make lite attractive with that drawback. The forenoon was a busy one ; for, besides the several dainties that Margaret conjured out of small materials, to be left at several doors on the road, with a kind word to add to their sweetness, there were the usual household duties, and little cares for her father and sister ; and then the boys' les sons could not be omitted. What firmness and patience were needed to bring their attention down to such drudgery! Margaret's head ached with the effort, but she did not tell them so. Her checks and admonitions were all for their good, and so that their lessons were learned and they were tolerably quiet and good-natured, she cared little for her own discomfort. At last the happy moment arrived, and, having dashed back to kiss their mother, as she sat by the fire with her book, the boys mounted beside Jotham in his "Sunday-go- to-meetin's," Margaret and her father behind, and they start ed off. Margaret resolutely put from her all troublesome thoughts, and, exhilarated by the sunshine and the keen air, she chatted gayly with the boys ; and even succeeded in mak ing her father forget to shiver and look melancholy ; and after they had stopped at Mrs. Johnson's, he would even A STOEY OF LIFE IN A PKAIEIE HOME. 17 have confessed, if he had been asked his opinion, that she en dured probahly more bodily pain than he. But then, some people were born to those things, and he did not allow that he was. When they stopped at " Mother Hubbard's," where Mar garet left something from her basket of goodies, George and Jack jumped down, and patted the dog, giving him some bread and meat from a private supply of their own ; but they did not laugh when the dog's queer little owner came hobbling out to welcome Margaret. A little while before sunset, as they were on their way home by a different road from the one they came, Jotham exclaimed suddenly, " Hello ! what's that ? " They all listened, and heard plainly the cries of some thing in distress, whether human or not was yet uncertain. " What can it be ? " said Margaret. " The sound must come from that little shanty further on. Yes, don't you hear it more distinctly, as we come nearer? " "You had better turn down this road, Jotham," said Mr. Crosby, " and drive on as fast as you can ; it's a very suspi cious-looking place, and very lonely." " Oh, father, no. We must not go on, and leave any thing suffering so. It is a child ; don't you hear its cries ? Stop at the door, Jotham." So Jotham stopped, and Margaret, without a moment's hesitation, only heeding her father's warnings, so far as to assure him that there was nothing to fear, got out of the wagon and knocked at the door of the little tumble-down house. No one answered, so she opened it and went in. The cries grew less and less until they ceased, and for some fifteen minutes Mr. Crosby and Jotham watched the small, dingy window, through which they could see a bit of Margaret's shawl. As the door was open a crack, they could hear the clear tones of her voice, as she talked to the inmates, whoever they might be, and their gruff answers. By-and-by the door opened wide, and Margaret came out, leading a forlorn specimen of black humanity by the hand. 18 MAKGAKET '. The two forlorn specimens of white humanity that she left behind, a man and woman with sullen faces, made no response to her pleasant good-by, but stood stolidly looking on, while their victim was bestowed on the floor in the back of the wagon. Then, as they drove away, Margaret explained to her astonished companions that the miserable object she had rescued was a girl of some ten or eleven years, and that she was going to take her home and make a " help " of her. Jotham gave a low whistle, and the boys leaned this way and that, to gain a glimpse of " little nig." "Why, Margaret, what folly!" exclaimed her father. " You surely have taken leave of your senses. She looks more like an ape than a human being." " No she doesn't, father ; she has bright, intelligent eyes, and, if I am not much mistaken, she has quick wits and a warm heart. But if she proves nothing but a trouble, there was no help for it. I could not leave her to the cruelties of those creatures. I wonder how they happened to settle here. They are an undesirable acquisition to the neighbor hood." When they reached home, Margaret's "help," who seemed to have been gathering her courage and spirits during the ride that took her farther and farther from her persecutors, scrambled from the wagon with the agility of a monkey, and, almost before the horses had stopped, stood leaning against the gate-post, with her hands behind her her white teeth and her eyes gleaming, as she waited for the others to descend. The boys were down first, and looked at her much as if she had been a wild animal, while she twisted herself about, dug her bare toes into the dust, and thrust her tongue from side to side. " What's your name ? " asked George " Miss Linkum," she answered promptly. The boys laughed loudly, and were joined in their mirth by Margaret. " Who gave you that name, child ? " A STOBY OF LIFE IN A PRAIBIE HOME. 19 " Dunno ; reckon my dad did," she replied, following on as they walked towards the house, still with her hands be hind her, and with many contortions of body that greatly edified the boys. " Who made you ? " asked George, curious to know how far her religious education had progressed. " Specks Massa Linkum did ; he made mos' all de brack folks." The boys were too much horrified at such heterodoxy to laugh, and by this time they had reached the house. Mar garet did not care to shock her sister's nerves by introducing her contraband too suddenly, so she took her around to the kitchen-door, bidding the children go and tell their mother about the drive. " Can you make a fire, Miss Linkum ? " asked Margaret, as she laid her hat and shawl on the kitchen-table, and went to the wood-box by the stove. With a queer little chuckle and an " I reck'n," taking the wood and shavings from Margaret's hands, she placed them lightly together in the stove, and then dropping on her hands and knees, blew the embers that had been covered up in the ashes into a flame, and having put on more wood and shut the stove-door, stood with her hands behind her, showing all her teeth as she looked into Margaret's smiling face. " How long have you lived with those people, child ? " asked Margaret. " Dunno," she answered, dropping all in a heap on the floor. " 'Pears like it was 'mos' forty years." " Well, poor child, you shall never go back to them, if you would like to live here, and let me teach you to be good and useful. Would you ? " "Reck'n should, Missus;" and the black face fairly shone with satisfaction. Fanny's amazement at such folly on Margaret's part knew no bounds. " I didn't suppose that evecr you, Margaret, could do any thing so Quixotic. But pray keep her out of my sight. I shall live hi constant terror. And one thing, 20 MARGAEET. Margaret she must not sleep up-stairs ; I never should be able to close my eyes." So Margaret made her a bedroom out of a closet opening from the kitchen. It seemed like a small paradise to Miss Linkum ; and if she knew that there were such things aa angels, and that they had wings, she would, no doubt, have been greatly surprised to hear that Margaret, her "mag- nicefunt Mistis," had none; and she would have been still more so if she could have known what a warm interest she felt in her ; how she was planning to make her small means meet over a comfortable wardrobe, and how strong her desire was to let the light of life into her benighted little soul. CHAPTER HI. Yet methinks You might have made this widowed solitude A holy rest, a spell of soft gray weather Beneath whose fragrant dews all tender thoughts Might bud and burgeon. KIXGSLET. " CHLOE ! Chloe ! where are you ? " shouted George one morning, about two weeks after the advent of the individual at the farm first known as Miss Linkum, and now as Chloe. " Chloe ! Chloe ! what are you at ? why don't you come when you are called ? " " Why, here I is, Massa George ; don't you see me ? I'se been sweepin' yere all dis time," answered Chloe, briskly, as George came around the corner of the house, and found her sweeping away with all her might at the clean flagging in front of the kitchen-door. "You little scamp, why didn't you answer me before, making me split my lungs shouting at you, and you hearing all the time ! " " Oh, I nebber did hear you, Massa George. I nebber know'd you called me, nebber ; an' dat's de trufe ; " and Chloe shook her head solemnly. " You tell awful stories, Chloe. Aunt Margaret will shut you up again, if you don't look out. Come along ; mother wants you." Chloe dropped her broom and darted into the house, leav ing George to follow at his leisure. " Where have you been all this time, Chloe ? " asked Margaret, who was hearing Jack say his history-lesson. " I'se done been sweepin' an' clarin' up, an' been huntin' eggs in all the nesses, an' " " I told you not to hunt for eggs any more, Chloe." " Oh, laus, I done forgot, Miss Marg'et. I'll nebber go near dem nesses agin, nebber ; an' dat's de trufe." 22 MARGAKET : " Well, be sure that you don't, unless I send you. Now, go up to Mrs. Sinclair." " Oh ! what's that, Aunty ? " cried Jack, seizing hold of Chloe's right arm, and pointing to a big round lump under her left. " It's plain enough to see what she's been doing." " Come to me, Chloe," said Margaret, " and let me see what you have in your dress." " Oh, Miss Marg'et, it an't nuffin 'tan't only a awful crack I gin my shin when I was workin', an' it all swelled up ; but it don't hurt none," she added, eluding Margaret's hand, and jamming herself against the wall. Margaret rose, and led Chloe out of the room, much to the disgust of the boys, who were anxious to see the fun. " Oh, you hurt me so, Miss Marg'et it's so sore ! " cried Chloe, as Margaret proceeded to examine the lump in her side. " Take the apple out, Chloe." '"Tan't a apple, Miss Marg'et; 'tan't nuffin 'fall, an' dat's de trufe," declared Chloe, looking straight into Mar garet's eyes. " Chloe, mind me at once, and take the apple from your dress." Without further parley, Chloe stuck her hand into the waist of her dress, and produced a fine pippin, one of a half dozen from a graft that bore for the first time that year ; and she thereupon burst into a loud, dolorous cry. " Chloe, stop crying, and tell me if you took any but this. Tell me the truth." " I declar' I didn't, Miss Marg'et. Dis one jes' failed off of de closet shef right onto my head, an' I picked um up an' was jes' agoin' to gib um to you, an' dat's de trufe." " I'm very much afraid that it isn't the truth, Chloe ; but I shall find out all about it ; and remember, I sha'n't pass it by if you have told me a lie. I must do something to make you feel that lies are dreadfully wicked. Mrs. Sinclair has been waiting for you a long time. You can tell her that I kept you." A STOBY OF LITE m A PRAIRIE HOME. 23 Only two apples remained on the shelf where Margaret had put them for safe keeping, and she decided to try the effect of close confinement on Chloe for the whole of the next day. Chloe had shown no lack of ability to learn, and to do well whatever she was set about. She was really a great help to Margaret in many ways. She could churn, sweep, set the table, and wash the dishes quickly and nicely, if nothing more entertaining claimed her attention ; but every thing that went on out of doors seemed to demand her personal supervision. If she happened to be alone, and so much as a dog passed the window, or a wagon went by in the road, down would go dish-towel and dish on the floor, or the stove- hearth, or where not, and out of the door she would dash, either to give chase to the dog, or to perch herself on the gate-post, where she would sit drumming with her heels, and singing bits of plantation-songs, until re at table, the conversation was confined to Mar garet and the boys, but to-day Fanny was bright and anima ted ; and while Margaret deprecated the silly, weak vanity displayed by her sister, she was really glad to see her drawn out of her languor, even by Mr. Skinner. Margaret was not a little amazed when, rising from the table, that gentleman, with considerable shuffling and several particularly loud coughs, signified to her that he wished to see her alone for a brief season, as he had a few words to say to her that it would be well to say in private. Fanny looked very curious, as Margaret, secretly annoyed at being detained when she wanted to see about George, who had not come iii yet, replied that she would have to ask him into the kitchen, and led the way. Mr. Skinner stared around the comfortable place, seeing, through the open pantry-door, hints of good things for the outer man, that seemed to encourage the inner, for he coughed, and began : " Sister Crosby, I have been a-feeling for some time past that my usefulness to my fellow-creaturs would be inhanced if I had a helpmeet and a settled habitation." He stopped to cough, and then continued. " It is a arduous post, but I am sure you could fill it ; and having such a opportunity to take a post of usefulness, you couldn't fail to embrace it." Margaret managed to quell a merry laugh that almost would come,, and answered with a tolerably steady voice, " No, Mr. Skinner, I can't embrace this opportunity. I don't see that it would add to my usefulness to take the post you refer to." Mr. Skinner had clasped his hands together, and stood with mouth and eyes opened wide in astonishment, when Chloe burst into the kitchen. " Oh, Miss Marg'et, it's dre'fful ! oh, laus, an't it, though ! " and she broke into a dismal cry. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 29 " Ohio 3, what is it ? " said Margaret, catching her arm. " Where is George ? " " Oh, laus, he's done been t'rown off de boss, an' he's 'raos' dead. Oh ! " " Where _is he, Chloe? tell me, quick!" said Margaret, her face perfectly colorless. " Down in de field, by de corn-crib ; " and Margar-et Availed to hear no more, but sped across the yard and across the fields, Chloe after her. Before reaching the place, she was agonized by hearing moans of pain. " Georgie," she called, " where are you, darling ? " " Here, Aunty," answered a feeble voice ; and down close by the corn-crib lay poor George, his face drawn with pain, and pale as death. Margaret bent over him tenderly, and laid her hand on his head. " My poor child, what is it ? Where are you hurt ? " " I guess it ain't much, Aunty ; but I can't move my arm.'* " Well, my love, don't try to move it. Jotham is com ing, and he will carry you home." A little way from them stood Mr. Skinner's lean, hungry- looking horse, now nibbling at the withered grass, and again casting baffled glances at the yellow corn shining through the cracks in the crib. Margaret understood it all, and smiled in the midst of her great anxiety for George. Jotham raised him in his strong arms, and Margaret walked by his side, holding the well hand in hers. Chloe, seeing that she was unnoticed, seized the bridle of the hungry animal, and dragged him after her up to the house. When Fanny saw George in Jotham's arms, pale and suffering, she fell into violent hysterics, obliging her father and Jack to devote themselves to her for Margaret would not leave her charge while Jotham mounted the lean horse and rode at his utmost speed for the doctor, who lived three miles away, leaving Mr. Skinner to nurse his knees as lie watched the gradual recovery of Mrs. Sinclair, and listened 30 MAEGAEET. to George's moans, who lay in his little bed up-stairs, tended by his aunt. In an hour Jotham came back with the sorry tidings that .the doctor was away from home, and would not be home till midnight. Mr. Skinner, with great alacrity, climbed upon his horse and rode away, and Margaret quietly gave Jotham minute directions with regard to splinters, and got bandages ready. George's arm was broken, she had dis covered, just above the wrist, and she would not run the risk of leaving it till the doctor could come. She understood the anatomy of the arm, and felt that she could set the broken bone. George trusted her more implicitly than he would have trusted the doctor, and bore the pain like a man. Margaret bore her pain like a tender, strong-hearted woman, only having to go to the window for air when the arm was all bound up, and the poor boy lying pale, but quiet, with a dim impression that an angel was taking care of him ; and in the morning, when the doctor came, he declared that he could not have done better himself. CHAPTER IV. O my beloved ! Art them so near unto me, And yet I cannot behold thee ? LONGFELLOW. " I AM glad the sun shines," thought Margaret, one Sun day morning, as she stood at the door, looking out. There had been a light fall of snow during the night, that still covered the brown fields with a mantle of glittering whiteness, and rested in soft ridges on the branches of trees and the tops of the fences, and a sky of cloudless blue smiled over all. The air was keen and frosty, making Margaret's cheeks glow ; and the sunshine crept into her heart, and shone out through her eyes. " 01), Aunt Margaret, isn't this a jolly day ? " said George, rushing by her, and taking a slide down the snow-covered walk, then coming back with his collar and neck-ribbon, and a handkerchief to make into a sling for his arm. " I don't think jolly is a very nice word to apply to Sun day ; do you ? " " Well, maybe it isn't ; but don't you call this a mighty nice day, anyhow ? " " Yes, I do, Georgie ; I've been blessing the sunshine and blue sky, and the beautiful snow, with all my heart, and I'm glad you feel so happy about it, too. What do you think of a ride over to the red school-house this morning, to hear your friend Mr. Thomas preach ? " " Aunty, you don't mean it ! Are we truly, sure enough, going?" " "Truly, and sure enough, Georgie. I didn't say any thing about it last night, it seemed so likely to storm to-day. I didn't want to disappoint you and Jack ; but Mr. Thomas saw Jotham yesterday when he went to the mill, and told him that he was going to preach to-day, and hoped we could all go." 32 MAEGABET : " It's perfectly splendid ! " cried George. " I never was so glad of a thing in all iny life. Ain't it as much as three miles there ? Are we coming home at noon, Aunty ? " " Not unless you are very anxious to ! Mr. Thomas said we must go home with Mrs. Davis to dinner, and go to meet ing again in the afternoon." George gave vent to his delight in various ways, last of all bestowing upon Margaret a violent hug and kiss, and then rushed up-stairs to tell Jack the good news. As Mar garet turned back into the kitchen, she found Chloe sitting on the floor near by, and saw that her attention had been devoted to the plans for the day, while her work had been at a standstill. Chloe threw her apron over her head, and drew it down tight by the corners, as she said, " Ain't I gwine, too, Miss Marg'et ? " " Going where, Chloe ? " " 'Long o' you, and Massa George, and Massa Jack." " We are going to meeting, Chloe. What makes you think you would like to go ? " " I seen ole Missus go times 'nough down in Virginny, an' I'se like to go 'long o' you, Miss Marg'et." " Well, Chloe, I wish you could go ; I should like to take you, and have been trying to think of a way ; but I am afraid you will have to give it up this time. You know Mrs. Sinclair will want her breakfast when she gets up, and you know she and my father must have some luncheon. If you are a good child, you shall go the very next time I do." Chloe went about her work, but with a very dejected air. "Chloe, do you remember the Bible stories I told you last Sunday ? " asked Margaret, as she busied herself about the breakfast. " Dem ones 'bout dat ar kind Massa. dat cured up all de sick folks ? I reckon I does." " Well, to-night, when I get home, we will have some more Stories out of the Bible, and sing hymns, and have a nice time." A STORY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 33 Chloe brightened up very much. " Chloe, bring that bowl of sour cream for the Johnny- cake." " Dere ain't none, Miss Marg'et. I seed Jotham pour dat ar sour cream into de pig's pail." Margaret knew that Chloe had a weakness for " clabber," and did not for a moment credit her statement ; but said nothing, waiting to see if her awakening conscience would move her to tell the truth, as it had done several times of late. She did not wait in vain ; for, after clattering among the pans and dishes on the table a little, and opening and shutting the stove-door violently, as if to drown a voice she did not care to hear, Chloe darted into the pantry, and called out, " Dat ar was a awful lie, Miss Marg'et. I done eat it up. Please to f 'gim'me." " It was very wrong of you to eat the cream, Chloe ; and I'm very sorry you didn't think in time to tell the truth at first. But I am sure you don't mean to tell any more wrong stories. You will soon learn to think before you speak. Of course, I will forgive you, Chloe." Chloe came out of the pantry hanging her head, and feel ing as if she would sooner bite her tongue off than do any thing to vex " Miss Marg'et " again. Margaret tried to persuade her father to go with them, but he dreaded the cold. So she drew the lounge near the fire, and placed a stand by it with such books and papers as she thought he might want, and left careful directions with Chloe about Fanny's breakfast and the lunch. There was nothing that Margaret regretted more in their isolated life than not being near a church. She felt it for herself, and still more for the boys, who needed, she knew, every good influence to outweigh that of the inert, self-indul gent lives of their mother and grandfather. Mr. Thomas's church was at Joncsville, eight miles from the farm, and it was very seldom that they could go so far. Except in the winter months, the horses needed Sunday to rest from their o* 34 MAKGAKET : hard week-days' work, and in winter the roads were almost impassable. Mr. Thomas had been a kind iriend ever since they came to the farm, but he lived too far away to see them often. He was an earnest, cheerful Christian, and had a large, warm heart, with a great deal of practical wisdom. His mind instinctively sought the beautiful in nature and the hopeful in people, and he always strove to let the light in, rather than drive the darkness out. He was a favorite with old and young, and the people for miles around, gathered at the little red school-house on that bright Sabbath morning. The benches were all filled, and children sat on desks placed against the wall, and a few men stood back by the door ; but there was perfect quiet as soon as Mr. Thomas rose in his desk, and gave out the opening hymn, " How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord." There was a little delay, and then a full, clear tenor voice sung the first few notes of the grand old Portuguese Hymn, and all followed. Why did that first strain send such a wild thrill through Margaret's heart ? To other ears the voice was a pleasant one, but to Margaret's it was like the sounding of a reveillb, awakening the music of long ago, and summoning a crowd of memories, of hopes and fears, of happy love, of joys and woes, which came thronging together upon her heart and brain, while she sat spellbound among the singers, seeing nothing but scenes from the past, gleaming and fading, ever chang ing ; hearing, above the voices around her, above the confu sion of sounds, in her own heart, those awakening tones. The hymn ceased, and with the stillness that followed came a hush upon Margaret's wildly-throbbing pulses, and she sat as one in a dream, mechanically bowing her head when the words, " Let us pray," fell vaguely on her ear, un consciously following the words of the earnest prayer, mechan ically raising her head when the "Amen" was uttered. Then she waited, scarcely breathing, while the Scriptures and A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 35 another hymn were read, to catch the first sound of that voice. Again it sent a deep thrill to her heart, but now the memories summoned by the first notes of the sweet re veille no longer crowded upon her in wild confusion. A calm, dreamy sense of a presence crept over her, and never thinking to wonder or question, or feeling in haste to have the sense verified by sight, she heard as from afar off the words of the text : " Thou wilt keep him in" perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." She even felt an answering consciousness as Mr. Thomas dwelt upon the perfect peace that is made the right of every child of God ; upon the per fect faith that brings such peace, and upon the glorious foun dation for such faith; and, though the words sounded remote to her ear, her heart felt their influence, and in the closing prayer and the benediction, mingling with the sense of the presence, came gratitude for the peace that had never for saken her in all her troubles. The spell came over her again when the bustle of moving feet and the subdued hum of voices began, and, as in t dream, she shook hands with one and another, returning kindly greetings, and waited. Again that wild thrill, as the voice reached her, saying : " I must bid you good-by, Mrs. Davis ; I am sorry to go, but I fear there is no help for it." "Are you really going to leave us now?" asked Mr. Thomas, pressing past Margaret with outstretched hand. " I hoped you would at least go to my sister's to dinner." " Thank you, it would give me great pleasure ; but I must take the midnight train from Jonesville, and I shall have but little time, as it is, to see my kind aunt." " Won't you stop on your way back ? " " No " and Margaret lost the rest, except the words, " Good-by, good-by." At these knell-like sounds Margaret turned, and saw a face with dark earnest eyes, lighted up by a smile that seemed to Margaret like a ray of brightest sunshine. An instant, and the face was turned away, and disappeared in 36 MARGARET I the crowd of curious people at the door. A moment more, and horses' hoofs and carriage-wheels sounded on the stonea in front of the school-house, then along the road, and died away in the distance. " Why, Aunty, why don't you speak to Mrs. Davis ? She has asked you twice if you were ready to come home with her," George said, laying his hand on her arm. " O, I didn't hear you ; yes, I am ready to go home. Let us go at once." George looked alarmed. "You don't mean our home, do you, Aunt Margaret? You said we were going to Mrs. Davis's, and she wants us to." Margaret looked at George and at Mrs. Davis, who was perfectly mystified by Margaret's strange manner, and dis tressed at her exceeding paleness. " My dear," she said, gently, " you are not well. Come home with me, and have a -cup of tea, and take a rest, and you will feel better. The room is close and warm." When they reached the house, Mrs. Davis took Margaret up-stairs, and said : " Is there any thing I can do for you, my dear ? I don't know whether it is in your body or your heart that you are ailing, but I know there is a trouble somewhere, and if there is any thing I can do to relieve it, you will tell me ? " " Thank you, there is nothing if you will let me rest a little while." " That you shall do, dear. Dinner isn't ready yet, and even when it is, you needn't come down." And she went out and left Margaret alone with her new, bewildering agony, and with Him Avhose promise of peace excepts no circumstances, has but one condition. When dinner was nearly over, the door opened, and Margaret came in and took her place at the table. She was very pale, and her hair was brushed back from her forehead as if she could not bear its weight ; but the look of pain had left her face, and her smile was not forced, as she said, "I A STORY OF LIFE IN A PBAIRIE HOME. 37 am not to blame for being so late ; you didn't call me, and I heard no bell." " No, of course I didn't call you, and I see I was wise, for you look better for the little rest." " You are a very wise little woman, Jenny," said her brother, " and generally have your wise way ; but you did not succeed in keeping Mr. Russell, for which I am very sorry." "So am I." " And so are the children," added Mr. Davis. " There was a great lamentation among them when they found he had really gone, though he bade them good-by this morn- ing." " Yes," said Mrs. Davis, turning to Margaret ; " he only came last night, and yet he has carried the children's hearts away with him." " Who is Mr. Russell, any way ? " asked George, who had been hearing his praises from the Davis children. " He is a gentleman," said Mr. Thomas, " who went to China some ten years ago and made a great deal of money, and has come home to live in New York and enjoy it. And a great deal of good he does with it." "Well, what has he come 'way out here for, if he lives in New York ? " " He has a sister living in St. Louis, whose husband died very suddenly, and he is going on to settle up his affairs, and take his sister home to New York, if she prefers to leave St. Louis. Is that satisfactory, my boy ? " " You see, Georgie," said Mrs. Davis, " our father and his father lived in New York when we were all children, and we went to school together, and Mr. Thomas and Mr. Russell Avere great friends. So he came a little out of his way to see us." " Well, Aunt Margaret, I'm going to China when I get grown up, wouldn't you? And then, when I've found a lot of money, I'll buy a big house in New York, and we'll be as grand as any thing. Won't that be jolly? " 38 MABGAKET. " Yes, but. by that time I shall be wearing mob-caps and spectacles ; so you must not count on my keeping house for you." " Ho, ho, ho ! as if you could ever get as old as that ! " They all went to meeting again in the afternoon, and no one could have told that Margaret's heart had been so fiercely tried that day that she was still in the " deep waters," and testing to the full the strength of that promise of peace. CHAPTER V. So tired, so tired, my heart and I. MRS. BROWNING. IT was snowing fast when Margaret and the boys re turned home from the little red school-house, and it was nearly dark. " Come into the kitchen, children, and shake the snow off," said Margaret. The kitchen was cold and dark no light and no fire and Margaret felt disappointed ; she had expected better things of Miss Linkum. " Well, Margaret," was Fanny's greeting, as they entered the sitting-room; " I am curious to know what you will say now to the wisdom of taking a little black vagrant into the house, and treating her like a civilized human being." " What do you mean, Fanny ? What has Chloe done ? " " Done ! Something that I think you ought to feel very thankful for; but I suppose you will consider it a great affliction." "You speak in riddles, Fanny. Pray tell me what is the trouble." " Chloe has gone away," said Mr. Crosby, from the sofa. " Gone away ! " cried the boys, in amazement. " Yes, run away," said Fanny ; " and it's my opinion we are well rid of her, though I should like to know that she didn't carry any thing away with her. To think how I let her brush my hair and be in my room so much the little ingrate ! " " How do you know she has run away ? When did you miss her first ? " asked Margaret. " She went soon after noon," said Mr. Crosby. " Yes," said Fanny ; " she got my breakfast when I woke, and I must say it was quite nice, considering ; and when I 40 MAKGAKET : got up, she laced my boots and did my hair ; but when I was through with her, she hung round my chair, asking me questions that I didn't half understand, about how ' Miss Marg'et found out dem t'ings ' about something or other, I don't know what ; and when I told her I couldn't be trou bled with her, she asked if you would be gone much longer. I suppose she wanted to find out if she had time enough to get away." " Oh, it was not that, I know," said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. " Well, then she left my room, and by-and-by I heard father calling, and came down to see if any thing was the matter, when he told me that Chloe had just gone off with some persons he had seen prowling around." "Who were they, father? What did they look like?" asked Margaret, anxiously. " I think they were the people you took Chloe from. I got up to take a turn or two across the room, and as I passed the window, I saw two very shabby, ill-looking creatures a man and a woman walking slowly by on the other side of the road, and looking slyly at the house. I didn't pay much attention to them, but pretty soon Chloe came down-stairs and went into the kitchen, and then I heard her singing out in the yard. By-and-by I heard the sound of persons running in the road. I went to the door, and there were that same man and woman, with Chloe between them, making from the house as fast as they could go. I called, and Chloe looked back, but they only ran the faster and that's the last of them." " How could you think the poor child had run away ? " asked Margai'et, the hot tears falling over her pale cheeks. " She has been stolen by those same cruel wretches. Georgie, run out to the barn, and tell Jotham that I want the horses and wagon again right away. Tell him to make haste." " You are insane," said Fanny ; " it is at least four hours since they started." "It is madness, Margaret, in such a storm, and so nearly A STORY OF LIFE IN A PEAIBIE HOME. 41 dark as it is," said her father. " If the child is stolen, I am really sorry for her ; but you cannot find them." Just then there was a great deal of stamping in the kitchen, and a moment after, Jotham's head appeared at the sitting- room door. " What's this about takin' them hosses out agin to-night ? That's somethin' beyend my carkalations. It's snowin' an' blowin' like fits." " It's something very important, Jotham," said Margaret ; "get the wagon as quick as you can, and I'll tell you where I want to go." " Wai, I s'pose ther's no help for't. I'm ready when you be ; " and he shut the door not so very gently, and Margaret put on her things. " I am only going to see if they have taken her back to the old place," she said, in answer to her father's remonstran ces. " I am afraid it is a forlorn hope, but I could not rest without doing that much." It was a forlorn hope, for they found the old shanty de serted, the door partly open and the snow drifting in ; and there was nothing left to show that any thing in the shape of humanity had ever been there, except the miserable straw pallet that lay in one corner ; and Margaret's heart ached for poor Chloe perhaps even then being dragged through the driving storm by her tormentors. The evening passed drearily enough. Mr. Crosby was silent, as usual ; Fanny dozed awhile in her easy-chair, and then went to bed ; the boys were tired and cross, and Mar garet felt more utterly sad, hopeless, and desolate than ever before. The loss of Chloe, strange to say, seemed uppermost. It was a trouble that she could grasp ; it was the certain misery and degradation of one who had aroused her warm, pitiful interest, and whose constant proofs of a loving heart, and quick, bright intelligence, had strengthened that interest every day. The other trouble was bewildering, and was to be realized as her doubly " desolated days " went on. 4:2 MARGAEET : So, as she lay awake nearly the whole of the long night, hearing the wind whistle around the house, and the snow beat against the window, it was of Chloe that she thought most ; and mingling with her pity and anxiety for the poor fugitive, came the question, Why, in going to meet the strange ordeal of that day, need she have left Chloe to such a dreary fate ? When she did sleep, it was to dream wild dreams that were more painful than her waking thoughts. Only once she had a little respite from the terrible dangers, the weary jour neys, the hopeless partings from loved ones, that haunted her sleep. For one blessed moment she felt her mother's arms around her, her head resting on her bosom, and she thought that after the long years of separation they were to part no more. But when she looked into those sweet eyes, and began to recount her sorrows, gradually the lovely, tender face faded from her gaze, the warm encircling arms fell from her, and a shadowy, mist-like form floated away, slowly and sadly, leav ing her alone and desolate again, to listen with wildly-beating heart to wind and storm, and to feel as if she had been per mitted to taste the joys of paradise only to be banished. Morning came at last, and Margaret lay with her eyes fixed languidly on the snowy panes, through which she could see the few flakes that "still wavered down," when there came a loud continuous knocking at her door, and Jack called, " Aunty, why don't you come down ? We're all of us dressed and ready for breakfast, and there ain't any. Oh, are you sick ? " he said, opening the door wider, and coming to her bed. " Why, you are most as pale as the pillow-case, Aunt Margaret. Are you very sick ? " " No, not very," she answered, in a voice BO low and weak that Jack hardly knew it, " but I don't feel strong enough to get up this morning. lias Bridget come ? " " Yes, Aunty ; she's been here a good while, I guess." <; Has Jotham made the fires ? " " Yes, Aunty." A STORY OF LIFE IN A PEAIEIE HOME. 43 " Well, Jacky, tell Bridget that I am not very well, and ask her to get the breakfast ; and you show her where the things are. You and Georgie can set the table." " Well, we will, but I should like to do something for you," Jack replied wistfully. " That will be for me, dear," and Margaret turned away, as if too weary to say more. Jack went softly down-stairs to tell his grandfather and George and Bridget how sick his Aunt Margaret was, how white and weak. George started for the stairs, and Mr. Crosby followed slowly, thinking how much trouble he had. Jack ran to ask George not to make such a noise, for if Aunt Margaret's head ached, he would make it worse ; so George went into the room on tiptoe. She opened her eyes and smiled as her father and George came to her bedside, and looked anxiously at her ; but she did not speak. Mr. Crosby felt her pulse, and laid his hand on her forehead. " You have no fever, child. Does your head ache ? Is your throat sore ? " " No, father, I am only tired ; I shall be rested by-and-by." " Why, couldn't you get rested in a whole night ? " asked George, in surprise. " I was most tired to death last night, but now I ain't the least bit." " I shall have Bridget make you a cup of tea, child ; that will refresh you," said her father. "I'll make it myself; I know how," said George; and down he went, confiding to Jotham, who was in the kitchen, that his aunt was very sick. Jotham declared himself " not at all surprised, arter that harum-scarum ride in the snow," and without consulting any body but himself, when he had shovelled paths for Bridget's convenience in hanging out the clothes, he saddled a horse and went for Dr. Somers. " Father," said Margaret, as Mr. Crosby turned to leave the room, " will you have Jotham make inquiries about poor Chloe, and have every thing done that cau be, to get some trace of her ? " 4A MARGARET : " Yes, I will, though I am afraid it will do no good." . The table was set very neatly, the boys taking pains to have every thing as their aunt liked it ; but the breakfast gave proof that every body did not cook as nicely as she did. The beefsteak was fried in lard, the bread was cut in " chunks," as George said, the coffee was muddy, and Mr. Crosby and the boys wondered how many such meals they should have to eat. George's tea was much more successful than Bridget's coffee. Fanny never knew Margaret to be sick before, since they had measles and scarlet fever together, when they were children, and was greatly surprised and dismayed, when she came down-stairs in the middle of the forenoon, to find the doctor taking off his great-coat, and warming his hands preparatory to a professional visit to her sister. The shock was so great to her nerves, that, if it had not been for the pleasant little excitement of the doctor's unexpected presence, she would certainly have had hysterics. Perhaps the fact that he had very little appreciation of such demonstrations, and had once or twice checked hers, rather too summarily for graceful effect, helped her to restrain her feelings. " I hope Margaret's case isn't a serious one," she said, as the doctor took up his medicine-chest. " I hope there is nothing contagious the matter with her," he answered, with a curious twinkle in bis keen blue eyes ; " but if I find it is nothing serious enough to keep her safe in bed, for a week at least, I shall surely bleed or blister her. I have been wishing for a long time to see the young woman laid by for awhile, and I won't be baulked ; " saying which, he went up-stairs. He shook his head as he met Margaret's languid eyes, that always had a bright welcome for him, and felt her feeble pulse. " Child, what do you mean by having such a dead-and- alive wrist as that, and such faded-out looking eyes ? I ex pected to find you with a galloping pulse, and a red face, that I could put down at a dose, and then give you some A STORY OF LIFE IN A FRAIKIE HOME. 45 thing to keep you in bed a week or so. What have you been doing ? " Margaret smiled faintly, and shook her head. " Don't you shake your head at me, Miss. There is some thing to pay when any body, especially such a body as you, gets so exhausted and lifeless. Why, you hardly take the trouble to breathe. I am sure I don't know what to make of you ; " and he knit his shaggy brows over his medicine-case. " Doctor, you know my Chloe, that you thought was so handy and bright when George broke his arm ? " " Yes. What of her ? " " Yesterday, while we were gone to church, the man and woman I took her from came and stole her away." " The dickens they did ! " cried the doctor, looking at Margaret. " Is that the trouble pooh ! no, of course it is not. Well, can I do any thing about it, I wonder ? I can make inquiries, and look into all the shanties and holes I come to in my rides." " I shall be so thankful if you will, though I am afraid she is far enough away before now." " I wish she was here," said the doctor ; " she'd take care of you ! " " I just want to lie still awhile, and do nothing. That's all, unless you could put my brains to sleep for a little." " That's just what I would do, if I knew how. I'd like to take them out and see what they've been doing with you, if I could get them back again. Here, take this powder, and have whoever takes care of you put this who is going to take care of you ? " he said, almost fiercely. " Oh, I shall have good care." " Yes, I'll see that you do ; " and he gently arranged her pillows to the perfection of comfort, and left her. " How do you find Margaret ? " " What is the matter with Margaret ? " were questions asked in a breath by Mr. Crosby and Fanny. " Where are those boys ? What are they making such a racket for ? " demanded the doctor, going to the kitchen- 46 MABGABET : door, which, when opened, disclosed a scene of direst con. fusion. It came to pass in this wise : George and Jack had insisted upon washing the dishes after breakfast, and Bridget had yielded willingly enough, being anxious to get the wash ing done, and go home to her children. George washed the dishes and Jack wiped them, and with the excitement of their novel occupation, their spirits rose. So, after having a grand frolic over the dish-pan, splashing the water over the floor and themselves, and making a " fa'ar- ful muss," as Bridget said, they seized the opportunity, while she was hanging up her clothes, to rush to the wash-tub, so as to have a larger field for their operations. They were up to their elbows in soap-suds when Bridget came back. " Och, yez good-for-nothing little spalpeens ! " she cried ; " away wid yez ! " But the boys only laughed the louder, and splashed the water the more furiously. " Come, now, be aff wid yez ; I'll go sthraight an' tell yer grandfayther av yez ; " and with that she laid a hand on each of the boys to push them away from the tub. Quick as a flash, George seized the dipper from the tub, and dashed its contents full into Bridget's face, who screamed and splut tered at the unexpected soapy deluge ; and as soon as she recovered her senses, she caught the nearest culprit by one leg and one arm, and was carrying him he kicking, and she scolding towards the outside door, probably intending to throw him into the snow, while Jack was tugging at her dress with one hand, and belaboring her back with the other, when the doctor appeared at the door. Fanny and Mr. Crosby followed to see the cause of the uproar. " Jack, come here, sir 1 " said the doctor, in tones that obtained instant obedience. "Mrs. Bridget, put that boy down ! " George was deposited on the floor, and with great shamefacedness picked himself up ; while Bridget, with a rueful expression on her face, dropped a curtsey, saying, " Shure, sir, I ax yer honor's parding ; I didn't intind to harm the b'y," and returned humbly to her wash-tub. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 47 " Boys," said the doctor, when he had them in the sitting- room, looking with great amusement at their bedraggled appearance, " I believe you love your Aunt Margaret, and you know she is very sick. Now I want to see how well you can treat her. I don't expect you to cut-up any more such shines, or do any thing to disturb or worry her. What do you think ? Is she worth being careful of ? " " I guess she is ! " cried George, looking very much as if he would like to fight any body who said she was not. " Well, we'll see how it goes. Good morning all ; I may see you again this afternoon." And in the afternoon he did come back, bringing with him Miss Patty Hopkins to nurse Margaret. Miss Patty was the doctor's faithful ally, and was always ready, at a half-hour's notice, to go to any of his patients who were not likely to have good care without her. Her qualifications as a nurse were many, but the chief, in Dr. Somers' eyes, was her implicit faith in him, and her carry ing out his instructions to the letter. She was a little woman, and so light on her feet, so noiseless in all her movements, that Dr. Somers declared she must be stuffed with thistle down. Nothing could possibly be neater and daintier than Miss Patty, as she entered Margaret's room, after having re ceived her directions from the doctor ; and she was always just so, from the lovely gray hair that lay in soft waves on her fair though wrinkled forehead, down to the noiseless shoes and white lamb's-wool stockings. She lived alone Avith a sister older than herself, and not one half so good and neat as Patty. Indeed, she was the one thorn in Patty's flesh ; for, what with her naturally queru lous temper and her " rheumatics," she was a very uncom fortable companion. Margaret did not hear Patty when she entered, and she stood with her little withered hand laid over her mouth, apparently to prevent any word escaping that should waken her patient, looking tenderly at the pale face, Avhen Margaret opened her eyes. 4:8 MAKGAEET. " Oh, Margaret, is that you ? " Patty said, smoothing the clothes. " How do you do, Miss Patty ? Have you come to take care of me ? How did you know I was sick ? " " Oh, a little bird told me, my dear ; and right glad I am to be here, though right sorry I am to be needed," and she proceeded to mix Margaret's powder, consulting her great silver watch to see if it was time, to the very second. Having administered it, she tidied up the room, and did many things for Margaret's comfort, and then sat down to her knit ting, chirping occasionally like a cheerful little snow-bird, as Margaret lay watching the flying needles, and feeling a dreamy satisfaction in being taken care of. CHAPTER VI. Knowing this : that never yet Sbure of truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow ; After-hands shall sow the seed, After-hands, from hill and mead, Heap the harvest yellow. \VHITTIEB. FROM the time that Simon and Nancy Stubbs sullenly yielded Chloe to Margaret, they daily quarrelled over it, each charging the other with the folly of letting her go. She had brought water, gathered sticks from the woods near by in fact, had done all the work that was ever done in the shanty, besides being an object on which to vent their ill- tempers ; and they soon decided to get possession of her, and make her fine friends pay them well, if they attempted to recover her. So they bent their energies to the carrying out of this project, never failing some time each day to watch the farmhouse from behind trees or fences ; but there was always some one astir about the house, and Chloe never was to be found farther away than the gate-post. The fated Sunday came at last; and having seen the wagon go by, and concluding that the family would be away for several hours, they started for the farm. But a change had come over the spirit of their plans. They had given up the idea of taking Chloe back to the shanty and making her useful there, or of making money through the interest of her friends ; and decided to'Torsake, quietly and forever, a neigh borhood which they were beginning to find was neither comfortable nor safe, and to take Chloe with them to beg and steal what they needed on their journey to some other place. Mrs. Stubbs had grumbled a little at first, when Si mon proposed the change, but her objections to a jour ney in cold weather were overruled by the necessities of the case. Wanderings were by no means contrary to the tastes 3 50 MAKGABET : aud habits of this worthy pair. Several small demesnes, in different parts of Kentucky, had been honored by their presence ; and between their little tobacco-patch in Virginia, where Chloe had been hired by them from her mistress, and their coming to farmer Brown's shanty, they had made two or three brief sojourns. If Chloe had known, when they suddenly decamped with her from the cabin on the tobacco- patch, that she was no longer any body's property that even her " Ole Missus " had no right to sell or hire her to any body she might have made some use of her liberty ; but she did not know that any such wonderful change had come to herself and her kindred, though she had a vague notion of Massa Linkum as their father and friend ; and so she followed, obediently and unquestioningly, the fortunes of Simon and Nancy. How they expected to make an honest living with only the half-acre of land on which the shanty stood, and with no other resources, or that they ever had such expectations, never appeared ; for they attempted nothing beyond raising a few potatoes. And when their idle, shiftless ways, and by no means starved appearance, came to be coupled in the minds of the neighbors with the disappearance of chickens, vegetables, fruits, and the contents of corn-cribs, it was not to be wondered at that Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs met dark looks and cross words which excited their alarm. As Chloe was used as a cat's-paw in the doing of little mischiefs in which she could be trusted, she shared the odium that rested on her master and mistress as long as she lived with them ; but when it became known that Miss Crosby had rescued her from their cruelty, the greatest sympathy was felt for the child. So, all things considered, they felt that another move was inevitable, and their arrangements having been completed for some days, they were only waiting to get hold of Chloe. They had used their few pieces of shabby furniture for firewood, and concluded to resort to extreme measures if chance did not speedily aid them. If they had seen Mr. Crosby when he saw them, Chloe A STOEY OF LIFE IN A PBAIRIE HOME., 51 might have been saved ; but so sure were they of there be ing no one in the house save their victim, that they were on the point of going to the door, when it opened, atid Chloe came out with a leap. They crouched down, one on each side of the gate, and Chloe proceeded to make footprints in the soft carpet of snow, singing and talking to herself the while. She was not allowed to sit on the gate-post and drum with her heels on Sunday, so after walking in the snow until it ceased to afford her any amusement, she jumped upon the gate and swung it open. Instantly a horny hand was placed over her mouth, another seized her arm, and two dull, ugly eyes leered at her in front, and she found herself torn from the gate, and dragged along the road between those two who were to her the impersonation of all that was hideous and cruel. A thrill of hope shot through her heart as she heard Mr. Crosby's call, and, glancing back, saw him standing in the door. She made one fierce effort to tear away from her foes, but it was worse than useless ; their grasp tightened, and they ran the faster, and so they kept on until they were out of sight of the house, and had gone some distance down a lonely cross-road. Then they stopped and let go of Cbloe, who sank on the ground, gasping for breath, and striking her side to stop the sharp pain in her heart, while her cap tors stood by with grim satisfaction at the success of their scheme, and recovered their own spent breath. " Come, nigger, ye've kep' that up long enough," said Simon gruffly, when Chloe's gasping had changed to a moan, and she sat rocking to and fro. " I nebber 'spected to see you no more, nebber," she said, shaking her head as if she could not be reconciled to the fact that she had. "Oh, ye didn't, didn't ye?" Simon answered sneeringly. " Wai, git up an' come along. We've got to git out o' these yer diggins mighty quick. Haul her up, Nance," and he swung a bundle over his shoulder, while Xance gave Chloe a push, saying, " Git up, can't ye ? " 52 MAEGAEET : Chloe staggered to her feet and looked around ; but, see ing nothing i'amiliar far or near, except her two morial ene mies, she clasped her hands over her head, and, opening her mouth wide, gave vent to a wild, despairing cry. She would have thrown herself on the ground again if Simon had not caught her by the arm and shaken her roughly. "Look a here, nigger, jest shet up yer head now, or I'll give ye somethin' to yell at. I give ye fair warnin' ef ye so much as whimper or open yer head, I'll make ye smart. Yev' got to be mighty peert on yer feet, too. D'ye hear ? " So on they, started, Chloe with a load of misery at her heart that was like leaden weights to her feet ; but if she lagged behind ever so little, she was sure to feel a grip on her arm, or a blow on her back, that reminded her of the promise of worse things to come. On they tramped, for what seemed to Chloe a great many hours, without seeing a human being. She grew dizzy and bewildered, and Simon and Nancy were watching her uncer tain steps with cross looks, when they came in sight of a little brown house. A faint hope came into Chloe's heart, and Simon and Nancy held a short consultation, which re sulted in Simon's taking the bundle from his shoulder and giving it to his wife, and their assuming a free-and-easy man ner, as if they had nothing special on their minds. As they drew near, they saw a lumber-wagon standing in the barnyard, filled with potatoes, and a slovenly-looking old man just harnessing a couple of rough-coated mules to the wagon. The fact that the man was about such business on Sunday may have reassured Simon, for, muttering to Nancy, " Nothin' to be afeared on, I reckon," he crossed the road and leaned his arms on the fence. " Hello, Mister ! wher' be you a-goin' with them ar 'taters ? " " I don't know as that's any business of yourn." " I've got a very pertikelar reason, stranger," Simon an- swered, with an attempt at a conciliatory manner ; " an' I hopes ye won't take nary 'fence at my axin' ye." A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 53 " Wai, if it'll be any 'commodation, I'm goin' to Jones ville with 'era." " Wai, stranger, wot do ye say to givin' me an' my ole woman an' a nigger gal I've got yer' a lift ? " " I don't say nothin' to't. Me an' my potaters is a big enough load fer my animals." " Oh, now, be obleegin', can't ye ? That poor little nig ger gal's clean done used up, an' can't go a step furder ; an' what's to be done is more'n I know, withouten you takes pity onto us." " Wai, pile in, then, an' I'll take you on a piece ; though you're a pretty rough-lookin' customer," he added, as Simon went to bring Chloe and Nancy. Chloe was so glad not to have to drag her tired self along, that for a little while she forgot that the mules were carry ing her away from Margaret faster than her feet would have done ; and, if she could only have had some water to mois ten her parched mouth, would have been almost comfortable, as she sat jammed in between Simon and Nancy. The slow jog of the mules made the ride of four miles a pretty long one, and when they came within sight of the church-steeple and white houses of Jonesville, it was grow ing dark ; the sky was overcast, and little flurries of fine, sleety snow gave promise of a severe storm. Simon had no notion of entering the village, so he hustled his companions down, and, with a graceless "thankee" to the old man, he hurried them along a road that lay outside the town, where the houses were few and scattered. Nancy had tied Chloc's apron over her head, and given her one of her own ragged shawls ; but the child's teeth chattered with the cold, and her hands and feet ached, as they pressed on against the wind and thickening snow ; and as they passed one house after another, where the cows were being milked and driven under shelter from the storm, and the men were hurrying to get to the warmth of the kitchen, Chloe wondered if Simon and Nancy must get as cold and hungry as she was, before they would stop for the night where 54 MARGARET : they could get warm, and have supper. In all their previous wanderings, they had never neglected creature-comforts so utterly, and Chloe little dreamed what their dread of falling in with some one who had seen or heard of them before, would lead them to undergo in the way of hardships. At last, when it was so dark that they could hardly keep the road, they came to a house where all was still, and one light shone dimly out through the storm and darkness. Seiz ing Chloe's hand, and muttering a threat to her, and some thing to Nancy, Simon led the way, not to the house-door, as Chloe expected, but across the yard, through the barnyard- gate ; and whispering that they were to stand still till he came back, he went to reconnoitre. He soon returned, and took them to a side-door that opened into the part of the barn where the horses were, and, groping along behind them, feeling their way slowly and carefully, they at last reached a place where they could feel a little hay under their feet, and there Simon made his companions sit down, informing them, to Chloe's utter dismay, that this was to be their bed and shelter for the night. Then, in the darkness, he divided the cold potatoes and dry bread they had brought in their bundle between them, and he and Nancy ate greedily. But Chloe could not eat ; her fingers were too cold and stiff to hold the food, and her teeth could do nothing but chatter ; and be sides, there was what seemed a frozen lump in her throat, that made her feel as if she should choke if she attempted to swallow. So she sat still while Nancy and Simon munched and muttered to each other, and then lay down on their hard bed, until her misery waxed so sharp and unendurable that it suddenly burst out in a low, broken wail, which could hardly be suppressed, when heavy hands covered her mouth and beat her head and shoulders, and whispered but fierce threats met her almost unconscious ears. They laid her roughly down between them, and Nancy held her there until she iell fast asleep. Simon soon followed her example, and by-and-by kind Nature closed poor Chloe's eyes, and let her forget all her woes even the biting of the cold until the A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 55 first faint warning of coming dawn awakened her captors, and they hurried her up and away, almost before her eyes were open. The snow was quite deep, so that their progress was slow and tedious ; but before it was fairly daylight, they had left the village some distance behind them, and were very hun gry ; for, relying upon Chloe's beggings and stealings, they had only provided for one meal. But after she had been to the door of every house they passed for two miles, all she had collected was barely enough to appease their hunger for a time, and their privations did not tend to make them any more amiable. Cross words and grumblings, and blows and pushes for Chloe, were the order of the day, as they tramped on through the untrodden snow, only once or twice getting a lift of a mile or so, on an ox-sled. Late in the afternoon they came to a shabby little public house, where farmers stopped to water their horses and get refreshment for themselves, on their way to and from mar kets ; and, made desperate by their hardships, and nearly overcome by their long tramp and want of food, Simon and Nancy decided on a bold measure. They walked into the public room, where there was a red-hot stove, and all three were speedily before it, eagerly warming their half-frozen hands and feet, never heeding the scowling looks of the burly landlord and two or three men who were lounging about the room. As soon as Simon began to feel a little thawed out, he went up to the landlord and demanded a supper of ham and eggs, and lodging for the night. " In course you can hev a supper an' lodgin'," answered the landlord, eyeing Simon's vagabond aspect. " Pay fer it, an' you're welcome to all ther' be in the house." " I'll pay fer it when I've hed it," answered Simon, dog gedly. " No, you don't," said the landlord, seating himself, as if the matter were ended. " I've hed sich customers afore now. Show me yer money, an' I'll git yer supper, an' not afore ! " The end of the matter was, that Simon, having no money, 56 MAEGAEET I and giving mine host more " impidence than he could stand," was turned out into the cold with Nancy and Chloe, to find a supper and bed as best they might. . At a house near by, where Chloe was sent with bitter warnings from the desperate pair not to come back without something, she got a few scraps of cold meat and bread, of which a very small share was vouchsafed her, and again then 1 cold, comfortless bed was a barn-floor, and again their jour ney began with the first gleam of gray dawn. No doubt many kindly eyes had looked on poor Chloe tnat day, and many benevolent hearts would have been moved to keenest sympathy, and to do their utmost for the forlorn child, if they had bat known her sad story. But with two such birds of prey ready to pounce upon her if she loitered in her quest for the food they craved so fiercely, or did any thing to excite their suspicions, how could she ven ture to make known her griefs ? And so, on the third day of their wanderings, no relief came, except that at one house they were allowed to warm themselves at the kitchen-fire, and received a larger supply of food than usual ; and then a kind-hearted farmer took them in his sleigh, until he turned into a road leading away from the town to which Simon was bending his steps. But Simon had conceived a happy plan for spending that night in comparative comfort. After leaving the farmer's sleigh, and watching him till he was out of sight, he led the way back for a little distance along the road they had just come, until they reached a small school-house, from which he had seen the scholars and the teacher depart, and caught the last curl of blue smoke from the chimney, as the door was locked and the wooden shutters closed. Looking cautiously around, and making sure that no pei'son and no house was in sight, he opened one of the shutters, pushed up the window, got in, and pulled Naiicy and Chloe in after him, closed the shutter and the window, rekindled the dying fire, and, seating himself before it, rubbed his hands and laughed, as nearly as Simon Stubbs A STORY OF LIFE IN A PKAIKIE HOME. 57 could langh, over the sharpness of his wits. Nancy chuckled too, as she crouched by the stove, but poor Chloe was past being made happy by warmth and plenty to eat. She looked around the little, dimly-lighted room, and at the uncouth figures by the stove, made to look more hideous than ever by the flickering firelight, feeling much as if she were caged with wild beasts that might at any moment tear her to pieces. They paid no attention to her, but basked in the heat of the roaring fire, and talked with unwonted animation and amiability over their plans and prospects ; and by-and-by, having finished their cold supper, they grew drowsy, and at length fell asleep. Chloe, notwithstanding her exhaustion, sat with eyes wide open, going over and over, as if in a perplexed dream, the events of the past three days, which were to her like three long months, until, in the absence of the positive pain of cold and hunger, her benumbed senses gradually brightened, and clear, unclouded thoughts of Margaret and her happy life at the farmhouse came into her mind. Contrasting with the wretched nights she had passed since she was torn away from that pleasant place, came the remembrance of the warm little bed where she had slept so sweetly, and a picture of herself, kneeling by Margaret's side to say her prayers, made her start and almost exclaim aloud. And then, without stopping to think whether she should waken the sleepers by moving, she dropped on her knees, and, pulling her dress over her head, began to pray not the prayer Margaret had taught her she could not remember that in her eagerness but this : " Dear Massa Jesus, I done forgot to say my pra'rs all dis time ; please to forgimme, an' do git me away from ole Simon and Nance quick's you can, an' do fotch me back ag'in to Miss Marg'et, an' I won't neb- ber steal nor lie no more, an' dat's de trufe. Amen." As she got up from her knees she hit a stick of wood, and glanced at Simon and Nancy, to see if it waked them ; but they did not stir ; and then a streak of silvery light caught her eye, coming through a chink in the shutter, and, 3* 58 MARGARET. with a feeling of security that she did not stop to account for, she went to the window and opened the shutter, to se if it were daylight. The moon shone full in her face, at first almost blinding her with its radiance, and somehow it seemed dimly connected, in her simple mind, with Jesus, and her prayer, and Margaret. She opened the window and leaned out. The shining snow looked almost on a level with the sill, and before the idea of escape was formed in her mind, she was running from the school-house as if wings had been lent her. CHAPTER VIL Now am I fairly safe to-night And with proud cause my heart is light ; I trespassed lately worse than ever But Heaven has blessed a good endeavor. WOHDSWOBTH ABOUT a mile from the school-house where Simon and Nancy Stubbs had taken lodgings for the night, lived farmer Truffles, and on the morning after Chloe's escape, his house hold was in an unusual state of excitement and bustle, owing to the fact that Mrs. Truffle's aunt Keziah was coming to spend the day. It was not so much that Mrs. Keziah Kin- ney's periodical visits were a pleasure and a present profit, but Mrs. Truffles had a numerous family of boys and girls, and her aunt had a large and valuable farm, with no children to leave it to ; and though she seemed likely to outlive many of her nieces and nephews, the Truffles, and the heads of two or three other branches of the family, vied with each other in their devoted attentions, and for days before her visits, as much cleaning and cooking was done as if for a family-gath ering at Thanksgiving or Christmas. On this particular morning the eldest son, a good-natured boy of fifteen, who gave no promise of ever knowing what to do with a farm if he had it, was appointed to go in the double sleigh to bring the visitor, and many were his moth er's tribulations in getting him arrayed in his best clothes and fairly started. But at length, having run several times from the kitchen to the stairs to know if he was not ready yet to tackle up, having had a hunt for his new cap, which was found behind the flour-barrel in the pantry, and having given explicit and repeated directions as to his behavior to his great-aunt, she had the satisfaction of seeing him drive out of the barnyard. " Benjamin ! Benjamin ! " she screamed, " stop, for pity's sake. You hain't got the buffalo-skins." 60 MAEGAKET ! " Yes, I have, too," answered Benjamin ; " they're in be hind there." " Well, spread 'em out over the seat. How it looks to see 'em all in a heap on the bottom." " Oh bother, ma, I'll spread 'em out when I git there," answered Benjamin. " Oh dear suz me ! I never did ! I don't believe he'll think of it again," said Mrs. Truffles, as she betook her anx ious, scorched face back to the oven; while Benjamin drove leisurely on to his aunt's house, a little distance from the vil lage of Moresville. No sooner did he stop at the gate than Mrs. Kinney ap peared at the front door, so muffled in shawls, cloaks, hoods, and moccasins, that it was a wonder she could move as ener getically as she did. Her sharp eyes, sharp nose, and sharp chin, were the only possible points for Jack Frost to assail, and he would not have a chance at those as soon as she could hold before them her huge yellow muff, which hung by a string around her neck. At present her hands were occupied in locking the door and putting the key in her pocket she always did that, though she left a trusty woman in the kitchen and in piloting her way down the steps and out to the gate. "You needn't tie that hoss, Benjamin," she cried in sharp tones ; " I don't wish to wait no longer with all my things on. Twenty-five minutes by the clock is plenty long enough to sit a-waitin' for a lazybones of a boy like you. Ef ever I g;o to see your mother ag'in (which ain't at all likely, an' I'll (ell her so soon's ever I get there), I'll go in my own shay, an' not run the resk of bein' baked, as I have been this day, and then catchin' my death of cold an' rheumatiz, as I'm sar- tain sure I shall. See ef I don't." Benjamin had no idea what he was to be witness to, for all this time he had stood by the hitching-post, with his hands in his pockets, looking ruefully towards the kitchen, where he had fully expected to warm himself, and get a sly cake from the kind-hearted Betty. He came mournfully to A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 61 wards the sleigh as Mrs. Kinney shut the gate with a loud clang. " A pretty way to send for a visitor, I should say," and she looked wrathfully at the bare wooden seat, and seized hold of the buffalo-robe. If there had been any neighbors within a quarter of a mile, they would surely have been brought to the spot by the shriek that burst from Mrs. Kinney's lips. As it was, there was no one but the amazed Benjamin to hear it, or to see the old lady stagger back against the fence, and gaze with horror at the object that her seizure of the robes had disclosed a black face, a pair of sleepy eyes, and tufts of wool surmounting these, that stuck out in every direction. For a minute the head did not move ; then it was thrust a little further out of the robes, and examined the situation with its bewildered eyes, that were getting a more wide awake expression. Then the head settled back, and the eyes were fixed upon the horrified face of Mrs. Kinney. " Benjamin Truffles," gasped Mrs. Kinney at last, " what's that ? " and gathering courage from the sound of her own voice, she continued her inquiries more at length. "Benjamin, what is that thing? Sakes alive, what does it look like ? " " Seems to me it looks like a like a nigger ; don't it ? " answered Benjamin, more surprised than he had ever been before in all his life ; and he ventured a little nearer, where he could have a better view of the object in question. " A nigger ! how should sich a thing get into that sleigh ? " asked his aunt. " I'm sure I don't know," answered Benjamin, with a blank look which convinced his aunt that he was as much in the dark as herself. " Well, I should think you'd better know," si.. -..\1 sharply, now fully recovered from her fright. She was too matter-of-fact a woman to be long overpowered by any thing, however suspiciously unhuman it might appear, and this woolly-head, she soon decided, was altogether human. 62 MARGARET : So she reached out her mittened hand, and gave the robe a jerk which disclosed an apron, that had evidently been tied over the woolly head, and a ragged, faded shawl, covering some small shoulders. The figure wearing these tokens of humanity was nearly upset by the sudden demonstration of hostilities. "My goodness sakes! what are you a-doin' here, I should like to know ? " "Idunno." " Well, who should know, if you don't ? What did you go ah' get into this sleigh for? Don't you know you shouldn't get into other folkses sleighs? Why don't you epeak ? What did you do it for ? " "Dunno." " Sakes alive ! if this ain't too much ! Where be you a- goin' ? " "Dunno." " Well, I never did ! What ails the cretur ? Where do you live? or don't you live nowhers? Mebbe you don't know that ? " " I live long o' Miss Marg'et." "Miss Margot, eh! well, why didn't you say so afore? Where does Miss Margot live ? " " Dunno ; I wish I did," was the sorrowful answer. "Oh, you've lost your way? or mebbe you've run off?" " No, I ain't, I was fotched." " Well, well, this beats me ! but I can't bother with you no more. I 'spose Miss Margot lives up to the village though, thank tbrtin', I never heerd tell of such a pusson an' if you keep on this road you'll come to it, I guess. But don't you go pokin' yourself into no more sleighs and things, or you'll get took up an' put in jail. Come, get out, an' let me get in." "Does you know whar Miss Marg'et lives?" was asked eagerly, as the whole of Chloe emerged from the buffalo- skins. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 63 " No, I don't ; how should I ? " Didn't I say I'd never heerd on her ? Hurry, why don't you ? There ! I ain't a goiu' home with you, Benjamin. Tell your mother that I'm down sick with this day's worriments, an' I'm goin' straight to bed. All this comes of bein' in affable circumstances, an' havin' poor relations pesterin' of you with their false inten tions." At this point she discovered Chloe still lingering, digging her toes into the snow, and looking as if she wanted some thing. " What on airth do you stand there starin' at me for ? I dare say Miss Margot wants you, an' there's the road. Go home, Benjamin ; " and Mrs. Kinney went into the house. Benjamin gave Chloe a farewell stare and went away, and Chloe's wanderings began again. As she trudged sorrowfully on through the snow, the events of the past night became clear to her. She remem bered the flight from the school-house, her getting so tired with running, and creeping into the sleigh in the first barn she came to, and wrapping herself up in the warm skins ; and the next thing she was consciolm-Qf, was hearing such a dreadful noise, and seeing the old lady and the boy standing by her in that strange place. She knew she must have slept while the sleigh was getting there. The momentary hope that Miss Marg'et was not far away, and that she might see her soon, awakened by Mrs. Kinney's seeming to know her name, gave place to bitter disappointment as she recalled the long journey she had taken with Simon and Nancy, and she felt more lonely and helpless than ever before ; but she kept on towards the village, looking wistfully at the houses she passed, for she was very hungry ; though she could not bring herself, unmoved by commands and threats, to go to the doors and ask for something to eat. By-and-by she came to a large open field, just at the edge of the town, where five or six boys were hard at work build ing a snow-house, and she stood to watch them, wondering how any body could stay out in the cold, if they had a warm 64 MAKGABET ' place to go to, and she thought those boys looked as if they had. " Hello ! here's fun," cried the largest of the group, as he espied Chloe. " Come on, boys," and he started across the field, followed by all the others. " Hold on," cried another, Henry Newton, the black smith's son ; " what are you going to do, Jim ? " "Put her in the fortress and storm it," cried Jim. " Hurrah ! that's fun, sure enough," cried a third, as they all ran on towards Chloe, who saw them coming, but never dreamed they were coming for her. " For shame, boys," exclaimed Henry, as the others caught poor Chloe and started back with her. " How can you be so cruel ? " " We ain't going to hurt her," answered Jim. " She's going to go inside and be Dixie, and we'll be the North and besiege her, but we shan't hurt her." " See how frightened she is," said Henry. " It's a mean shame, boys, and I won't play unless you let her go." " Well, don't then ; before I'd be so chicken-hearted," said Jim, making Chloe enter the fortress. " Look here, boys, I'll tell you what ; I'll go inside with Dixie and fight for her ; only let me make some ammuni tion," and he began making balls and handing them in to Chloe, whom a few words made to understand that she had a champion in the bright-faced boy. " Ho ! turned traitor, has he ? We'll give it to any body that dares to fight the North ! " " I ain't a traitor, but I won't see a poor little black girl abused, even if you do call her Dixie." So when he had ammunition enough, he went into the for tress, and telling Chloe she need not be afraid, only to hand him the snowballs, the fight began and was kept up for some time, the assailants shouting, " Down with the traitor ! down with the Northerner gone over to Dixie ! " And the fortress was beginning to be considerably battered, and Henry's ammunition was running low, when all of a sudden the A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 65 shouts outside ceased, and the besieged heard the tramping" of receding feet. Looking out through one of the loop-holes, Henry saw the besieging army scampering across the field as fast as they could go ; and the mystery of such a cowardly proceeding was explained, when he saw the schoolmaster going by, and looking inquiringly at the snow-fortress, and then at the departing boys. Henry started back, and pulled Chloe away from the opening. " No wonder they ran," said he, in a whisper ; " if Mr. Colton had caught them at such a mean trick, I guess they'd have got something they wouldn't like." Pretty soon Henry looked out again, and saw that the coast was clear ; so he and Chloe left their tower. " Where do you live ? " he asked. " I don't lib nowhar jes now," she answered. "That's funny. Where do you live when you do live anywhere ? " " With Miss Marg'et," she replied. " Who's Miss Marg'et ? Does she live near here ? " " Laus, no ! she libs a great ways off from dis yer place. I wish I know'd how to git thar." " Where are you going to stay till you go back to her ? " " I dunno, Massa ; s'pects Massa Jesus knows ; but I don't." Henry looked at her in amazement, and then said, " I guess you're cold and hungry, ain't you ? and the boys will be coming back; so you just come over to father's shop and warm yoursolf, while I run home and get you something to eat. If mother wasn't so sick, I'd take you home too ; but you see I can't, as it is." So the kind-hearted boy took her to the shop, where a fire blazed on the forge, and Chloe warmed herself and watched the sparks that flew from the red-hot iron, as it was pounded by the blacksmith's strong arm, while Henry ran home to get the food he had promised. He soon came back, bringing some nice slices of bread and butter and cold corned 66 MAEGABET : beef, and a piece of gingerbread, and watched Chloe awhile with great satisfaction, as she ate as one might who had fasted so long in the cold. " Father," he said, " I'm going to school now ; but you'll let this poor thing stay here till she gets ready to go, won't you ? " " Of course I will," he answered, glancing from his work at Chloe. " Where does she belong ? " " I don't know," replied Henry, " and she don't seem to, either ; but I guess she'll find out when she gets warm, and has eaten her bread and butter. She must stay here, any way, till school begins," he added thinking, but not saying, that he would not trust the boys, if they got hold of her again. Chloe ran to the door to take another look at her brave, kind friend, and as he glanced back before he disappeared around the corner, she smiled, and nodded her head, and then went back into the shop. The blacksmith fixed a comfortable place for her near the fire, where she remained till a broad hand was laid on her arm, and a kind voice said, " Come, wake up ; it's getting towards night now, and, if you're going home, it's time you started." So Chloe got up and left the homely but kindly shelter, and wandered on through the village-street, and before very long darkness came down, and lights appeared in the win dows. She had not had time to think much of Simon and Nancy that day, but now that night had come, she could think of nothing else, and strained her eyes to look into every dark corner and down every street, expecting to see them spring up before her ; and at every step that sounded behind her, she started and shivered with fear, lest she should feel that horny grip upon her shoulder. Where she was to sleep that night she did not know. She would not have dared to go into any barn, for fear of lying down beside Simon and Nancy ; and Mrs. Kinney's severity made her afraid to ask for any thing at any of the houses she passed. So she crept on in loneliness and terror till she had left the village, and the houses were few, and the road was quite deserted. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PBAIKIE HOME. 67 By-and-by she came to a large house that looked very cheerful, with the light streaming from several windows. Chloe stood still to look at it, thinking that if she could only be near such a pleasant-looking place she should feel better. So she opened the gate softly, and walked along the path that led to a little wing on the left. As she stood on the ground, she could see that the room was empty ; and oh, how inviting it did look, with that blazing fire in the wide fire place, the shining andirons, and the bright rug before it ! She thought she should like a nearer view, and crept up the steps, and close up to the window. By the fire stood a little table, with the cosiest supper for one person upon it, and an old-fashioned rocking-chair stood by, with a footstool before it. How warm and bright it all looked, and how cold Cbloe was. She put her hand on the knob, and it turned, and the door was open and shut again before Chloe knew what she was about. It seemed to her that it all did itself. The next thing, she was sitting on the rug, close by the fire, perfectly oblivious of every thing, except the delight of feeling such warmth, and being out of the possible reach of Simon and Nancy for a while. And there she was, when, in three or four minutes, the door opened. Chloe started to her feet and stood in speechless dismay before a woman in a gayly- flowered gown, a cap with full frills and a bunch of green bows on the top, a large white linen apron, and a little basket of keys in her hand. She, too, was speechless for a moment, and what dreadful punishment awaited her for her unheard-of audacity, Chloe did not know. " Well, I do declare ! what in the name of h'all that's pitiful ! " The tone loosened Chloe's tongue. " Oh, Missus, I ain't been an' took nuffin'. I ain't tetched nuffin' 'tall, but I'se so cold an' so 'feared of Simon an' Nance. Ef you'd jes' lemme lie out dar in de shine o' de fire an' candles ! Oh, please, Missu^, don't make me walk in de snow an' dark no more to-night ! " and the dread of such a fate so overcame her that she burst into the most bitter crying. 68 MAKGARET : " "Why, bless the child ! what 'as 'appened to 'er ? There, don't cry so. Who are the folks you are so afraid of? Where is your 'ome, and 'ow came you 'ere ? But never mind all that now. I won't bother you with any moi*e questionings. It's plenty to know that you are un'appy ; and un'appy people are never sent away from this 'ouse without comfort. So now, poor thing, stop crying, and sit down there on the rug again, while I drink my tea. Then I'll bring Mrs. More that's the lady of the 'ouse in to see you, and you'll 'ave a nice supper and a warm bed, and in the morning we'll 'ear your story, which I dare to say is pitiful enough." Chloe's astonishment dried her tears, and she sat toasting by the fire, watching her new friend as she sipped her tea, and now and then stopped her cup on its way to her lips, to look at Chloe, and ejaculate, "Well, well!" "I never!" " Did you ever ! " or some such expression of her inability to solve the mystery before her. When the little black teapot was empty, and the bread and cakes were disposed of, Mrs. Jenkins, who was Mrs. More's housekeeper, picked two or three crumbs from her lap and put them on the plate, smoothed down her apron, adjust ed her cap, and rising, said to Chloe, " Now I am going for Mrs. More, and you stay just as you are till I come back." In a few minutes the door reopened, and Mrs. Jenkins ushered in Mrs. More, shutting the door softly behind her, as if there was somebody asleep in the room that she would not waken for any thing. Chloe stood up with. her hands behind her, and she thought she had never seen any thing so beautiful in all her life, except Miss Marg'et ; and her taste was not at fault. Mrs. More was an old lady in a widow's dress, with soft, silvery-white curls, a face full of sweetness and benevo lence, and a certain gentle dignity of manner. " Don't be alarmed, ma'am," Mrs. Jenkins said, in a reas suring tone ; though Mrs. More did not seem in the least dis composed as she looked at Chloe. " Pray be seated, ma'am ; " and Mrs. Jenkins shook up the cushions of the rocking-chair, in which Mrs. More seated her- A STORY OF LIFE IN A FEAIRIE HOME. 69 self, and folding her hands quietly in her lap, listened while Honora described in her brisk, emphatic way, her finding Chloe in the room when she came in to her tea, and her dis tress and fear of being sent away. " I kept 'er, knowing that you would be very much offended if I didn't. Now, ma'am, what shall I do with the poor creature ? " " Take her to the kitchen, Honora ; give her plenty to eat, and then put her to bed. Has she told you how she came to be wandering about so late at night ? " " No, ma'am, I didn't like to question 'er much, when she was so cold and hungry." " That was kind. I dare say she will tell her story readi ly enough in the morning. You need not be afraid, little girl ; if you have no other home, we will give you one here. Mrs. Jenkins will find something for you to do to keep you happy, and you shall stay as long as you need our care." Mrs. Jenkins looked at Chloe triumphantly, nodding her head, as if to say, " I told you so," and Chloe gazed at Mrs. More with a spell-bound feeling, hardly able to take in the good fortune that had befallen her, until that lady left the room ; but her last thought, as she dropped to sleep in her snug little bed, was a wish that Miss Marg'et could know how comfortable she was ; and she wondered how long it would be before she got back to her first friend. CHAPTER VIII. The healing of His seamless dress Is by our beds of pain ; We touch Him in life's throng and press, And we are whole again. WHITTIER. " OH dear," sighed Jack, one day as he sat in Margaret's room on a stool, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin in the palm of his hands. He had been standing by the window, examining the frost-pictures, and very likely had found something that looked like Santa Glaus in his Christ mas accoutrements, for when Miss Patty, who sat by Marga ret's bed knitting, said softly, " What's the matter, my dear ? " he answered, " Why, to-morrpw's Christmas, and we can't do any thing 'cause Aunty's so sick ; can't hang up our stockings, or wish Merry Christmas before daylight, or have a plum-pudding, or any thing at all. Oh, dear me ! " " That's very bad, to be sure," answered Miss Patty ; but hearing a slight movement at her side, she shook her head and put her finger on her lips ; so Jack said no more. He kept his dejected look and attitude for a little while, and then went down-stairs. " Miss Patty ! " Margaret's voice was so low and weak that it seemed hardly more than a faint whisper, but Miss Patty heard it, and her knitting was on the chair instantly. " What is it, ray dear ? " " Will to-morrow be Christmas ? " " Yes, my dear, it will, but it's of no earthly consequence ; it doesn't matter in the least that I can see, whether it's Christmas or Fourth of July." Margaret's wan face was flushed, and her lips quivered, showing Miss Patty plainly that she had heard poor Jack's complaint. A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PRAIBIE HOME. 71 " Only," she added cheerily, giving a little touch to the pillows, " if it was Fourth of July, we'd have you out in the warm sunshine, and get some color into those pale cheeks ; we would indeed. But it's best as it is, after all, isn't it ? " Margaret shook her head sadly. "The poor darlings; how selfish I have been ! " " Selfish ! " cried Patty, looking at Margaret as if she feared she had suddenly become delirious. " I can't think what you mean, my dear ; but never mind, don't try to tell me. There, there," she added, soothingly, laying her soft, cool hand on Margaret's forehead, " we ain't going to bother our heads about days and things. We'll just take this little powder; and then shall I say a verse, or a hymn ? " " Not just this minute, please, Miss Patty. How many days have I been lying here ? " " Oh, my dear, I wish I could put days out of your head. Why, let me see," she said, counting on her fingers ; " they've been such sweet ones to me, that I am afraid I sha'n't count 'em all. There was Monday, that was the day I came, and Tuesday oh, my, it's useless ! don't make me think of such foolish things." " I remember," said Margaret, " thinking before before I was sick that I must begin about Christmas ; and that must have been " " Only two weeks ago," said Patty, seeing that Margaret was making a painful effort to straighten things in her mind. Margaret sighed, arid turned her head wearily upon the pillow, and Miss Patty stood looking at her sorrowfully, thinking that it was all her own fault she ought to have kept Jack out of the room. What would the doctor say, if he should see her now ? " Miss Patty, a week from to-morrow will be New- Year's day, won't it ? " '' Yes, to be sure, my dear." " Well, you must get me well by that time, Miss Patty ; and the first thing, you must sing to me." 72 MAEGAEET I " To think that you should care to listen to such a poor voice as mine ! But the words are all the same, ain't they ? Yes, of course I'll sing ; " and folding her hands in her lap, and keeping time by a gentle swaying motion back and forth, she sung in a sweet little quavering voice : " The pity of the Lord To those that fear His name," &c. The few slight variations from the original tune of " Boylston " only added to the quaintness, taking nothing from the sweetness of the performance. When Miss Patty ceased, she found that Margaret lay with closed eyes, and that the flush was all gone ; so she took up her knitting with a little sigh of relief. But it was not long before she heard a noise that made her fly to the door. She closed it, all but a little crack, and stood with one eye on the lookout to see who came up the stairs, fully determined within herself that nobody should enter the room. " Miss Patty ! " said Margaret. " Oh, my dear, I thought I had sung you to sleep." " Who is that at the door ? " " Oh, it's only a little boy, and he's going right away again ; he doesn't want any thing ; " and Miss Patty opened the door she had been holding, and gave George the very gentlest push imaginable, saying, " Go away, Georgie ; you can't come in here now." " Let him come, Miss Patty ; I want to speak to him." Patty looked distressed, but permitted George to come to Margaret. She held out her hand for his, and warmly returned his kiss, for the first time since she had been ill. " Georgie, love, it's very hard for you and Jack not to have any Christmas. I can't tell you how badly I feel, to have disappointed you so." " Oh, my dear, I can't have you talk like that," cried Miss Patty. "Do you think you can forgive me for spoiling your pleasure, Georgie ? " A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 73 "You didn't do it a-purpose," said George, too much depressed by the dismal prospect for to-morrow to say th:it he had nothing to forgive, while really the tears that filled his eyes Avere as much of unconscious pity for his aunt's pale face, as for his own and Jack's sorrows. .Margaret smiled faintly, while Miss Patty almost wrung her hands, at what seemed to her George's cruelty. " Well, Georgie, do you think it would be better than nothing if we kept New-Year's day hung up our stockings, and had a plum-pudding then, instead of to-morrow ? " " Oh, yes, Aunty," answered George, brightening. " Will you be all well by that time ? " " I can't promise, dear ; but I will do the very best I can, and if I'm not able to make the pudding and cook the turkey myself, I will get Miss Patty to do it, and we will keep the day as merrily as we can. Now kiss me, and go and comfort poor Jack." " When will it be New- Year's day ? " asked George. " Next week, Tuesday, my dear," said Miss Patty, leading him to the door, and shutting it after him. Margaret looked very tired, and her nurse sat by, feeling more cast down about her patient than she had done before. Somehow, she seemed to be getting beyond her control. " Miss Patty, do things seem at all comfortable down stairs ? " asked Margaret, after a few minutes. " Oh, very, indeed ! " answered Patty, her hand giving a sudden twitch that dropped a whole needleful of stitches. " That is, my dear, as comfortable as could be expected under the circumstances," she added, nervously ; " I mean, while you are sick. I couldn't rightly say that every thing is in apple-pie order. But that's neither here nor there to you, you know," she added, recovering her self-possession and some of her stitches. " Providence takes its own ways to make people appreciate their blessings, and we can't prevent it, if we would. For my part, I feel more submissive to your lying here, when I'm down-stairs, than any other time." Margaret smiled doubtfully, while Patty, having restored 4 74 MAEGARET : her stitclies to order, proceeded to knit with unwonted energy. " How strange it is that nothing is heard of poor Chloe yet ! " said Margaret, after another few minutes. " I do wonder where she can be. They must have gone away on the cars ; don't you think so, Miss Patty ? " " I shouldn't at all wonder if they had," she replied, lift ing her two forefingers, as if she meditated putting them in her ears ; but seeming to conclude that it would not serve her purpose in soothing Margaret's anxieties, she began to sing another hymn, and soon had the comfort of seeing her sleeping quietly. Surely, if the extreme of disorder and discomfort, in Margaret's absence, could have made Mr. Crosby and Fanny appreciate the blessing of her presence, they must have learned to do so before this ; but the touch of severity with which the gentle Miss Patty had intimated that she con sidered the state of things down-stairs, whatever it might be, a just dispensation of Providence, implied that she, at least, was not satisfied with the result of the lesson. Jotham's mother and Bridget Flanagan had been sum moned to the rescue two or three times, in the kitchen department, and were glad to do all they could for Margaret's sake ; but they both had family cares of their own, and could not come often, or stay long ; so that Jotham's clumsy hands and the boys' unreliable ones were the sole dependence, as the general thing. Fanny had been very poorly ever since Margaret was taken sick. All she could do, and more, was to look into Margaret's room in the morning, and then crawl down-stairs to oversee things, that every thing might not go to rack and ruin ; which she did by sitting in the easy-chair by the fire, and administering reproofs to the boys, and orders to Jo- tham, or Bridget, if she happened to be there ; which orders might as well have been addressed to the wall, as she truly asserted. For all this she felt that she deserved great credit, when A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 75 she was utterly unable to leave her bed. But some people were compelled to bear the brunt of life's cares, while others shirked their burdens, never thinking whether the shoulders they fell upon were able to bear them or not. Such complaints of the disregard of some for the feelings and comfort of others, were sometimes uttered in the pres ence of Miss Patty, and it required all the little woman's Christian forbearance to keep her from giving Mrs. Sinclair a piece of her mind. She had not fully decided whether 31r. Crosby shared those sentiments, for he was always either shut up in his own room, or lying silent upon the sofa, 'when she prepared Margaret's meals the only times that she left her patient. The meals were regularly and most carefully prepared, though even such dainty bits as Miss Patty could concoct had as yet failed to tempt Margaret. It may have been owing to Margaret's want of appetite, that Fanny found herself able to sustain her arduous cares ; she certainly would not have been, with no other nourishment than the bread and tea, or coffee, varied by Bridget's unsavory dishes, upon which her father and the boys dieted. On this day before Christmas, things seemed to have reached a climax. The boys were first cross and discon tented because they were not going to have any fun, and then noisy and hilarious over their prospects for a good time at New-Year's ; and their mother scolded them for being so cross about such a trifle, expressing herself to her father and Miss Patty as quite incapable of seeing how any body could bear to be the cause of such disappointments ; and then was equally incapable of seeing how any body could be so incon siderate as to tell excitable boys of a pleasure so long before hand, and scolded them for being so noisy. Bridget was there, but she was washing, and had a sick child at home, so that she could hardly be induced to leave her tubs. Jotham was out of sorts at having to do so much " women's work," and when he brought wood into the sitting-room, though that was his business, threw it down 76 MAEGAEET ! by the stove, instead of putting it in the wood-box, making a great noise and no little muss, which, added to the accumu lated dust and dirt of several days, made a most untidy room Then, the table had been set by the boys, who got into a frolic over it, nearly pulling the cloth and all the dishes off upon the floor. They tried to straighten it, and to become quiet, when Mr. Crosby came from his room and sternly re proved them, shutting the door to keep out their disturb ance, and their mother almost went into hysterics over their behavior ; but the table remained askew, and, with a plate of bread in one corner, butter in another, a dish of unpeeled potatoes, and fried ham swimming in fat, looked any thing but inviting. So, what was Fanny's dismay at hearing a knock at the door, and voices outside. " Oh, mercy ! what shall we do ? George, wait ! " but she was too late. Before she was fairly out of her chair, or had time to draw her shawl around her, the door was open, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Davis entered. Of course, they took it all in at a glance, but they shook hands, and made their greetings particularly animated and impressive, to cover their own and Mrs. Sinclair's discom posure. If Fanny had acted upon her first impulse, she would have fled from the room ; but summoning all her seldom-used graces of manner, and the fortitude that availed her on an occasion like this, however it was lacking at other times, she laughingly apologized for their disorderly plight, and, seating herself, begged her callers to be seated too. So they fell into easy chat, and Fanny, exhilarated by her unwonted effort in the cause of good breeding, and feeling that she had conquered a terrible situation, talked so fluently and pleasantly about the w r eather, that it Avas some time be fore any one had a chance to inquire about Margaret. " Why, really, Mrs. Davis, I hardly know what to tell you," said Fanny, lowering her voice and looking perplexed. " I hope she isn't worse," said Mrs. Davis, anxiously. " I saw Dr. Somers the day before yesterday, and he told me she was in no danger." A STORY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 77 " Danger ! Oh, no. She has no fever, no chills, no pain --no any thing that I can discover. But you know, when one once gives way to weakness of mind or body, it is very apt to get the better of one, especially if one doesn't exert one's self to throw it off. I don't know where I should be, if I gave way to every sense of weakness and languor ; '' arid Fanny threw a great deal of feeling into her blue eyes. " I should hardly think of its being weakness of mind, in Margaret's case," said Mrs. Davis, in a constrained tone ; " and weakness of body is a difficult thing to throw off." " I can't understand Margaret's being ill in this way," said Mr. Thomas. " The doctor tells me it is nervous ex haustion ; I should think that would only be likely to follow a severe mental strain, and hardly then, in a person of Mar garet's brave, buoyant disposition." " It is very peculiar," said Fanny. " The only mental strain Margaret has had was the loss of that black Chloe she had been so interested in ; but one would hardly think that could have affected her so." " Perhaps she had over-exerted herself," suggested Mrs. Thomas. " Had she done any thing that especially taxed her strength ? " " No, nothing more than her usual little household duties," answered Fanny. " She went to meeting that Sunday, but that couldn't have been too much for her." " To meeting ? " said Mrs. Thomas, inquiringly. " Yes, my dear," answered her husband ; " it was while you were in Chicago. I preached in the red school-house, near Jenny's, tmd Margaret and the boys were there. You know I told you about Robert Russell's being there, and leading the singing." " Oh, yes, I remember," replied Mrs. Thomas. " And it was the very next day that Margaret was taken sick was it not, Mrs. Sinclair ? " " She was ill that very day," said Mrs. Davis, looking wonderingly at Fanny, who had started and turned deathly pale, for no possible reason that Mrs. Davis could divine. 78 MAEGABET : " Don't you remember, brother, how wretchedly she looked after the morning service, and her lying down before dinner, and looking so white and worn all the rest of the day ? My heart ached for her ; but there was something in her look and manner that made me feel almost awe-stricken, and I couldn't offer any thing, for her pain seemed to me beyond the reach of human skill. I can't tell why," added Mrs. Davis, wiping the tears from her eyes, " but I have had the strangest, intensest sympathy and solicitude for Margaret ever since that day ; and nothing could have kept me from coming to nurse her, only I knew Patty Hopkins was here, and that she would do far better than I should. Then I have heard from her through Dr. Somers every day or two." The boys had been very quiet during this conversation about their aunt ; but when Mrs. Davis ceased, George asked, " Has that Mr. Russell been back again ? " " No, Georgie ; he isn't coming back this way." " What do you know about Mr. Russell, George ? " asked Mrs. Thomas. " Why, didn't I hear Annie and Charlie Davis talking about him all noon-time that Sunday, and don't I know that he made lots of money in China ? " " It was strange," said Mrs. Davis, turning to Fanny, u what an impression Mr. Russell made on our children. He was only there one night, and before church Sunday morn ing ; yet not a day passes that the children don't wish he would come back. We were sorry he couldn't have stayed to see Margaret. Brother and I had an idea that they would be kindred spirits." " Indeed ! " Fanny managed to say. " Mother, I mean to go to China when I'm big ; wouldn't you ? " said George. To Fanny's intense relief, Miss Patty came down just then. " Oh, Mrs. Davis, that is you, isn't it ? Well, Margaret got an idea, I'm sure I can't tell how, that it was, and she wants to see you a little minute about some business," she added, by way of an excuse to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIKIE HOME. 79 Mrs. Davis followed Patty up-stairs to receive Margaret's commissions for New-Year's presents for the boys ; and, thanks to the interruption, Fanny had gained control over herself, so that she could talk coherently for the few minutes that Mrs. Davis was gone, and say " good-by," and see them depart. When the children saw their mother go hastily up-stairs, they called to her that dinner was on the table ; but she answered, " I want no dinner," in a hollow voice, and went on. Locked in her own room, she sat pale and rigid all the afternoon, for the first time in her life enduring keen and bitter pangs for the sufferings of another, being convinced, beyond the power of a doubt, that she had caused her sister's illness, and long years of loneliness and desolation, of which this was but a faint outward sign. For the first time in her life she was undergoing a fierce struggle between her better feeling ; and her selfishness ; for she had in her possession, long ago hidden away and forgotten, a sealed letter which she knew, however much she might resist the conviction, would at least bring some comfort and healing to her sister's heart. She had known at the time that the letter came into her hands and she blushed to recall how it came to hers, and never to Margaret's that it would have dispelled the barrier her own words and deeds had conjured up between two loving hearts ; and she endured over again the agony of wounded vanity with which she had found that even that last desperate expedient had failed to secure Robert Russell for herself. Perhaps that stinging remembrance helped to turn the scale against Margaret, and her own better nature. The afternoon waned, and twilight gathered before she moved from her place. Then she discovered that it was growing dark, and that she was almost benumbed with the cold. With resolute fingers she opened the secret place, whose existence even she had almost forgotten, and left the room with the letter in her hand. Passing her sister's door with her head averted, she went down-stairs, and, putting the 80 MAEGAKET : letter into the fire, -watched it as its folds opened and curled, grew red and blackened, and then fell into pale ashes. " There," she said to herself, " that is the best thing to do. Now there is no danger of my being tempted to give it to her and awaken hopes that could never be realized ; for in all probability he is married, or has forgotten her. And, after all, it may have been only a farewell letter ; " but then she recalled the farewell letter that came afterwards, when no reply was sent to this long one. " Well, it's over, and it was the kindest thing for her and me. There was no need of making her hate me for nothing." For a little while, after their cheerless supper, Fanny sat silent and gloomy by the fire ; Mr. Crosby lay with closed eyes on the sofa, and the boys, feeling a hush in the dimly- lighted room, sat in a corner by the stove, talking in under tones. By-and-by Fanny got up, saying, " I am going to bed, father ; I am very tired. Good night ; good night, children," and went up-stairs. On her way to her own room she stopped to see Margaret, whose eyes brightened at the unusual interest in her sister's manner of asking how she felt, and if there was nothing she could do for her. She was disappointed that Fanny did not kiss her good-night ; but it was a great deal for her to show so much interest. Pretty soon the boys came softly up the stairs, Jack with his shoes in his hand, and George on tiptoe. Miss Patty would have put them gently away, but Margaret said, " Let them come." " Do you feel better, Aunty ? " asked Jack. " I do wish you'd get well. It's as cold and dark as any thing down stairs. Nothing's a bit nice ; " and he laid his head discon solately on the pillow, and Margaret laid her hand tenderly upon his cheek. " So do I wish you'd get well, Aunty," said George ; " and not because of Christmas, either. I'd rather you'd be well than to have forty-nine Christmases all in a bunch." " There, my dears," said Miss Patty, seeing that Mar garet's face was flushed again. A BTOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIBIE HOME. 81 " Oh, let them stay ; they do me more good than you can think." 'So they talked together for a few minutes, and then the boys went to bed. While Miss Patty was rejoicing that there could be noth ing more to excite her patient that night, slow, feeble steps were heard on the stairs, and a gentle tap came at the door. " My dear father, have you come all the way up-stairs to see me ? " " It's lonely down-stairs," said her father, so sadly, that tears sprang to Margaret's eyes. " How do you feel to-night, my child ? " " Dear father, I am a great deal better to-night ; that is, I feel that I am going to be a great deal better. I shall be down-stairs before you think of it." " Well, I shall be glad. We need you sadly, child." Margaret took her father's hand, that lay on the bed, and clasped it in both of hers. Then she looked at it, and in his face. She thought he had grown thinner, and older, since she was sick. " Are you as well as usual, father ? " she asked. " Yes, I believe so," he replied ; " but I shall feel better when you get about again. I'll sit here awhile, if you don't mind, and hear Miss Hopkins sing the hymn she sung to-day ; I just heard a little of it when the stairway-door was open. Your mother used to sing it." " Yes," said Margaret, " I remember." So Patty sung, in a smaller and more trembling voice than ever, while Margaret held her father's hand clasped in hers. When the hymn was ended, neither spoke, but Mr. Crosby kissed his daughter, and went down-stairs. When they were once more alone, Miss Patty took the Bible, and, putting on her spectacles, read to Margaret, as she always did the last thing at night, if no more than two or three verses. Now she read a good many verses from the twelfth chapter of Hebrews ; and when she had finished, Margaret said, " HOAV did you know just what I needed to night ? " 4* 82 MARGAEET. " Oh, I knew, my dear," answered Miss Patty, as she flitted around the room, making things to the last degree tidy, before she should lie down on her little couch ; " I knew very well that you didn't want to hear about the ' many mansions,' and the ' rest that remaineth,' and the golden city, to-night." " No," thought Margaret, " the mansions are ready, but I am not meet for them yet. How could I think of resting, when my race was but just begun ? ' So great a cloud of witnesses.' I wonder if mother knows how I have faltered, how I have longed for the rest, while I dreaded to run the race ? I will lay aside every weight, and run with patience and courage, and when I reach the goal, it will be sweet ' beyond remembering and forgetting ' ' beyond the ever and the never ' ' love, rest, and home, sweet home.' But I must not dwell too much upon the prize ; that will not help me to run with patience. I must look only to Jesus, my ever-present Friend and Helper. How gently and tenderly He has reminded me to-day that I have something to do, and that life is not valueless and aimless. Aimless ! with so much evil in myself to overcome ; with father, sister, and the dear children to care for, and so many to whom I can at least give a cup of cold water ! " and, thus thinking, her thoughts gradually grew indistinct, until she fell asleep, arid slept more sweetly and refreshingly than she had done for many nights. CHAPTER IX. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. TEN*NTSON. " OH, is that you, doctor ? " called Miss Patty from the kitchen-door the day before New-Year's, as Dr. Somers stopped at the gate. " Yes, I believe it is," he replied, tying his horse. "What are you doing here?" he asked, looking into the kitchen before he went up-stairs, and laughing heartily as he saw Miss Patty. She had on a clean ruffled nightcap, and one of Margaret's checked aprons tied around her neck and again around l.er waist, and never stopped her business of rolling out piecrust as she answered, " Oh, you may laugh 1 I'm making a lot of nice things against to-morrow." " What's going on to-morrow ? " " Oh, Margaret has set her heart on having a grand din ner ; and it shall be, if these old hands can make it so ! " and Patty nodded her head till her cap-frills danced. " Humph ! this is a fine how-to-do ! I'll see about your having a grand dinner without consulting me;" and the doctor went up-stairs. " What's all this ? " he cried, as he opened Margaret's door. "All for Ne\v- Year's day," answered Margaret, meeting his look of pretended horror with a bright smile, that was more like herself, and more welcome to him, than any thing he had seen in a long time, and he stood a minute to enjoy the pretty picture. A bright, crackling wood-fire burned in the little fire place, and on one side sat Margaret in a large rocking-chair, made luxurious with quilts and blankets ; on the floor was spread a sheet covered with evergreens, in the midst of 84 V \KGAEET : which sat the boys, all absorbed in making wreaths and long strips for festoons, which they had learned to do very skil fully under Margaret's direction. The winter's sun shone in upon them, making Jack's curly hair look like threads of gold, and George's cheeks like crimson pippins. And how fair and sweet Margaret looked ! She had not gained a tinge of color, but the old light had come back to her eyes at least, it was there now and her mouth had not forgotten how to smile a real sunny smile, as the doctor said to himself. She looked enough like a spirit yet, but he thought they need not be afraid of the wings growing, just at present. Miss Patty had spent a full half-hour on Margaret's toilet, notwithstanding the pressing duties of the day ; and though the doctor only saw the effect of her loving cares, he was quite satisfied that, however much attention other things might receive, there had been no lack of it there. " How dared you get up without asking my leave ? " he said, coming around to Margaret's chair. " I wanted to surprise you, doctor," answered Margaret. " You didn't expect me to get well so fast ; did you ? " " I knew you wouldn't be long about it when you once got started ; but I didn't know just when you would be ready to begin." " It took me longer than was necessary," said Margaret, a shadow crossing her face. " No such thing," replied the doctor, with a very positive shake of the head ; " not a bit of it. The only wonder is, that you weren't longer yet. But mind you, Miss, I'm going to look after you as a cat looks after a mouse, from this time forth that is, till Mr. Skinner, or some other good man, comes along to take you off my hands." The doctor did not see the puzzled expression of Mar garet's face, for he was intently watching the boys, and she could only guess, from the twinkle in the corners of his eyes and mouth, that he knew something of her almost forgotten episode with Mr. Skinner ; but how, she could not imagine. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 85 " Why, in the name of all that's humane, don't you ask me to come here to dinner to-morrow ? " asked the doctor, turning suddenly from the boys to Margaret. " What do you mean by having a New- Year's feast, and leaving me out, when you know that my wife and daughters are away, and I can't have any at home ? " " Why," said Margaret, " I never thought of your caring to come ; but I am sure I wish you Avould, and I will invite you upon one condition : that you let me go down-stairs in the morning, and stay all day." The doctor shook his head disconsolately. " I see I shall have to eat my dinner all by myself at home." " But, doctor, you see I can't trust to Jotham's taste in putting up these pretty wreaths and festoons, and I must be there to give directions." " Boys ! are those things 'most done ? " cried the doctor, starting up. " Yes, 'most," answered George, too busy to waste words. " Well, hurry up, and we'll fix 'em ourselves, without any of Jotham's help or your aunt's directions. You daren't say that you can't trust my taste ? " to Margaret. " No," replied Margaret, " because it isn't true. I arn glad enough to have you do it, and I beg you will come and dine with us to-morrow, Dr. Somers." " Thank you. I will, with pleasure ; and when I come, I'll escort you down, Miss Crosby. Come, boys ; you've got enough of these festooneries to trim Freedom's Hall, in Jonesville ! " He caught two corners of the sheet, the boys jumped up and caught the other two, and they all ran down-stairs in high spirits, and for an hour Margaret heard their merry voices, as they trimmed the little sitting-room, which Bridget had already made as clean and fresh as pos sible. The busy day came to an end, but not before Miss Patty's work was all done. Before dark she took off her cap nnd apron, and gave a final survey to the rows of mince and pumpkin pies, the turkeys, chickens, and plum-pudding, all 86 MARGARET I ready for cooking the next day, and bestowed a critical glance upon the kitchen, which was quite as neat as if Mar garet herself had presided there. " Here, Bridget," she said, as Bridget appeared, ready tc go home to her children, " here's a basket of things for you from Miss Margaret, and she wishes you and the children a Happy New- Year." " Och ! an' did she, indade, the swate angel ! an' shure, if there iver was one on the airth, it's hersel' bliss the kind heart iv her ! " As Bridget trudged home, she lifted the cover of the basket, and spied so many good things to eat, besides several pairs of little bright-colored woollen mittens, that she went on whispering blessings on Margaret, as if that had been the first basket of the sort she had ever re ceived from her. When Patty came up with Margaret's supper, she found the room all quiet and serene, with the flickering firelight playing on Margaret's face, giving it the glow of health ; and as she placed the little stand by her chair, she thought that of all sweet places on the earth, that little room, with Mar garet in it, was the very sweetest. " Miss Patty," said Margaret, " are you perfectly tired out with all your cooking ? " " Oh, my dear, not a bit of it ! I have swept a room, and been more tired than I am this night. Tired ! no, indeed." " Is father alone down-stairs, Miss Patty ? " " Yes, dear, I believe he is. The boys are busy about something, and Mrs. Sinclair is in her room." " Well, won't you ask him to come up and take tea with me ? There is enough for us both, and I know he would like it. The boys will be good with you." Mr. Crosby came, and was in no hurry to leave the pleas ant place when tea was over. Margaret felt that she was more to her father than she had ever been before, and that she could wait hopefully and labor patiently for their home to become all that she longed to have it. A 8TOEY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 87 Hour after hour of the night, as she lay awake, memories of the past would come, in the presence of the Old Year just dying and the New Year coming in. Once, long ago, she had kept watch for the Old and the New, with one whose high soul responded to every aspiration of hers ; whose hand, clasping hers, gave promise of help and guidance through all the coming years. She had never doubted the truth and nobleness of the heart that spoke through those earnest eyes and that hand. She only felt that she had failed to call forth the deepest love of which it was capable, or it would not so readily have lost faith in her steadfastness. While that was agony enough, it was better than if she had been obliged to mourn over a fallen ideal ; and she had grown to think of her lost love as one thinks of friends in heaven. But when she heard his voice and felt his presence, and realized what it was to be near him, even with the shadow of the past enveloping them, she tasted again the bitterness of her loss. But the bitterness, the shrinking from life's burdens, the longing for rest, and the acjiing sense of irremediable loss, were gone now ; and though she still felt " heart-bare, heart- hungry, very poor" in earthly treasures in the love that gives, in full measure for all it receives, the hopes that in cluded herself as well as others she had come to accept this poverty as a mysterious benefaction from her heavenly Father, and to trust that in His own way He would make up to her for the lack of that for which her whole nature cried out ; and if it should only be through ministering to others, and keeping her own garments white against her entrance into her heavenly mansion, she would not repine. It was thus that she could think calmly, and even cheer fully, of all the things that came unbidden into her mind this death-night of the Old Year. A full hour before the New Year saw the sunlight for the first time, George and Jack opened their eyes wide in the darkness, and began to speculate in whispers upon the con tents of their stockings. After waiting as long as they could Stt MARGARET : which was not long George got up and stole softly into Margaret's room, where the stockings were hung on each side of the fireplace, and scampered back to bed with them ; and when the first bit of daylight looked in at the windows, they ran to all the doors, wishing every body a Happy New- Year. Fanny was sitting in Margaret's room, soon after break fast, when the doctor unexpectedly appeared. He lifted his shaggy eyebrows in surprise, for this was the first time he had seen Fanny there, and then sat down by Margaret with the most dejected air. " I can't come and help eat your turkey to-day," he said. " Oh, why not ? " exclaimed Margaret and Fanny. " Why, you see, there's a man a college-friend of mine, though he isn't quite as venerable as I am who has been threatening to come and see me for a long time. He is a doctor in St. Louis, and has been tired out for months, and needing rest ; and what should he do but come to my door last night, when I was fast auleep, like the Man in the good Book, and ask me to let him in. I didn't send him off, but I don't know what he will say when he comes to eat such a New- Year's dinner as my unassisted Abigail can get up. It serves him right, though, for coming when my wife was away. But, poor me ! what have I done that I should have to go without so many good things ? " " Why, doctor," said Margaret, " I shouldn't think you need have waited for an invitation to bring him with you." " Of course," said Fanny, " we should be delighted to see him." The doctor pretended to be very much surprised and re lieved. " He's an old bachelor, by the way," he said, turning back as he was leaving the room, " and pretty well off, too ; but don't you go to captivating him as you did Mr. Skinner! I won't have him trifled with." And with a threatening shake of his head at Margaret, he shut the door. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 89 "What nonsense was that about your captivating Mr Skinner ? " asked Fanny. " Only some of the doctor's nonsense," answered Marga ret; "ho likes to tease people." "Well, now, what shall I wear? If I had only known this in time, I might have had a dress made over. Miss Patty sews, doesn't she ? My dresses are all so antiquated 1 " " Our visitors being gentlemen, will not know whether you are just in the fashion or not," replied Margaret. " Your dresses are all rich and tasteful." "I do think it is a most dreadful thing to live so out of the world as we do. I can't endure it much longer ; " and Fanny went to her own room, where she was busy all the morning selecting her dress and laces and arranging her beautiful hair for the momentous occasion. Patty helped Margaret to dress, and then went to attend to things in the kitchen, much against her will, leaving Mar garet to put a few last stitches in a dressing-gown she had been making for her father before her illness, which, as he had not seen it, she was going to give him for a New- Year's present. The boys were full of business, as boys always are on such days ; and even Mr. Crosby seemed interested in the unusual bustle. " Oh, Fanny, how lovely you look ! " was Mai'garet's in voluntary expression as her sister entered her room, a little before dinner-time. " Do I ? " said Fanny, with a gratified smile ; " it's strange if I have kept any of my good looks in this wilder ness 1 But even here, there does come a time, once in an age, when one is glad to look well. You look nicely, too," she added, gazing rather doubtfully at her sister's lovely face and becoming dress. " But you have no color, and your eyes are languid. Excitement doesn't brighten yon up as it docs some people ; " and she glanced at her own face in the glass. "Isn't it strange," she continued, as Margaret did not speak, " that with all my ill health I look so young ? I 90 MARGARET : don't believe any one would take me to be older than you." There was a little sparkle in Margaret's eyes, and the very slightest curl of her lip, as she answered, " I suppose different troubles affect faces differently. Tour's does not happen to be one that turns the hair gray and makes the skin sallow ; " and then, ashamed of her unnoticed sarcasm, she added, " but you really look much younger than you are, dear, and when you are dressed becomingly, as you are now, look wonderfully well. Here's my New- Year's giftie to you, Fanny. It is not much, but I hope you will think it better than none," and Margaret took from her drawer a dainty little breakfast-cap, made of old-fashioned but exquisite lace, and finished with blue bows. " Oh, thank you," said Fanny, holding it up ; " that's really lovely, and will be very becoming, I know. But when ever shall I have a chance to wear it ? " " To-morrow morning, if you will," answered Margaret, gently. Just then Dr. Somers' sleigh drove up, and Fanny, having taken a sly look at the stranger from the window, went down to receive him, which she did with a graceful cordiality that amazed Dr. Somers, and put his friend, Dr. Doane, entirely at ease about being an unwelcome intruder at their family feast. " Well, well !" the doctor said to Margaret, when he had asked how she felt, and scolded her for sewing; "a leopard can't change his spots, nor an Ethiopian his skin ; but I have seen more astonishing changes than those would be trans formations, metamorphoses ; can you assure me, tho gh, on your word of honor, that that beautiful, animated, well- pressed woman down-stairs is your sister, Mrs. Sinclair?" Margaret smiled. " You never happened to see Fanny when she felt well and cheerful." " I suppose she only feels so when there's something to make it woith while," he answered, gruffly. " You needn't frown at me," he added, in answer to Margaret's look of re- 91 proach. " But come down-stairs, now ; you arc a match for the handsomest as well as the best." They found Fanny and Dr. Doane chatting in the most animated manner; and Dr. Somers looked on with jealous eyes to see the impression Margaret made upon his friend. Her greeting was quite as graceful and cordial as Fanny's, with the added element of simplicity and sincerity, which he saw and appreciated, whatever a stranger might do. Dr. Doane was a tall, slight man, with dark hair and beard, a broad intellectual forehead, gentle, flexible mouth, and large, soft eyes ; and there was about him an air of refinement and cultivation. " Well, Margaret," said Dr. Somers, when he had placed her on the lounge to rest till dinner was brought in, " how do you like our decorations ? " " They are perfect," she replied, looking admiringly around the room. "But what is that?" she asked, as her eyes fell on an engraving that hung between the windows, with a wreath over it. "That? let's see," and the doctor took the picture down and brought it to Margaret. It was one that she bad often admired in Dr. Somers' parlor, and she knew at once that it was a gift from him. She thanked him heartily, and while still examining it, the boys came in, all rosy and excited over their new sleds, presents from the good doctor. When they saw Margaret, they dashed their caps on the floor, nearly stifling her with kisses, in their joy at having her down stairs again. Then Mr. Crosby came in, and after speaking to the visitors, he bent over Margaret, telling her how glad he was to have her with them once more, and how thankful for the new dressing-gown, which he had on. By that time dinner was on the table, and Miss Patty appeared, with her face a little flushed, but looking very nice in her clean white apron, and the new cap, Margaret's present that morning. The dinner was all very nice, and Miss Patty was more than rewarded, if she had needed any other reward than 92 MAEGARET I Margaret's satisfaction, for every thing was pronounced per feet, from the turkey down. Every body was cheerful and talkative, and Dr. Somers outdid himself in telling funny stories. W v en they left the table, they fell into more quiet after-dinner talk. Dr. Doane, fresh from the stir of the city, had much to tell his eager listeners of what was going on in the world of books, music, and art, and his touches upon so cial life were, to Fanny, like a taste of her old enjoyments. " I say, Miss Crosby ! " Jotham had opened the door from the kitchen, and, with his hands in his pockets, called Marga ret's attention in the foregoing manner. " I jest come to wish you a Happy New- Year's, an' to say that I'm much obleeged fer them mittins an' that ar comforter you give me. They'll come mighty handy when I'm drivin' round in the cold." "I'm sure I hope they will, Jotham," answered Margaret. " I wish you a Happy New-Year, too." Jotham looked rather sheepish at finding all eyes directed to himself, but still maintained his ground with a reasonable degree of confidence, adding, after a little pause, " an' ther ain't nobody much pleaseder ter see you round ag'in nor I be ;" when he turned on his heel and shut the door. " Oh, Aunty ! " cried Jack soon after, from the window where he sat looking at one of the books that Mrs. Davis had sent to him and George, " here's Mr. Skinner ! " " Oh, it isn't possible," cried Fanny, wondering what the elegant Dr. Doane would think of their having such an out landish visitor. " Good ! " cried Dr. Somers, " that's capital ; " and he fairly rubbed his hands with glee. Margaret looked at him deprecatingly, but he only rubbed his hands the more, going to the window to see for himself. " Margaret, your friend is handsomer than ever though both he and his horse have the appearance of not having been to dinner." " Oh, I remember that poor old horse," said Margaret ; " and Georgie, here's a chance for us to return good for evil. A STOEY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 93 Run and tell Jotham to give Mm a good dinner, but do not ride him yourself this time." " That's right," cried the doctor, " to be sure ! and here comes his master ; you must be as good to him. Love me, love my horse," and he opened the door for Mr. Skinner. " Come in, sir, come in. How do you do ? Happy New- Year to you." Mr. Skinner came in with his accustomed deliberation, and in the course of half a minute had bestowed a scrutinizing glance upon every one in the room, while the doctor stood by, ready to offer him a chair. Then having set his hat down, and taken off his gloves, he shook hands with each one, and hoped he saw them well. When that solemn duty was performed, he seated himself in the chair the doctor had placed for him, near Margaret. " We are enjoying quite a spell of weather, sister Crosby," he remarked, spreading his hands out to the warmth of the fire. "Yes," said Margaret, "it has been very cold for some time." Up to this time, Mr. Skinner had worn a woollen muffler, that very nearly concealed his head, and his voice came from its folds with a most peculiar effect. But finding that the fire made it superfluous, he gradually unwound it, and hung it on the back of his chair. " It's rather cold rid in'," he remarked, casting a sidelong glance at the table, set back against the wall, and examining the floor carefully, gave a loud cough. " I've ben riclin' sence early breakfast-time, barrin a stop I was obligated to make nigh onto a mile from this juncture. One of the runners come off of my cutter, and I was obleeged to have it put on afore I could proceed hither." " What an unfortunate circumstance," said the doctor. " If it hadn't been for that detention, you would have been here in time for dinner ! It would be cruel to tell you of all the good things we had, such as turkey, chicken pie, and plum- pudding." With. every word the doctor uttered, Mr. Skinner's face 94 MARGABET t grew blanker, and when he mentioned plum-pudding, h" dropped his head forward, drew his feet from under his chair to a horizontal position in front of him, and rested his hands on his knees. "It's a most mysterious dispensation," he said, shaking his head mournfully. "I "borryed that cutter because it was small, and I thought it would run slicker an' spryer than a bigger one." " Well, my dear sir," said the doctor cheerfully, " we live and learn in this world ; and most things are learned by expe rience. This morning's experience will teach you that there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, if nothing more." Mr. Skinner did not seem to think that a particularly pleasant or desirable lesson to learn, and seemed so utterly cast down, that Margaret took pity on him, in spite of the mischievous glances from the doctor's eye. " It isn't too late for you to have some dinner now, Mr. Skinner, if you won't mind its being cold." " Mr. Skinner, what a favored mortal you are," said Dr. Somers. But Mr. Skinner was too ecstatic for words ; he could only stretch his mouth into a smile, and look at Margaret, as she bade Jack ask Miss Patty to get something ready for Mr. Skinner as soon as she could. And there he sat, his hands and feet shuffling nervously, as he watched the prepa rations for his repast, seating himself at the table when it was ready ; and, nothing daunted by being the only one so occu pied, he fell to eating most industriously. When his hunger was fully appeased, he lifted his eyes from his plate and gazed around the room. The doctor was showing Dr. Doane and Fanny and the boys some puzzles, and tricks with strings; and Margaret, sitting by the fire watching them, having forgotten Mr. Skinner's presence for the time, was somewhat startled when he seated him self at a little distance, and leaning towards her, gave a pre monitory cough. His good dinner had cheered him so, that he felt ready for any daring deed, and he had one in mind. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 95 " Miss Crosby " here he placed his hand over his mouth and coughed again " Miss Crosby, I have come here to-day with a specified object in view, and, with your permission, I will state it at wonst." He did not wait for her permission, but proceeded. "You doubtless remember a former occasion, upon which I proffered to you my hand and heart. I have given the sub ject careful consideration, and have arrived at the inference that you acted unadwisedly ; wherefore I have come here this first day of the new year, having previously informed our mutooal friend, Dr. Somers, to give you a opportunity to re- track your decision ; and here and now I lay my hand, my heart, my possessions, at your feet." Margaret had glanced several times at the group in the other end of the room, but they were all busy with the puz zles, and Dr. Somers looked innocently absorbed and uncon scious. She was about to speak, but Mr. Skinner interrupted her, saying solemnly : " Let me forewarn you to act with due deliberation. It is not a or'nary post which I proffer to you ; I may say it is a influential one, and this is the last time ! This very arter- noon I start on my way to a neighborhood where there is a widow ! with property ! and I shall put up with her while I hold meetin's, and though she may not have the personal ad wantages of some, and I don't say that she has, there is a inducement. So consider well." ^ . "Mr. Skinner," said Margaret in a low voice, but with a dignity that even he felt, " I wish to hear no more on this subject. Once and for all, I refuse your ' proffer,' and re quest that you will never renew it." Then she said, in ordina ry tones, "Perhaps you would be interested to see Dr. Sotn- ers' puzzles," and rose to join her friends. The bewildered Mr. Skinner followed, and Dr. Somers at once addressed his con versation to him ; but he soon showed signs of uneasiness, ' O and presently went for his hat, saying that he must travel as far as Jonesville that day to return his cutter, and borrow another for the rest of his journey. His horse was accord- 96 MABGARET. ingly brought, and having shaken hands with all, he went out. " Oh, look ! " cried George, " if that isn't funny ! " It was a very funny picture Mr. Skinner in a little box of a sleigh, with so low a seat, and so small a space in front of it, that his knees were as high as his chin, while his angu lar horse towered above him, so close to the dashboard that he nearly kicked it at every step he took. The afternoon passed quickly and merrily, and the two doctors went away Dr. Somers having sent Margaret, up stairs in Miss Patty's charge, and Dr. Doane having prom ised to come to tea the next day. Margaret was tired, but it was a comfortable tiredness, as she told her father and Miss Patty. She had really enjoyed the day. The coming of a new character into the narrow circle of their lives was very pleasant to Margaret, and she found herself, according to her old fashion, making an estimate of Dr. Doane, subject to changes when she should know him better. How many times poor Chloe had been in her thoughts through the day, and what a weight it would have taken from her heart if she could have known that she had escaped from her captors and was in a safe haven I CHAPTER X. For while he wrought with strenuous will The work his hands had found to do, He heard the fitful music still, Of winds that out of dream-land blew. WHITTIER. A PICTURE of the silent, sky-bound prairies, in their un trodden winter whiteness, was in Robert Russell's mind, in contrast with the turmoil of New York, with its snow black ened by the tread of many feet, as he entered his counting- house the Monday morning after his return from St. Louis. " Good morning, Russell, I'm glad to see you back. When did you come in ? " "Saturday night," answered Mr. Russell, as he and his partner, Mr. Kent, walked back to the office. " Did your sister return with you ? " " No ; she could not make up her mind to leave St. Louis at present. All her husband's friends are there, you know," replied Mr. Russell, taking up a pile of letters that lay on his desk. " See if there is a letter among those from old Mr. Tap- scott," said Mr. Kent. " I shouldn't wonder if he has ap pealed to you, as he found me unmanageable." " Is he still in trouble ? " asked Mr. Russell, looking for Mr. Tapscott's handwriting. " He is on the verge of bankruptcy," answered Mr. Kent, " and he has been begging us to renew the note we hold against him, which, of course, is outxxtthe question." " The note is nearly due, is ilPZfol ? " " The thirty-first to-day," answered Mr. Kent. " He says that we are his first and largest creditors," said Mr. Russell, reading Mr. Tapscott's letter. ' "lie thinks he could meet his other liabilities, and weather the storm, if we would favor him a little." 98 MAEGAKET : " I have heard that story several times since you went away." " And did not think it best to heed it ? " " No ; of course not," replied Mr. Kent, with some asperity. " I can't see why we should grant him .such a favor, any more than any other of the five hundred men who get involved in the course of a year." " Mr. Tapscott is an old man he must be nearly seventy and I do not know of a sadder sight than an old man left penniless, and obliged to begin life again after forty or fifty years of hard work. He was an old business friend of my father's, and I have known something about him in that way. He failed some twenty years ago, through indorsing for his son-in-law, Mr. Yentnor ; and since Mr. Ventnor's death he has had his widow and three of her children to support ; I believe the eldest son takes care of himself. Besides that, his wife is an invalid ; so, you see, there are special reasons for favoring him." " Then you approve the extension of that note ? " said Mr. Kent, looking extremely annoyed. " I do, most assuredly," replied Mr. Russell, " but I will not involve the firm in this thing. I will indorse the note, and if it does not save Mr. Tapscott, I will be the only loser. But I know that he is an honorable man, and will do the best he can by all his creditors." Both gentlemen turned to their desks. Soon after, the door opened, and Mr. Tapscott himself entered the office. He came with painful hesitation, an apology for intruding in his very look and manner ; his face was pale and haggard, and he seemed almost too weak to stand. Mr. Russell hastened to greet him and offer him a chair, and Mr. Tapscott essayed to speak, but his lips refused to utter a word. " I am sorry to hear that you are having trouble in your business," said Mr. Russell ; " but if a friendly hand can hold you up till you find -your footing again, mine shall not be withheld from my father's old friend. Mr. Kent, may I trouble you for that note ? " A STOKY OF LITE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 99 Mr. Russell was the senior partner, and besides, uobody ever questioned his measures when his mind was mude up. So Mr. Kent moodily handed him the paper. Going to his desk, he made out a new note, giving Mr. Tapscott all the time he desired, and then handed it to him to sign, after which Mr. Russell placed his own name on the back of it, and put it in the hands of Mr. Kent. The old man had been like one in a dream, his eyes never moving from Mr. Russell ; but when he saw Mr. Russell's signature, and received the cancelled note, he buried his face in his trembling hands and sobbed aloud. Mr. Russell turned away to give him time to recover himself, which he soon did; but as he wrung his benefactor's hand, before leaving the office, he could only utter, " God bless you ! " After a short silence, Mr. Kent said : " If I should see any other man but Robert Russell do such a Quixotic thing, I should set him down as lacking common sense ; and I wouldn't trust him with a business transaction involving a hundred dollars." " I am glad you grant me the possession of a little of that valuable commodity, in spite of my Quixotic deeds," said Mr. Russell pleasantly. " By the way," said Mr. Kent, " a man came here, two or three days ago, to see you about your tenement-houses." " You mention my tenement-houses in rather a disrespect ful connection," said Mr. Russell, smiling. " I suppose I am to infer that you consider them another of my foolish schemes." "I must confess that I do think it rather an eccentric investment for a man of your sagacity." " Well, I can't say that I look for large profits at present ; but I am confident I shall not be a loser in the end ; " and Mr. Russell returned to his desk, and for the next few hours his clear-sighted, absorbed attention was given to business. Only one little interruption occurred. In the course of the morning, one of the clerks came to his desk. "Mr. Russell, that little Italian girl is here, and seems 100 MARGAEET I very anxious to see you. Shall I tell her that you are en gaged?" " No ; I will come to her directly," he answered, laying down his pen. " Well, Angelica," he said, as he took the hand of a little girl who stood near the outer dooi', " I'm glad to see you. How are your mother, and Paul, and the little ones ? " " Mother and the little ones are very well," she replied in a sweet voice, " but Paul is feeling very bad, and wants to see you, sir ; and mother said I might come and ask you if you couldn't call to-day ; " and she lifted her soft, dark eyes to Mr. Russell's face pleadingly. " Is Paul really worse, do you think ? " he asked. " I don't know," answered the child, " only he felt very ill Saturday, and I came to tell you about it ; he said he should feel better if he could see you, but you were not here ; and when I told him you were to be at home to-day, he kept begging mother to let me come again, till she did, though she said she knew you would be very busy, after being gone so long." " I am very busy this morning, Angelica, but I am glad you came, and I will see Paul this afternoon. Tell him that I am coming." The little girl thanked him with her eyes, and hurried home, while he went back to his work. When Mr. Russell returned from China, having established a prosperous branch of the New-York house, which he left in charge of his brother, every body thought he would retire from business, and enjoy his fortune in elegant leisure; and every body was surprised to find that he remained in the firm, and went every day to the counting-house. He did not love idleness, and knew that he should find more opportuni ties for doing good, in his own peculiar way, as an active member of the great world, than in the comparative seclu sion of a man of leisure. Besides, he desired to add to his fortune, that he might have the more to use as opportunities for using it opened before him. One of his favorite projects was, to provide respectable A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 101 homes for such poor people as 3ame especially under his notice, and a block of comfortable, convenient houses, waa already completed in a respectable part of the city. To these he bent his steps when he left the office, late in the after noon ; for Angelica's mother had been the first to enjoy the comfort of a change from close rooms in crowded tene ments, where eyes and ears shrunk appalled from the sights and sounds that greeted them, to the airy, cheerful apart ments of Mr. Russell's planning. One day, not very long after Mr. Russell's return to America, a little girl came into his office, admitted by one of the clerks, and timidly showed him a small oil-painting, which she wished to sell. Mr. Russell saw that the picture had real merit, and was struck with the child's delicate beauty. Encouraged by his evident interest, she confided to him that her father was dead that her mother took in sewing, and she crocheted, and made nets, and that was all they had to live on. There were five of them, since her father died, and her brother Paul was sick with a cough and a pain in his chest. It was he who had painted the picture, at little times Avhen he could sit up. Mr. Russell bought the picture, and asked the little girl to come again the next day to tell him if her mother was willing to have him. call and see them, as he would like to talk with Paul about his paint ing. He never knew what glowing descriptions Angelica gave her mother and Paul of the kind gentleman who paid so much money for the painting. But when she came the next day, he walked home Avith her, and from that time had been Mrs. Sarelli's kind, helpful friend, and the joy of Paul's hitherto tedious life. Mr. Sarelli was an Italian artist, of real genius, but un known and without friends in America, whither he came with his young English wife, lured by glowing anticipations of the fame he should win through his beloved art, and the happy home he should make for her who had forsaken all for him. His bright dreams quickly faded before the bitter reality ; and after years of painful struggling against the 102 MAEGAEET : approach of want and distress to his loved ones, he laid down his brushes and pallette poor little powerless weapons, when they are wielded by the obscure and friendless and died, leaving to his oldest child the sad inheritance of his genius and his delicate constitution. Mrs. Sarelli had no resource but her needle, and her ut most industry, together with little Angelica's small earnings, made but a slender purse for the supply of life's necessities to the five. The first winter after her husband's death had been a severe one, and she was glad that Paul could cherish the fond hope of adding something to their scanty store, by staying at home and painting ; for with an aching heart she heard the dreaded cough, and saw that his cheeks often wore a feverish flush. One or two little pictures were finished, and pronounced perfect by the loving eyes of his mother and Angelica, and sold by one or the other, after painful efforts, for a mere pittance. Then there were only materials left, of what had remained of his father's small store, for one more picture, and no money to spare, as Paul knew, when they were used. Long and patiently he worked on that last bit of canvas, and when he had touched it and retouched it, lingering over it as one lingers by a friend whom he is to bid good-by forever, he gave it into Angelica's hands. His sacrifice was repaid a thousandfold in the friendship of Mr. Russell, though he had seldom been able to use the complete supply of materials given him by that kind friend on his fifteenth birthday. When Mr. Russell knocked at their door, Angelica opened it. Mrs. Sarelli hastened to welcome him, and two little figures came flying across the room, seizing his hands, and dancing up and down at his side as he walked towards the couch where Paul lay, his dark eyes glowing, and his cheeks burning with the excitoment of seeing his friend once more. The little ones clung to his hands till he stooped and kissed them Edith, with her mother's golden hair and blue eyes, and little Mary, like the rest, with her father's Italian beauty. Then they danced back to their play, leaving Mr. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PEAIUIE HOME. 103 Russell to sit down by Paul, and hear all he had been doing and thinking since he had been away. " I shall be well again, now you have come back," said the boy, after they had talked awhile. " I think I shall be able to paint in a few days, and I have such a lovely idea for a picture ; I do hope I can sketch it before it fades from my mind. But I don't know what I am to do about the sky. I want a wide stretch of blue sky, with those piles of snowy clouds, just changing to crimson, that I remember to have seen long ago ; but I'm afraid I sha'n't succeed in that. I wonder if I ever shall see much sky at a time again ! " " Do you think you can keep the idea in your mind tilt summer comes ? " asked Mr. Russell ; " because then I mean to have you see a great deal of sky, and green grass, and trees and flowers, and all the beautiful things to be found in the country." Pr*ul looked at him with his heart in his eyes, and An gelica and her mother dropped their work in their laps, to wonder what Mr. Russell could mean. " I did not intend to mention my plan so soon," he said, smiling at Paul, " but I think, after all, you might as Avell have two pleasxires as one; and I do not think the reality will be any the less a pleasure for your having that of anticipa tion. About fifteen miles from here, on a little hill, stands a little cottage, with a little yard in front, and a little garden behind ; with a view of the river and fields and woods beyond, where the sun sets, sometimes in crimson and gold, sometimes in purple and gray, sometimes in yellow and pale green ; and there are no red brick walls on any side, to shut out the view of the sky. The little house is occupied now by somebody that I do not know ; but I do know the people who will be living there before the roses blossom in June." Not a word was spoken, but something very like a sob came from Mrs. Sarelli, and Angelica's face was hid in her mother's lap. " What do you think, Paul ? " asked Mr. Russell. " Will you be patient till that time comes, and keep your sky- 104: MARGARET I pictures till you can sit in the sunshine, and paint the livelong day ? " Paul pressed Mr. Russell's hand first to his lips and then to his heart, and gazed into his face with his eyes fail of happy tears. Mr. Russell glanced at a pile of shirts that lay on a chair near him, and said, " I will send Patrick for those on Wednesday, Mrs. Sarelli, as to-morrow is New- Year's day." It was not the least of the many acts of kindness that tilled Mrs. Sarelli's heart with gratitude to her friend, that he spared her the contact with ungracious employers ; but this day her heart was too full for words. As Mr. Russell rose to go, Paul drew him down, and whispered, " I have learned that chapter, and it has been the sweetest comfort to me since I have been sick this time. I don't think I could have been patient without it." Mr. Russell whispered a few words of encouragement, and then said good-by ; but that same evening came a knock at the door, and a package was brought in, containing a New- Year's dinner, and some useful present for each. The street-lamps were lighted when Mr. Russell reached home. His house was not very far up-town. It was the same old-fashioned, red brick house that his father had built, when that part of the city was considered quite in the country ; where he and his brother and sister had been born, and had grown up ; where his mother had died suddenly, soon after his departure for China, and where his sister had been married. His sister had lived at home after her marriage, until her husband's business called him to St. Louis. Her father was too much attached to his old home to leave it and go with her, as she earnestly wished, and he lived on with his old ser vants, who had been so long in the house as to seem a part of it. His health failed soon, and he felt that he must have one of his sons at home, to lean upon in his old age. Robert came at once, and his father lived only a month after his return. Now he was alone, and the great house had a A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 105 dreary, deserted air, in spite of Janet's efforts to make it cheerful. Memories of loved ones gone to their rest, and old times and old friends, met him at every turn, forcing him, while at home, to live more in the past than in the present. " Well, Mr. Robert," was his old housekeeper's greeting, " I don't suppose you'll be sirrprised to find your dinner spoiled and stone-cold." " I should be surprised to find it stone-cold, Janet. You would not have the heart to treat me so badly as that." " I don't know, Mr. Robert ; it's an unheard-of circum stance for a member of the Russell family to be late to dinner ; " and old Janet shook her head. " You will have to forgive me this once, Janet, and let me have my dinner this minute, for I am very hungry." " Mr. Robert," said Janet, reluctantly, " I suppose I ought to tell you that there's a person in the parlor waiting to see you ; I don't presume that she'd much like to wait till you've been to dinner." " Is it a lady ? " asked Mr. Russell, in surprise. " I suppose she's a lady, or Reuben wouldn't have put her in the drawing-room," answered Janet to herself, for Mr. Russell had hastened to see his guest. As he entered the drawing-room, a tall woman came briskly forward to meet him, with little mincing steps, quite out of keeping with her unusual height. Her dress was an odd mixture of colors and styles, the prevailing effect being dowdiness. She had a large worsted bag upon her arm, and a pair of soiled, crumpled kid gloves on her hands. " Have I the honor of speaking to Mr. Robert Russell ? " she asked, laying one hand on the bag. Mr. Russell bowed. " I am Mrs. Sophronia Brower," she said, with a curtsey, scnting herself, and reaching out for a little mosaic stand, which she placed before her, as if she were about to deliver a lecture from behind it. " It is rather an unseasonable hour for females to be out, 5* 106 MAKGAEET I but the man at the door informed me that you would soott return, and I have been waiting in momentary expectation. My business is important, as you will admit, when I state it, which I will do at once, as my time is precious." And she proceeded to open her bag. Mr. Russell thought of his dinner, and approved of her intention. " The name of Robert Russell is one which, wherever seen, must command the attention and win the confidence of every person, male and female, far and wide ; and there fore I come to him to lead the van to head a list of illustri ous names that are about to commence a glorious work ; in short, a crusade against ignorance, vice, and barbarity to sow a seed that shall speedily grow into a tree, that will overshadow the earth with its benign branohes to kindle a spark that will soon illumine the moral, as the sun now illumines the material world ! " She paused to gain breath, and having taken from her bag and unrolled a paper at least two yards long blank except at the top she held it off at arms-length : " What a scroll upon which to engrave one's name ! Ah, that I were in the place of him for whom is reserved the honor of heading that glorious tablet ! " She gazed at it in rapt admiration a moment, and then said : " I know I have only to name the august Society whose unworthy servant I am, in order to elicit your warm sympa thy and ardent cooperation. It is ' The Society for the Dif fusion of the Knowledge of the Arts and Sciences and Polite Literature among the Heathen.' " Mr. Russell smiled, but shook his head as his visitor, auguring well for her scroll, held it towards him. " I am sorry to disappoint you," he said, " but I cannot give you my name." " Am I to understand that you refuse to countenance so glorious an object ? " exclaimed Mrs. Brower. "The object seems to me rather chimerical than glo rious." A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 107 "And will you contribute nothing?" " You could hardly expect me to contribute to any thing of which I disapprove." " I have heard that you discountenance all benevolent societies," said Mrs. Brower, severely. " I very sincerely approve of really benevolent societies, and if yours was one for sending missionaries to the heathen, or giving them the Bible, I would willingly contribute, though I have no ambition to put my name to long papers." " You may live," said Mrs. Brower, solemnly, rising and rolling up her scroll, " to see that the surest way to enlighten the heathen mind, and prepare it to appreciate the emblems and figures of the sacred writers, is to teach them to appre ciate the grand and beautiful in art and nature and profane literature ; " and securing her roll, she prepared to depart. " I think the truths of the Bible the means for enlighten ing and saving men, whether they are heathens or nominally Christians;" and Mr. Russell bowed Mrs. Brower and her bag out of the door. After dinner, which Janet had kept hot, notwithstanding her intimation to the contrary, Mr. Russell retired to his sanc tum. This room had been his especial retreat almost since he could remember, and had fewer haunting presences than any other in the house. Its coloring was warm, and there, with the curtains drawn, the drop-light shaded, and a blazing fire in the grate, to cast ruddy gleams over the carpet and walls, he spent many happy hours, when he was conscious of no present and no past only of the charm of some congenial research, or of communion with favorite authors. To-night he sat musing by the fire over the events of the day ; and it did not take long for the lingering hours of the Old Year to weave around him their magical spell, and close his senses to all, save the pictures which Memory and Fancy might conjure up before him. Ah, Memory ! " Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay, And foremost in thy various gallery Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls t'p.-in thy storied walls." 108 MARGARET. The scene is one of warmth and brightness, the counter* part of the present reality, only that he is counting the lag gard minutes till they reach the appointed hour of tryst ; and his mother stands beside him, her hand laid lightly on his head, Avhile she playfully questions him as to Avhere his thoughts were, that he did not hear the opening door and her footfalls on the carpet. She smiles into his eyes lovingly, as she says, " My son, give my dear love to your Margaret, and wish her a Happy New. Year for me." Another touch of Memory's pencil and the scene is changed. Margaret sits beside him, her truthful eyes turned to him, and her hand in his. He dwells on the varying ex pressions of her fair face, and reads the earnest thoughts so clearly written upon it. He tells her that the future may not all be bright and cloudless, and she answers, "I have no fear of what the years may bring, while you walk by my side." ,He was by her side no more, as other pictures came : where had her journeyings led her? and how had the years dealt with her ? Memory could not solve the mystery of their parted lives. It must remain a mystery, as he " walked desolate day by day." But in the Hereafter it would all be made clear, and in the meantime she was enshrined in the in most recesses of his heart, as the impersonation of every womanly grace. Here Fancy, seeing the sober tints which Memory was using, seized her own brush, and drew such a sweet picture of his home, as he had dreamed of it once, with Margaret for its queen, that he could have gazed on the vision forever. But the weary Hours, one by one, laid by their wands, drop ping the threads of the magic web they had woven around him, till not one was left. The clock on the mantel struck the death-knell of the Old Year, and distant chimes rung in the New. The vision had vanished, leaving him only ihe lonely reality of the present. CHAPTER XI. The best laid plans of mice an' men, Aft gang a-gley. BURNS. ME. ALEXANDER THOENE was a shipping merchant, well known in business circles as a successful, honorable man, and his wile was equally well known and influential in the fash ionable world. Her dinners and receptions were models of taste and elegance, and their exclusiveness made it well worth while to be among the favored few. Besides her own charms of manner and conversation, she had a beautiful daughter, whose education had caused her much solicitude, and whose debut, when her education was pronounced fin ished by her various masters, had occasioned quite a sensa tion in Mrs. Thome's circle; as she had, with great wisdom, kept her carefully secluded till the suitable time, and then brought her out in all the freshness of her girlish beauty, never dreaming but that, in due time, her career would be consummated as brilliantly as it had opened. But owing to certain perversities of taste for which, in view of her careful training, she could in no wise account, serious anxieties had recently arisen in her mind. "Alexander," she said to her husband one morning as they sat alone at breakfast, " do have the kindness to listen to me for a moment." "My dear, I will listen to you for several moments," he replied, laying aside his paper, and proceeding with his breakfast. " What have you to say to mo that is new and interesting, this morning ? " " You may not consider it interesting ; indeed, I often marvel that it seems to interest you so little, when to me it is such a vital subject." " Oh ! " Mr. Thorne ejaculated, in a tone that showed him conscious of what the vital subject was. 110 MABGABET : "It is useless to shut our eyes and try not to admit the fact. Something must be done," and Mrs. Thorn e laid her white, shapely hand on the table, by way of emphasis; "something decisive, to divert Claudia's mind from her fool ish penchant for Philip Ventnor." " If it is only a foolish penchant, my dear, I should think it might be left to die a natural death, as such things gen erally do." " No," answered Mrs. Thome ; " it will not do to run any risk in this matter. Claudia is a strange girl, and if left to her own unguided impulse, I really believe she would marry that penniless author. She is actually losing her in terest in society already." " Mr. Ventnor's being poor is by no means my objection to him. Poverty is nothing against a man of genius, and while I have an abundance, our only child is not likely to suffer, even if she should marry a penniless man. But I couldn't see Claudia marry a man whose principles are un sound. I am afraid it is true that young Ventnor is too fond of wine." " And yet you make light of my desire to break up the acquaintance." " I can't see the thing as seriously as you do, Helen. It seems to me like a mere girlish fancy for a brilliant, talented fellow, and I can't see the necessity of making a tragedy of it. Why, Claudia is but a child yet; she ought not to fall in love for years." " And, pray, how old must a girl be before she can fall in love? It' I remember rightly, I was but eighteen when we became engaged. But, thank heaven, Claudia has a mother who will not see her follow a wayward, girlish fancy, to her own destruction. To think of such beauty and accomplishments being thrown away upon a man without wealth, or position, or name ! " " What do you propose to do ? I thought it was pro verbial that if a girl is opposed in her love-affairs she only gets the more desperate." A 8TOUY OF LIFE IN A PISAIRIE HOME. Ill " Pray, my dear, give me credit for a little discretion in the management of my cbild. My plans are laid care fully, and wisely, as you will admit when you see the result." " Do give me an inkling of your plans," said her husband, inwardly amused. " I am going to arouse her ambition." " Ambition ? to be an authoress, or Queen of England, or what?" " To marry wealth and a splendid position," replied Mrs. Thome; "to win a prize that might well turn any girl's head with envy." " Do you know any such head-turning individual ? I am sure I don't," said her husband. " Well, I do, and if Claudia possesses one particle of spirit, you will soon see her proudly wearing the honors of the position I refer to." "Who is it, Helen? I am dying of curiosity, as the la dies say." " Who should it be, but Mr. Robert Russell, the rich China merchant, with every quality of mind and manner to win a girl's heart, and wealth and position to satisfy her highest ambition." When Mr. Thorne heard the name of Robert Russell, he so far forgot his good manners as to give a long, low whis tle. " Well, I will give you credit for an unlimited amount of enterprise, Helen. Why, I should as soon think of Clau dia's wooing a granite statue from its pedestal by the glances of her bright eyes, as to draw that impenetrable man from his shell. How do you expect to bring him within reach of her charms ? " " Oh, fortune favors the brave, you know," answered his wife gayly. " Only do your part as well as I shall mine, and all will be well." " What is to be my part in this wonderful drama?" " I am not sure that I can trust you, but it must be done, and if you don't do it, I shall. Philip Ventnor must be in- 112 MAKGAEET : formed, before long, that his attentions to Claudia are un welcome, and that they must cease." " And that is what you wish me to do ? " " Yes, my dear, if you will ? " " I beg to be excused ; I will leave that \o you," and Mr. Thome's hitherto smiling face was decidedly cloudy, as he bade his wife good-morning. Mrs. Thome was still sitting behind the coffee-urn, in deep thought, when Claudia came down. " I think you are taking things quite lazily this morning," she said, as Claudia kissed her, and seated herself at the table. " I know it, mamma ; but I was so sleepy." " It wasn't so very late when you came home last night. Did you go at once to bed when you went to your room ? " " No, mamma, I did not." " What was there to keep you up, child ? " " I read a while, mamma," answered Claudia, her cheeks glowing and her lashes drooping. " What did you find so entertaining as to keep you awake at midnight ? " asked Mrs. Thome. Claudia hesitated a moment, and then answered, without lifting her eyes, " I was reading Mr. Ventnor's last article." Mrs. Thome's eyes flashed. " It was very wrong, Clau dia. Society's claims will sufficiently tax your strength, without your taking hours from sleep for things that can be done quite as well in the daytime. I am sure you would be sorry to lose all your freshness before you have been out a year." " Oh, yes, indeed," answered Claudia, earnestly. Mrs. Thome's penetration was not at fault in attributing her unwonted warmth on the subject to a thought of Philip Ventnor, but she only said, " Well, then, don't try your eyes and weary your mind, by reading when you ought to be asleep. I wish you to go out with me this morning. I must call at your aunt's, and see that she and Arabella make no engagement for Thursday." A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 113 " What is to be on Thursday, mamma ? " " I am going to have your uncle and aunt and cousin, and those English gentlemen whom we met there the other night, here to dinner." " Any body else, mamma ? " " Yes ; they knew Mr. Russell very well in Canton, and think most highly of him, as indeed all do who know him ; and I shall ask him to meet them." " Mr. Russell ! " exclaimed Claudia. " You don't mean the man who lives all alone in that large red brick house, like a spell-bound prince ! I should like, of all things, to see him among humans ; but I don't believe the wicked Fairy will let him come. I shouldn't a bit wonder if he is fastened with golden fetters, or changed into some wonderful shape, the instant he steps inside that old house." " What childish nonsense you are talking, Claudia," said her mother, not caring to show how greatly pleased she was at that same nonsense. " Mr. Russell's sister Clara, now Mrs. Blake, and I, used to exchange visits, and I have had a bowing acquaintance with all the family since I can remem ber. But Robert has been in mourning for his father ever since he came from China, and of course has not been into society at all. I should have preferred an evening recep tion," she added, thinking how particularly lovely Claudia looked in evening-dress, " but I see he still wears mourning for his father ; and then, his sister's husband died recently, which of course would make his coming out of the question, except in the quietest way." Here Mrs. Thorne paused, and looked into Claudia's face, wishing she knew just what cue to take ; but though it was a fair, open face, she had to proceed blindly. " I hope Arabella Avon't fall in love with this Eastern prince, for I am afraid there would be but little hope for her. He must be proof against womanly charms, or he would have been married before now ; still, Bella is rather pretty, and gentlej and he may chance to be captivated by her; and if he should, your aunt might well bless me for bringing them 114 MARGARET : together. Such a fortune, and such a position, and such personal attractions, are rare by themselves ; but it is only once in a lifetime that one finds them combined." Claudia only waited for her mother to finish, to burst into a merry laugh. " Oh, mamma, to think that you should be the good Fairy to bring the enchanted prince and the enchanting princess together ! " " What do you mean, Claudia ? " " Why, it was only the other day that Bella and I were driving by the castle, and saw the prince dismounting from a magnificent black charger, looking so reserved and proud, and withal so handsome, that I said to Bella, ' Don't you wish you were the fair maiden appointed to break the cruel enchantment that binds that poor prince ? ' You should have heard the melancholy tone in which she replied, ' Oh, Claudie, for three months ever since I saw him riding that black horse the first time he has been my beau ideal / but I never shall know him.' And now she will ! And I'll see that she wears her prettiest dress, and looks her sweetest ; " and Claudia rested her elbow on the table and her cheek on her hand, and looked up at her mother, her eyes fairly danc ing, over the little matrimonial plot she was laying. Her mother thought, as she glanced at the graceful, rounded figure, and the lovely young face, that if Mr. Russell could see her then, or at any time when her head was not full of sentimental nonsense about Philip Ventnor, she need have no fear of his being captivated by the commonplace Arabella, instead of her rarely beautiful Claudia. But she kept these thoughts to herself, only saying, ' Don't neglect to do credit to my training, child, in your own toilet and behavior." Claudia rose from the table and stood looking into the fire, until her mother summoned her to come and get ready for their drive, her face no longer sparkling and gay, but quiet and grave ; her thoughts no longer of the enchanted prince and Bella, and her schemes for them, but of Philip Ventnor. Must the shadow that had so soon crept over her A STORY OF LITE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 115 life deepen and darken till it shut Philip from her forever, except in dreams ? Mr. Russell accepted Mrs. Thome's invitation to an informal dinner, out of regard for the friends whom he was invited to meet, little imagining that two heads were plotting against his solitude. And Mrs. Thome would have been far from satisfied had she known how little place her dinner had in his thoughts, as he entered his house earlier than usual Thursday afternoon. " Has any one been here ? " he asked of Janet, who met him in the hall according to her custom. " Yes, Mr. Robert ; there's a young man been here some minutes. He's in the library." Two or three mornings before, Mr. Russell's attention had been attracted by a young man who stood near the door as he entered his counting-house. The first passing glance had made him look again, and he saw that his clothes were worn and old-fashioned, but that he had a refined, intellectual face, and that he was looking for something. No doubt there was a kindly interest in Mr. Russell's eyes, for the young man stepped forward, though with some hesitation, and said, " Do you know, sir, of any one who wants a copyist, or bookkeeper, or any thing of the kind ? " " Is it for yourself that you wish the situation ? " asked Mr. Russell, thinking the eyes that looked so steadily into his must belong to a true and loyal heart. " Yes, sir ; for myself." " Come in a moment," said Mr. Russell, leading the way to the office, which was empty. " Are you a stranger in the city ? " he asked. " Yes ; I have not a single acquaintance here, or I would not have troubled you, sir, an entire stranger, in this way ; " and a faint tinge of red flushed the pale face. " Don't think it a trouble. I may be able to help you in your search, and shall be glad to do so. New York is a great, busy place, and there are many, like you, in quest of work." 116 MABGAKET I " I am afraid I have made a mistake in coming to Kew York," said the young man ; " but it seemed the only thing for me to do." " I would not call it a mistake," said Mr. Russell, " if it seemed the best thing to be done. If your search proves unsuccessful, you can take the next best thing with more satisfaction, for having made this attempt. But now tell me something about yourself," he said, smiling. " I want to know your name, and where you live, and just what you want to do." " My name is John Heath ; my father is a minister, and my home is in Rockdale, in this State. I am ready to do any thing I can do that will earn money. I have had no experi ence in bookkeeping, but I have been studying it for the past two months, and think I could undertake it. I suppose it would bring better pay than copying." " Well, we will see what our combined efforts can do," said Mr. Russell, as Mr. Kent and another gentleman entered the office. John rose to go, taking from his well-worn pocket- book two letters, which he handed to Mr. Russell. " Those are the only recommendations I have," he said ; " one is from my old teacher in Rockdale, and the other from one of the professors in University ; but," he added, " my father knows me better than any body, and you could trust to his giving an impartial account of me." This was said with a smile that made the manly face almost childlike, and very winning ; and Mr. Russell said, " Leave these letters with me, Mr. Heath, till Thursday, and then come to my house there is my address at four o'clock, and I will talk with you more about your plans, and tell you if I have heard of any thing for you. Is there any thing I can do for you till then ? " " Thank you, sir, I think there is nothing ; " and John Heath went away by many degrees lighter hearted than he had been fifteen minutes before. It was he who sat gazing with such hungry eyes at the book-lined walls of the library, when Mr. Russell entered. A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIKIE HOME. 117 " You look at my books as if you had an affection foi their kind," Mr. Russell said, as they shook hands. John's eyes passed slowly along the lines of substantial, attractive-looking volumes ; and he answered, " I have given them up ; at least, for some years to come I expect to have very little to do with them." " You have had a good deal to do with them thus far, I Bee from the letters you left with me," said Mr. Russell. " I have done nothing all my life but study ; but now I must work." " Your father's letter tells me you see, I acted upon your suggestion," said Mr. Russell " that your plans have been broken up, and intimates that the change involved a great sacrifice on your part; but he leaves you to tell me more fully about it." John hesitated a moment, while the workings of his face showed what a sore subject it was to him ; and then he said, " Ever since I was fifteen years old I have intended to be a minister, and all my studies have been with a view to that. I was fitted for college when I was eighteen, and had just entered the junior year, when I was obliged to leave." " Your father has no church now, I beliove ? " " No," John replied ; " he had been the pastor of the church in Rockdale for thirty years, but had grown old, and was less vigorous than he used to be ; so the church decided that they needed a younger man and father is too broken- down to be called to another church, or to undertake any thing else. But I am ready to work for him and my dear mother ; as long as they live they shall never lack a comfort that I can provide ; and my younger brother shall have the best chance for an education that I can give him." " It must, indeed, be a very strait and narrow path that hedges you in from the possibility of carrying out so sacred a purpose," said Mr. Russell, thoughtfully. " I find it so," replied John. " I know that I can serve my Master in other ways, but I did hope to consecrate my 118 MARGABET : whole time and every power of my soul to Him, as I think only a minister can." " Suppose that now a way opened before you to carry out your purpose ; would you not feel it to be your duty to do so, even if the way were at first repugnant to your pride, and sense of independence ? " John looked at Mr. Russell wonderingly, and answered that, no matter what the way might be, if it were opened for him, he should not hesitate a moment ; but he could not con ceive of such a possibility, when he was the sole dependence of his parents. " But suppose that one, who is but an older brother, to whom the Father has intrusted more of this world's goods than to you, should offer you the means to pursue your studies and fit yourself for His service, and at the same time should promise to take a brother's care of your parents, that you might the sooner enter upon your work : would you dare to refuse the offer ? " John sat motionless for several minutes, while Mr. Rus sell waited for his answer. At length he said, in low tones of deep feeling, " No, sir ; I should not dare." " I knew you would not," answered Mr. Russell. An hour later, when he suddenly remembered his engagement at Mrs. Thome's, he had briefly stated his plans and wishes, formed since he received Mr. Heath's letter, and arranged to see John again ; and John left the house, hardly knowing whether he trod on earth or air. When Mr. Russell entered Mrs. Thome's drawing-room, she received him with the perfection of hospitable grace, assuring him that she esteemed it a great favor that he should so honor her, under the circumstances. She inquired with the warmest sympathy after his sister's health, of whose affliction she had learned with such pain, and then they joined the group of busy talkers at the other end of the room, where Mr. Russell was presented to the ladies to Mrs. William Thorne, delicate and languid to Arabella, with her flaxen hair and blue eyes, looking her sweetest, as A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 119 Claudia had said she should and to Claudia, whose violet eyes, long black lashes and black hair, together with her peachy complexion and delicate features, formed a whole that was as rare as it was beautiful, and did not escape Mr. Rus sell's quick eye. Mrs. Thome felt quite at ease as to the im pression they had made ; Claudia was so self-possessed, and yet so perfectly unconscious of herself, and Arabella so shrink ing and self-conscious, when Mr. Russell addressed them. Claudia meditated the daring act of altering her mother's arrangements so far as to place Bella beside Mr. Russell at dinner ; but that was not an easy thing to do, and she found herself in the place she intended for her cousin. However, Bella was just opposite, and for a time Claudia busied her self in trying to look at her through the stranger's eyes. But before long she had yielded to the charm of Mr. Rus sell's conversation, sustaining her part with a simple grace and spirit that greatly pleased his fastidious taste. Even after the talk became general, she remained perfectly oblivi ous of the weighty plot her little head had been charged with for the last three days, and listened eagerly to the reminiscences of life in Canton exchanged between the three gentlemen who had met there, and to the talk of travels, books, and men, that followed. But by-and-by she chanced to catch Bella's eyes, fixed upon her so reproachfully, that it all flashed across her mind, and it was only by dint of effort that she refrained from laughing. She mentally shook her head at herself, saying, " It will never do. I'm sorry I encouraged the child to think of sueh an absurd thing." She glanced up at her neighbor, and shook her head again as she looked over at Bella. " Oh, dear, no ; she is a mere chit of a girl, and he is I don't know all he is. I think Philip and he could understand and appreciate each other." When dinner was over, Claudia put her arm within her cousin's, and as they walked across the drawing-room she said, laughingly, " Instead of being princesses that the prince would deign to notice, we are like little mice, trying to 120 MABGABET I play with a lion. He could walk over us and never see us." The lids of Bella's eyes were actually pink with her efforts to keep back the tears. " I didn't think you would do so, Claudie. You kept talking to him all the time, and never gave him a chance to say a word to me, or even to look at me." Claudia laughed. " Why, Childie, I believe you are in love already. You shall have him all to yourself the rest of the evening." " You know very well that we have another engagement this evening with those prosy men, and we shall go very soon, and I may never see him again." " Oh, dear ! what shall 1 do ? " cried Claudia, wringing her hands in pretended distress. " Oh, I know ; " and she drew Bella towards the rest of the company, saying : " Mamma, before Bella goes, I should like to hear the song she^has just learned ; wouldn't you ? " " Oh, Claudie, I really can't ! " cried Bella, blushing. " Do, my dear," urged Mrs. Thorne, thinking that Claudia would sing afterwards with more effect. " Sing, my love," said her mother ; and so Bella sang her song, which was no other than " Robert, toi que faime" and Claudia and Mr. Russell stood by to listen, Claudia feeling much inclined to laugh at the unusual touch of pathos in her cousin's voice, and a little shocked at her own temerity, as she met her mother's grave looks. When Bella rose from the piano, Claudia would have left her standing beside Mr. Russell ; but he asked her to sing, and, without the least hesitation or apology, she seated her self, and sung the first thing that occurred to her, only think ing that she would not mar the effect of Bella's " Robert" by singing any thing of the same style. The sweet, simple bal lad she sung charmed every body ; but there was no time for any thing more, as her aunt rose, saying that if they were going to the concert, it was fully time for them to start. Mr. Russell remained to hear another song, as Mrs. Thorne en- A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 121 treated. He did not see the pathetic glance from Bella's eyes, as he bowed to her and her mother, and shook hands with the gentlemen ; but Claudia did, and she was giving herself a sound scolding for her mischievous match-making, when Mr. Russell said, " Do you sing a little German song, Miss Thome, called < Gut JVac/it, Fdhr 1 wohV ?" Claudia's cheeks took a brighter tint, as she replied : " Oh, yes, I sing it often ;" and she went to the piano. Mr. Russell wondered that a light-hearted, careless girl, just on the threshold of a life full of sunshine, should be able to throw such intense feeling into the song. Every tone seemed to come straight from the heart of the singer, and fell sweet and tender and thrilling upon the ears of the lis teners. Claudia did not hear the door open, or know that some one had entered the room, and stood behind her at a little distance while she sang the closing strains. Mr. Russell, standing by the piano, had noticed the cold, stately greet ing of Mrs. Thome, and Mr. Thome's embarrassed, though kindly manner, but all tacitly waited for the song to end. When the last lingering notes had died quite away, Mrs. Thorne came forward and said, " Mr. Ventnor, let me intro duce you to Mr. Russell," and Mr. Russell turned but not before he had caught the Hash of joyful surprise that bright ened Claudia's face, whose expression, till she heard the name, had been so in keeping with the spirit of her song ; yet her greeting was constrained. Not till he had dropped Claudia's hand, did it seem to dawn upon Philip to whom he had been introduced ; and then, with his handsome face all aglow, he grasped Mr. Russell's hand. " Mr. Russell ! I never had the pleasure of meeting you before, and yet I have a right to claim you as a friend." Mr. Russell returned the warm grasp, saying, " I have a prior right to claim your friendship, for I have known you through your writings." The gleam of pleasure that shone in Claudia's eyes was not lost upon him. G 122 MAEGAKET : A little bit of skilful manoeuvring on Mrs. Thome's part placed Mr. Russell beside Claudia, and Mr. Ventnor beside herself; and though the conversation was general, and never flagged, Mr. Russell was conscious of something uncomfort able in the atmosphere, and was not surprised that Mr. Vcntnor's call was short. He merely bowed low to Claudia as he passed her on his way from the room ; and Mr. Russell found himself meditating upon all these little signs that the current of this young love did not run smoothly. The outer door was scarcely closed behind Philip, when Mrs. Thorne said, " What a pity it is that a young man who is as talented as Mr. Ventnor, should ruin his prospects by dissipation." Mr. Russell was too surprised and shocked to speak. He only glanced involuntarily at Claudia, who sat leaning slight ly forward, her hands clasped tightly together, and an expres sion of sharp pain on her face, in strange contrast with its child-like brightness an hour before. " I think you state the case too strongly, Helen," said Mr. Thorne. " I am afraid it is true that Mr. Ventnor inher its his father's weakness, but he is very far from being ruined by dissipation." " It is only a difference of terms ; if, as you say, he in herits his father's weakness, there can be no hope for him. His father died a victim to that fatal weakness, and I suppose there is no doubt but that his son is following in his foot steps." " ' No hope ' and ' no doubt ' are very strong terms, Mrs. Thorne," said Mr. Russell, as he rose to go. " With such safeguards as I am sure Mr. Ventnor possesses, I think there is every reason to hope for his welfare, and to doubt his yielding to the fatal weakness." He said good-night to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, and re ceived their warm expressions of grateful pleasure, and then turned to Claudia. Mrs. Thorne dreAv her own conclusions from the meeting of their eyes, and the clasp of their hands ; they were not to her, as they were to Claudia, the simple to- A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 123 kens of a brotherly interest in her, and in Philip, though Claudia could not have told why she felt so much stronger and safer, just because of her look into those kindly eyes. That night, as Mr. Russell sat beside the fire in his sanc tum, his thoughts dwelt for a time, with quiet satisfaction, upon the easy task of enabling John Heath to fulfill his cherished plan of giving himself to Christ's service. Then they turned to Philip Ventnor, with the solicitude of a strong and generous nature for a gifted one, tried and in peril ; and the thought of the young heart, whose happiness seemed linked with Philip's fate, added intensity to the interest that few are capable of feeling for those to whom they are only bound by the tie of a common brotherhood. But how was his interest to avail any thing ? He could not see, as yet, but trusted that time would develope a way. CHAPTER XII. The shade by which my life was crossed, Which makes a desert in the mind, Has made me kindly with my kind. TEXXTSON. " I THINK I will return with you to Rockdale," said Mr. Russell to John Heath, in the course of their next interview. "I am anxious to know your father and mother, and have them regard me as a friend. It is but a few hours from New York, and I can go and come in one day. There are some things that I should like to talk over with them." John's delight and surprise at this new proof of Mr. Rus sell's kindness were unbounded. " I know," he said, " that nothing could give them greater pleasure than to know you, sir." He spent that evening with Mr. Russell, and the next morning they started for Rockdale ; and if Mr. Russell had felt any misgivings as to the wisdom of his project, they would have been dispelled as he gained a clearer insight into John's character. The genuineness of his piety, his earnest love for the work he had chosen, and his lofty views of its sacredness and responsibility, together with his genial, frank nature and vigorous intellect, impressed him more and more, and deepened the interest he had felt in him from the first chance meeting. His plans for him were all arranged and explained with business-like precision, and there was little said of obligation or gratitude ; for when one generous spirit confers a great benefit upon another, words are not needed to remove a painful burden of obligation, or to make the appreciation of its value felt. Moreover, John knew that it was a service done for the sake of their Saviour ; and while that took nothing from his personal gratitude to his friend, it kept self out of sight, and made it easier for him to look the benefaction calmly in the face. A STOEY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 125 They reached Rockdale about noon, and a few minutes' walk brought them to the little house in the village where Mr. and Mrs. Heath were staying. John pointed out, in passing, the church where his father had preached for so many years, and the parsonage where he and his brothers and sisters had been born and brought up. John's arrival, and with a stranger, was a great surprise, as he had written but once during his absence, and then only to give them a glowing description of his first meeting with Mr. Russell, waiting till he saw them to tell the wonderful thing that had befallen him. But Mr. Russell's own letter to Mr. Heath had won their hearts, and insured him a warm welcome ; and his coming to Rockdale for no other purpose than to see them, was a proof of interest they could hardly credit. In the little old-fashioned parlor they sat till dinner-time, talking of things in general, though John's restless manner, and eager, sparkling eyes, marked his impatience to tell his story. But Mr. Russell had reserved that to do himself, in his own time and way. Mr. and Mrs. Heath interested him at once. Their sim ple, trusting piety, breathing through all they said, and shin ing in their care-worn faces, was all that was needed to win his confidence and respect ; but their intelligence, native refinement, and warm-heartedness, were equally apparent; and Mr. Russell looked upon their gray heads and bent figures with a mingling of tenderness and reverence. Mrs. Heath had evidently known much of care and sorrow, but the wrinkles could not hide the sweetness and patience of expression that trouble, gently borne, had given her face ; and her cheerful manner and views, together with all the signs of suffering, carried a lesson that Mr. Russell took to his heart. Mr. Heath had rather a rugged face, with deep-set, piercing eyes, and his strong, vigorous thoughts, and original way of expressing them, contrasted strangely with his white hair, bent figure, and tremulous tones. John bad previously told Mr. Russell that his father seemed to have MAEGAKET : grown ten years older since he had been deprived of his pas toral cares. After dinner, John went out to find his brother Henry, whom he had not seen yet ; and then Mr. Russell broke his plan to the minister and his wife, very much as he had first broken it to John himself leaving them no option but to accept it as the way Providence had opened for their son's usefulness in his chosen path. The deep joy and thankfulness of their hearts were not such as could find vent in words. They listened with tearful eyes to Mr. Russell's expressions of interest in their son, and his confident hope of seeing him one of the most useful laborers in Christ's vine yard. When Mr. Heath spoke, it was to reproach himself for his want of faith. " Here have I been mourning over John's broken hopes, almost ready to question the providence that shut him away from a work for which he seemed pecu liarly fitted, forgetting that He who sees the end from the beginning could bring it about, if it was best. I am utterly unworthy of this." " My dear husband," said Mrs. Heath, in trembling tones, " we don't deserve it, but we will accept it thankfully, and be careful to trust for the future. Oh, John," she added, " to think that we may, after all, live to see our boy a preacher of the gospel ! " Mr. Heath bowed his head, feeling that he could not trust himself to say a word ; and after a few moments' silence, Mr. Russell, remembering that he had not very much time before the train left, touched upon his plans for them. " I suppose you would much prefer remaining in- Rock- dale. You must have many warm friends here, and it is no small undertaking to make a new home in a strange place." " We did hope," answered Mrs. Heath, " to live and die here. We have five dear children sleeping in the grave yard, and we thought we might live near them, and be buried beside them. But if God wills it to be otherwise, we will not complain." " But why should you leave Rockdale ? If Mrs. Ford A STORY OF LIFE IN A FEAIRIE HOME. 127 wishes you to remain with her, I should think you could hardly have a more comfortable home." " No, it is true we could not," answered Mr. Heath, " but there seem to be obstacles in the way of any such arrange ment ; " and then Mr. Russell, not waiting for them to refer to the perplexities that had arisen out of the change in John's plans, with all the skill and tact of which he was master, made knoAvn his intentions with regard to them and their son Henry ; and before the tAVO brothers came in, they had yield ed to his persuasions, and promised to treat him as a sou. So it was arranged that John should return at once to the University, that the others should remain in Rockdale, and that Henry should study with his present teacher for another year, and then decide whether he would enter college, or go into business. When Mr. Russell left them, was it any wonder that he curm ci the blessing of four grateful hearts with him? or that, when John entered upon his studies again, added to his first and highest motive for improving his time and abilities to the utmost, he should have cherished that of proving to his kind friend that his confidence was not misplaced ? Several weeks passed, during which Mr. Russell called two or three times at Mrs. Thome's, drawn thither by his interest in Claudia, and his enjoyment of her music, and not less by his hope of seeing or hearing something of Philip Ventnor. But he saw him no more, and his name was only mentioned once, and that was when Claudia had left the room for a moment : Mrs. Thorne said, " By the way, have you happened to see or hear any thing of Mr. Ventnor of late ? " " Nothing whatever," answered Mr. Russell. " I had hoped to meet him again before this; but I suppose his home is at Mr. Tapscott's, and, as he lives out of town, I have not known where to find him, or I should have called upon him." " We hear occasional rumors concerning him that are any thing but creditable. But I think you arc mistaken as 128 MAJKGAKET: to his living at his grandfather's. It would be better for him if he did, but I am quite sure he has rooms in town. His visits here are at an end, and we know very little of him, but that little is quite enough." Claudia came back, and the subject was dropped ; but Mr. Russell needed to hear no more to determine him upon finding Mr. Ventnor without delay. He had noticed a change in Claudia since his first visit ; her cheek had lost its bloom, her eye its sparkle, and her manner was often quiet and depressed ; and again, she would laugh and talk with a wild gayety that was more painful than her sadness. He associated the change with Philip ; and when he knew their intercourse to be entirely broken up, he understood it all, and felt that her pain must be increased a thousandfold by the knowledge, which her mother would probably take no pains to keep from her, that Philip was growing reckless and desperate. As he bade Claudia good-by, he longed to tell her that he was going to seek Philip, and try to help him. He felt sure that the pleading look in her sorrowful eyes was an appeal to him. But he could only give her the silent sympathy of his eye and hand, and go the very next day to ask Mr. Tap- scott for Philip's address. It was not the first time that Mr. Russell had seen Mr. Tapscott since the affair of the note. More than once had he been assured that his kindness had saved him from losing every thing he had in the world ; but now it was reiterated with unabated warmth, and Mr. Russell began to fear that it would never be forgotten. " I came to ask for the address of your grandson, Mr. Philip Ventnor," he said, as soon as Mr. Tapscott gave him a chance. The old man's face grew very grave, as he replied, " Ah, poor boy ! I am afraid there's a bankruptcy pending there that no friendly hand can ward off." " Don't be hopeless about him, Mr. Tapscott. ' Hope on, hope ever,' is a good maxim for all kinds of troubles. I A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 129 to have Mr. Ventnor come and dine with me, hi my bachelor's hall. Where shall I find him ? " Mr. Tapscott gave him Philip's address, saying, with a brightened expression, " I am glad of it glad of it ! and so will his poor mother be." " I find my home rather silent and hum-drum," said Mr. Russell, as he bade Mr. Tapscott good-morning, " and I should like to have Mr. Ventnor's wit and intelligence to enliven it occasionally." His invitation to Philip to dine with him was politely declined, but with a formality and coldness that rather sur prised him, when he recollected Philip's manner at Mr. Thome's, and he was a little uncertain what to do next. Two or three evenings after, Mr. Russell had occasion to see a gentleman on business who was hi town for a few days ; and as they walked together through the hall of the hotel, after their business was over, sounds of revelry came from one of the smaller dining-rooms, as they drew near. " A party of young men, of whom, I am sorry to say, my nephew is one, are giving a birthday supper to a young author," Mr. Russell's friend explained, " and I suppose there will be a great expenditure of wit and wine before the night is ended." Just as they came opposite the door, it opened, as if on purpose to disclose to Mr. Russell the flushed face of Philip Ventnor, as he was in the act of holding a glass aloft, and breaking into the first strains of a wild drinking-song. The door closed again, but all through his walk home, and through his solitary vigil by the fire, that vision was before his eyes, that wild strain sounded in his ears like the dirge of a lost spirit ; and Philip's good angel might well have re joiced that night, through his sadness, at having gained such a determined ally. Immediately after dinner the next evening, Mr. Russell directed his steps to the address Mr. Tapscott had given him. At the door, when he was told that Mr. Yentnor was at home, he hesitated whether to send up his name ; but con- G* 130 MAKGAKET : eluded not to .run the risk of "being refused, and proceeded up the somewhat narrow, ill-lighted stairs, to the " fourth- story back." " Come in," Philip's voice called in answer to his knock, and he opened the door. A dim light shone through a blue haze of cigar-smoke, and Philip, who lay on a couch by the fire, turned his head to see who was there. The instant recognition made him spring to his feet, and he stood, in dressing-gown and slip pers, with tumbled hair and haggard face, before Mr. Russell. His look of blank amazement gave place to a flush of cha grin, as his visitor advanced towards him, and he reluctantly received the offered hand. " I hope I need not apologize for coming up unannounced," said Mr. Russell, who had prepared himself for any manner of reception. "Not at all. Pray sit down, sir," said Philip, attempt ing to cove'r his embarrassment with a formal politeness. " You know we laid claim to each other's friendship some weeks ago, and I believe the claim was mutually admitted. I have no intention of lightly relinquishing my right. I value it too highly." Philip met his eyes coldly, but made no reply. " So after trying in vain to lure you to my solitude, I have come to yours," added Mr. Russell. "You do too serious despite to your elegant solitude by naming it in connection with mine," said Philip, casting his eyes about the little room, where utter disorder prevailed, though there were evident signs of a refined and cultivated taste, in the few choice engravings on the walls, and in the books, papers, and magazines that lay around, adding to the general confusion. Mr. Russell wondered if the icy cloak in which Philip had wrapped himself would ever melt, and let him see his genial, frank self again. He made no direct reply to Philip, but said, "I had supposed that you lived at your grand father's, out of town ; and when I learned to the contrary, I A 6TOKY OF LIFE IN A PRAURIE HOME. 131 hoped you would have a sufficiently fellow-feeling to dine with me occasionally, in my bachelor's hall, though I know you must have many demands upon your time." " I make no visits," answered Philip, looking into the fire. Mr. Russell, after talking for some time without much encouragement, happened to mention a new book which lay upon Philip's table, awaiting a review ; and seeing that his attention was aroused, he skilfully led him to a discussion of its subject, so that something of the natural warmth and animation came into his face and manner. The talk lasted some time, and interested Mr. Russell so much, that when he rose to go, he had almost lost sight of the icy barrier that had existed during the first part of the visit, and said, " I have an old book in my library that I picked up years ago in an antiquarian bookstore, which treats the subject very originally and quaintly, and when you return my call, I will show it to you. I hope I shall have the opportunity soon." Every ray of warmth left Philip's face ; it became cold, gloomy, and haggard, as before. He stood silent for a mo ment, and then said, " I believe in plain speaking and frank dealing, and so I must assure you that I no longer lay any claim to your friendship, and do not desire it. I fully appre ciate, and can never forget, your kindness to my grandfather, and, through him, to my mother and brother and sisters. But save in that, we are strangers, I had almost said ene mies. You will lose nothing by it. God knows, no man need covet my friendship." Mr. Russell waited a moment, and then said, quietly, " You cannot wonder that I beg to know what has brought about this state of feeling." Philip instantly fixed his flashing eyes on Mr. Russell, and his color came, and his breath was quick and sharp, as he said in a suppressed voice, " Suppose you were not rich, influential, courted, as you are, but poor, obscure, dependent on the daily labor of your brains for your daily bread, your home a den like this, with nothing in the wide world that another need covet, save the love of one heart, the winning 132 MARGARET : of -which was the one thing that coiild make life desirable, and for which you would lay down your life, yes, sacrifice your soul, if such a thing could be ; moreover, you felt that the love of that heart was all that could save your soul. And suppose that I, having every thing else that could make life bright and desirable, should covet that one heart, and set myself to win it away from you, bringing my wealth, and influence, and name, to weigh against your devotion : do you think that, after having cast you out and Avon the heart, or the hand without the heart, if I should come to you with the offer of my friendship, you would accept it ? No, you would spurn it, as I do yours ! " and Philip made a gesture as if he were casting something he despised under his feet, while his fierce eyes never moved from Mr. Russell's. For several moments the tAvo stood motionless, looking at each other, while the meaning of Philip's parable gradually dawned upon Mr. Russell's mind, and at length a smile of sorrowful sympathy came into his face. " Will you bear with me while I give you a parable in return for yours ? " There was something in the gentle request that impressed Philip like a demand for justice, and he involuntarily handed Mr. Russell a chair, and the tAvo sat down. " Suppose that, instead of being twenty-four or five years' old, you were thirty-seven ; and suppose that, long ago, Avhen life lay before you beautiful and glowing, you had met your ideal of womanly loveliness. You gave all the tenderness and devotion of which any human heart Avas capable, and your love seemed returned in full measure, and for one happy year you called her yours, and looked to have her by your side all through life. But the year came to an end, and found you desolate, Avith an impenetrable mystery enveloping the blighting of your hopes ; for your love was unchanged, death had not taken aAvay your idol, you knew her to be true and steadfast as the hills in her nature, and she had said she loved you. Yet she had withdrawn her hand from yours, and you AA r ere alone, with life before you robbed of all A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 133 its brightness. You felt that you could not live near her as a stranger, so you left ycmr country, and for nine long years you were a lonely exile, bearing in your heart the un fading image of the beloved face, and the perplexing, har rowing, and yet sacredly cherished memory of every token of her truth and loveliness, and of her affection for you. Then you come back to a home, which the death of your father soon makes very cheerless ; for your mother left it forever in the first year of your absence, your sister is married, and your brother stayed behind in the foreign land. You go in and out of your lonely, haunted house, memories of loved ones lost your only heart-companions, knowing no more of the dwelling-place of her whom you love than if you were in different worlds. You would be happier to know that she was in heaven, for she could not be more lost to you than she is : and now you are often beset with fears, lest her life may be as joyless and desolate as yours. Then suppose that in the course of months you come from the silence and solitude of your home, with that cher ished, ineffaceable memory locked in your heart, to meet a fresh, beautiful nature, that impresses you like the glad sun shine. But you speedily see tokens of a maturity of womanly feeling, and of power to suffer, that deepens your interest. You know so well what it is to walk in shadow, that your heart goes out to those who are threatened with shadows ; and that this young life should be so soon clouded, fills you with pain. You see that her fate is linked with one whom you know, whose rarely gifted mind you appreciate ; and you gather him and his interests into your heart, re solved that, if a brother's hand can dispel the clouds which seem to threaten these two, it shall be done. You feel that you have the full, sisterly confidence of the one, though no words have been spoken ; and you seek him whom you yearn over as if he were indeed your young brother ; but he spurns your offered friendship, and charges you with robbing him of the heart you know to be his alone." Mr. Russell kept his eyes fixed on Philip's, watching hia 134 MAEGAEET. changing expression, until his face was buried in his arms upon the table ; and now a convulsive sob broke from him, and for many minutes he wept like one heart-broken. Mr. Russell knew well that many griefs were finding vent in those agonizing tears, not the least of which was for his own unworthiness, and he hailed them as a happy omen of better things. A few words of almost despairing contrition and self- condemnation fell from Philip's lips, to which Mr. Russell replied with kindest sympathy and encouragement, and then left him, commending him to the aid and watch-care of One who has all power to save, and a tenderer than any earthly pity for the erring. But the next morning he gave Janet instructions that the crimson room, with the bed-room open ing out of it, should be aired and made ready for a gentle man, who was coming to make a long visit. " Let the sun shine in, Janet, and have a good fire," was his parting injunction, " and have a particularly good din ner." And that very night saw Philip, much to his own be wilderment, with his books and other belongings, in posses sion of the crimson room, and sharing the peace and safety of Mr. Russell's fireside ; feeling much as a child may, who, after being long lost, is found and brought home. CHAPTER XIIL Instruction sore long time I bore, And cramming was in vain. ANON. WHEN Mrs. More came to live in the house to which Chloe introduced herself so unceremoniously, it stood alone in the midst of wood and prairie lands. Her husband was an Englishman, but came to America when a young man, drawn by his enthusiastic admiration for republican institu tions, and his desire to carry out his taste for farming, on a grander scale than he could do at home. The countless acres of rich farming lands at the West seemed to him the ultima tliule of his wishes, and he intended to invest his fortune in a few hundreds of those acres, and devote his energies to their perfect cultivation. His plans were interrupted for two or three years, as, when he reached New York, he fell in love with the sister of a gentleman to whom he brought letters of introduction ; and fearing that a delicately brought-up and accomplished girl would be horrified at the idea of forsaking her home and friends to follow his fortunes in the wild West, he re linquished his project and went into business in New York, and the wedding followed in a few months. Business, and city-life, however, proved utterly distaste ful, and he sighed for the fulfilment of his vision of a model farm, and the free, untrammelled enjoyments of the country. He could not hide his restlessness from his young wife, who at length succeeded in convincing him that there was no place in the wide world so distant or so solitary that she should dread going to it with him. Then he began to make his arrangements with an eager delight that fully compensa ted her for the sacrifice of leaving her friends ; and six months saw them in possession of a thousand acres of excellent land, keeping house in a style that would have 136 MAEGAKET : made their city friends lift their hands in dismay, but which they enjoyed with all the zest of their young, brave hearts. Fortunately, Mr. More united untiring energy and per severance with his enthusiasm for what he loved, so that things steadily progressed. Plans once conceived, and found feasible, were carried out through every discouragement, and in a few years they had built a comfortable, tasteful house, and a large part of the thousand acres was made productive and available. Either Mr. More's wisdom, or his good fortune, in the choice of his location, was proved by the speed with which railroad stations and little towns sprung up around him ; and when a dozen houses, a church, a store, and a blacksmith's shop, had been built within a mile or two of his home, it was called Moresville, in honor of the first settler. It was well understood that there was not to be found, far or near, a more enterprising, intelligent farmer, or a wiser and kinder- hearted man, and that Mrs. More was unequalled as a house-keeper, friend, and neighbor. It was therefore natural that they should exert a wide and strong influence. That they did, was apparent in the air of taste and refinement in the village-homes, in the intelligently-managed farms, in the simple, inexpensive elegance of the church, and the well- ordered village-school. The passing years led some of their children to distant homes of their own, and others into the silent land ; but when they were left alone, they sat down beside their quiet but cheerful hearthstone, to look back over the forty years of their happy life, and wait for the summons to a happier, It came soon to one, and the other was left to wait alone ; but she did not murmur, even when the weeks grew to months, and the months to years. Her married children all begged for her presence in their homes ; but she felt that it would be like tearing her heartstrings asunder to leave her own, and she set their minds at rest, as far as she could, by inviting the widow and daughter of her husband's cousin, A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 137 Mr. Rice, who had been the first pastor of the village- church, to cotne and live with her. Mrs. More fully appreciated the failings of both Mrs. Rice and Lucinda, yet she had no fear of having her peace disturbed, either by the somewhat acrid temper of the one, or the sentiinentalism of the other, when it seemed best for them to share her home. She had learned, in her long life, to bear with the faults and weaknesses of others, as she would have them bear with hers ; and so she could smile at them, or tenderly regret them, or give suggestions for their conquest, as the case might be. When the Rices left England, Mr. More's mother had sent with them a young man and his wife, who had been in her household from childhood, to take any places for which they might be fitted in her son's mysterious Western m'enage, ; and Thomas soon became Mr. More's invaluable aid on the farm, and Honora equally invaluable in the kitchen and dairy. They were too well-trained to get upset by any peculiarities they might meet in the native " helps," and so they proved an unfailing reliance through all the vicissitudes of house keeping in the country. With regard to the changing sup plies of other posts in the domestic economy, they might have said, as they doubtless did in spirit, " They may come and they may go, but we go on forever." In course of time Thomas came to understand Mr. More's wishes so well, that he relieved him of care, and spared Mrs. More all anxiety when she was left alone. Chloe's walking into the quiet routine of the kitchen had occasioned a little excitement ; but her being in a somewhat subdued state of mind, owing to her terrible experiences and her unabating regret at having lost "Miss Marg'et," pre vented her keeping it alive, as she might have done if she had been in her usual spirits. The special excitement occurred the morning after her arrival, when she was sent up to Miss Lucinda's room to kindle the fire. Miss Lucinda woke to discover Chloe sitting on the floor, looking at her, the whites of her eyes gleaming 138 MAKGARET I in a frightful manner, while her black face and woolly head gave her so much the appearance of a small goblin to the sensitive vision of the young lady, that she shrieked frantic ally for help, and her mother and Honora came running to know what was the matter. They found her, with her double row of curl-papers, lying back on the pillow, her eyes shut, while her finger pointed at Chloe, who sat in silent wonder before the stove. Honora conducted Chloe from the room in disgust, declaring that Miss Lucinda might make her own fires after this ; and Mrs. Rice remained to deliver to the horrified Lucinda a lecture on common sense. Chloe speedily learned to love Mrs. More whose beauty she continued to consider as second only to " Miss Marg'et's " as well as the kind, busy Honora, who appointed her easy tasks. These two drew from her, at different times, the fantastic yet pathetic story of her adventures with Simon and Nance, at first with the hope of gaining some clue to her former home. But they soon relinquished that hope, as her journey had become so exaggerated to* her mind, that, in dwelling upon its horrors, she gave the idea that weeks had passed from the time she was seized at the gate till she reached that place of safety. When she was asked how long it was after her escape from the school-house that the " ole Missus " pulled her out of the sleigh, she replied, " Oh, I dunno, Missus. I 'specks it was t'ree days. I was mos' done deaded, an' dat's de trufe." So she was regarded as a permanent member of the household, to be made as happy and good and useful as possible. Chloe's affection for Mrs. Rice and Lucinda was rather doubtful. Mrs. Rice had too many outside calls upon her time and thoughts, to do much more than look at her in sudden wonder whenever she encountered her, as if she never could cease to be surprised at seeing her there. But Lucinda's attention had been concentrated upon her ever since her recovery from that first shock. The nature of the interest she manifested may be gathered from a few A STOEY OF LIFE m A PBAIBIE HOME. 139 of the many lines confided to her beloved journal at the time: My soul in secret long hath mourned That one for some high purpose formed, As so I felt myself to be, Should miss such lofty destiny. I would not, dare not, love again ! I could not twice endure the pain Of giving my heart's wealth to One Who'd cast me off to weep alone. Ah, no ! that's past ! A mission high I now would have ! and I would vie With lordly ones whose souls are bent On loosing those in prison pent. I've found a soul to bring to light ! She's one whose prison's black as night; But though I cannot make her skin Less black than now, I can let in Such hope and joy as knowledge brings, And cause to grow such strong, free wings, That she will soar aloft with those Who would the gates of progress close From all whose dark-hued brows proclaim The dye of Afric's burning clime Who think but those whose brows are fair Are worthy of Heaven's light and air. With beating heart I hail the day That sent this dark-skinned waif this way; And future years may tell her story In lofty strains of swelling glory. The lover to whom the poem alluded was a myth to every body except Lucinda herself. Her family knew that on a certain day she retired to the privacy of her own room, and remained there, wrapped in gloom and a dressing-gown, for some days ; but nobody knew who was the hard-hearted one to whom she sometimes darkly alluded, and nobody knew what caused her suddenly to emerge from her solitude, and tread the paths of every-day life again. The fact was, that 140 MAEGAHET I she had conceived the cheering idea of finding a mission, tc take the place of her lost love, and nothing could have been more opportune than Chloe's advent. She at once accepted the child's mental and moral elevation as her much-desired destiny, and began to pursue it with a vigor that increased Chloe's bewilderment, and filled Honora's sensible soul with secret derision. One morning Lucinda appeared at the door of the store room, where Honora was inspecting her preserves and pickles. " Where is Chloe, Honora ? " she asked, in melancholy tones. " She is in the back-kitchen, cleaning knives, Miss," answered Honora ; " leastways, that's where I left 'er ten minutes ago." "Honora, I am surprised that she should be cleaning knives, when it is a full half-hour after her appointed time for coming to me ! " " You can 'ardly expect a hignorant woman like me to remember that a little niggro child 'as appointed hours," replied Honora, moving her pots about energetically. " I do think you should refrain from giving her tasks that will interfere with my plans for her education," answered Lucinda, thinking, as she proceeded to the back-kitchen, how much she had to contend with in her mission of love. Chloe was scouring away busily, with her head bent over so that she did not see or hear Lucinda, who wore thin kid slippers, till she stood close by and spoke her name. Chloe started, and stood with her hands dropped at her sides, a knife in one hand and her scourer in the other, look ing at Lucinda. " Chloe, don't you know that it is half-past eleven o'clock ? and eleven is the hour for your lessons to com mence." " Miss Jenkums tole me to clean dem ar knifes," answered Chloe, dropping her eyes to the toe of her shoe, which she began to dig into the floor. " Stop, child stand still," said Lucinda, mildly, for mild ness was one of the rules she had adopted in her system ; A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 14:1 and Chloe let her toes rest, but began to twist her tongue about. " Now, don't use your tongue in such a manner, Chloe ; you will find plenty of use for it when you come to say your lessons. Why did you not say you had an engagement with me, when Honora set you to do those knives ? " " Dunno, Miss." " Don't say ' dunno, 1 child ; say, ' I do not know.' How many times must I tell you that before you will remember it?" " Dunno ; " and then, .realizing that she had offended again, she began both to dig her toes and twist her tongue. " Oh, disheartening child ! what can I do with you ? But finish your work now, and then come to me in the sitting-room." So Chloe was left to finish her task in peace. For about two minutes she indulged herself in all sorts of antics and contortions, that would have made Lucinda utterly hopeless ; then she addressed herself to making the knives shine, while her feet, and her head with its little bobbing tufts of wool, kept time with her hands, and she discoursed to herself in the following fashion : " Oh, laus, laus ! I nebber did see de likes of dat ar Miss 'Cinder. 'Pears like I can't do nuffin 'tall. What's dat ar she tole me 'bout de-gagemum long o' her ? I declar I dunno dat ar ain't um oh, laus ! I do dunno, an' dat's de trufe." In the meantime Lucinda had gone to the sitting-room, and nothing could be more cheerful and comfortable than that room in a winter's day. The prevailing color was a warm crimson ; and the furniture, though old-fashioned, was rich and well preserved; and the deep fireplace, with its blazing logs and shining andirons, the stand of geraniums and roses in one of the windows, with the sun resting on them, all helped to make it a most attractive place. Mrs. More, too, in her rocking-chair on one side of the fire, with the vacant chair opposite, added to its quiet charm. But it could not be said that Lucinda did, when she came and stood 142 MARGARET : near Mrs. More. Her pale-green delaine did not harmonize with the warm tone of the room, neither did her pale com plexion, pale eyes, and lustreless brown hair, which she wore in curls, with an artificial rosebud arranged to look as if it were just going to fall out, though in reality it was tied in. " Aunt More," she said, " I must beg you to give Honora orders about Chloe. This is the second time that she has been performing some servile task when I was ready to teach her." " I suppose Honora thinks it important that she should know how to do useful things, as well as how to read and write," replied Mrs. More, looking up from her book. " Oh, my dear aunt ! is an illiterate woman to decide what is most important ? If the body is first, well and good ; but if the soul, I must have a chance to enlighten it. It will be difficult at the best." " I fear so, my dear, for both you and Chloe, as you are undertaking to do it now," said Mrs. More gently. " I am sure my plan is the true one," replied Lucinda, going to the plants and bending her curls over them. She always fled to Nature when she felt herself unappreciated. Presently Mrs. Rice came in. She sat down near the fire, and proceeded to untie her bonnet-strings in gloomy silence. Mrs. More laid by her book and took her knitting, saying, " "Well, Rachel, what success have you had ? " and Lucinda sat down to listen, with a blossom to smell of. " Don't ask me ! The world is clean given over to greed and covetousness, and I am ashamed to live in it." " Why, wouldn't any body give you any thing, ma ? " asked Lucinda. " I have been this whole blessed morning," said Mrs. Rice vehemently, "getting in and out of that sleigh, and have just got nothing worth naming. Every body has plenty to spend, it's plain to see, but it's on gimcracks for their houses, and furbelows and fandangoes to pile on themselves. Come to ask them for money for the missionaries, and they give little mites that are worse than nothing," A STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIKIE HOME. 143 " Christ did not despise' the mites, Rachel," said Mrs. More. " No ; but it was the widows' mites," replied Mrs. Rice. " That's one thing, and it's another when it comes from rich men and their wives." " I am sure I didn't know there were any rich people in our church," said Lucinda. " There are plenty," replied Mrs. Rice, " who live in good houses, and dress their wives and daughters like pup pets. There's Mr. Armstrong ; he had the face to tell me that he couldn't afford to give me any thing just now. And look at his wife and children of a Sunday ! " " I think they have very few new things, and I know that Mr. Armstrong gave quite a large sum to the agent when he preached here," said Mrs. More. "He did, did he? Well, if that's the way I'm to be treated ! He knew that I was the collector for our church, and what business had he to give his money, except into my hands ? " " Where else did you go, ma ? " asked Lucinda. " Go ! I went clear out to Keziah Kinney's, and to every house between there and the village ; and poor enough pay I got for my pains. That Mrs. Kinney ! she unblushingly gave me fifty cents ! " " She is a widow, you know, Rachel." " Yes, I know that ; and I know that she's got a bran- new green satin bonnet, all decked off and that, if she'd have put the price of those bows and feathers and artificial flowers into my hands, she'd have done better. But, thank goodness, I ain't accountable for any body's sins but my own ; " and Mrs. Rice took off her bonnet, with a face full of indignation at every body's sins except her own. " Well, now ! " she exclaimed, as she turned towards the door, " I never ! Just see that child ! " And Mrs. More and Lucinda turned, and saw Chloe standing behind them, her feet and tongue busy. " Why didn't you tell me you were there ? " asked MAEGAEET : V Lucinda, opening the door for her, and following her from the room. Mrs. Rice looked after them, remarking to Mrs. More, " It beats me, cousin, to think you should keep that creature in the house, when you've no earthly use for her ; it just gives Lucinda a notion to waste her time on." " It is one of my mites, Rachel," answered Mrs. More. Lucinda's room 'would have been a very pleasant one, but for the fact that she delighted in a " dim religious light." A " gaudy glare " of sunshine was something she could not abide ; and if a stray gleam ever ventured into her private apartment, it was quickly shut out. Chloe always felt as if she were going into a dark closet when she entered that room, and the darkness that affected her spirits may have affected her mind ; for certain it is, that as yet she had rather grown uncertain of what she did know, than learned any thing new. Lucinda felt very much ag grieved when she found that Chloe was not utterly benight ed that she knew who made her, and could even say a simple prayer, and knew some of her letters ; and she be came so tired of hearing Miss Marg'et quoted on all possible occasions, that she pathetically requested Chloe not to men tion the name again. " Come in, Chlorinda," said Lucinda for she had decided to give her a more refined name during the process of her mental discipline. Chlorinda had stopped at the door, but now came for ward and took her place before her teacher, who sat in an imposing arm-chair which she had brought from the garret. " Now let me hear what the last lesson was about." Chlorinda's toes started to her assistance, but were in stantly checked. " There, stand still, Chlorinda ; don't let your manners run riot while your mind is bein^ educated. Well, what O * was the lesson about ? " " Dunno." '"Don't know,' you mean. Well, look at this that I A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PKAIRIE HOME. 145 hold in my hand, and listen while I spell it for you a 1 did yesterday, and then you will tell me what it spells. D-o-g." Chloe looked at the little tin toy her missionary held up at arm's-length for her inspection, but could not distinguish it clearly in the dim light; so she said "Hoss" not finding any aid from the letters that had been uttered. " No, Chlorinda, it is not a horse ; d-o-g spells dog. N ow, what is this I hold in my hand ? " " A apple," answered Chloe, briskly. "No, Chlorinda, not a apple, but an apple. When a vowel follows the article, it is an instead of a / but we will leave that till another time, when we are prepared to take up grammar. An apple, then, is a kind of fruit which grows on a tree. The first apple is mentioned in the Bible, and occasioned the fall of our first parents. Only think, Chlo rinda, an apple like this tempted our first parents to sin. Who were our first parents the father and mother of the whole, human race ? There, stand still, Chlorinda." But Chlorinda's eyes had been wandering with her thoughts, and had caught sight of a cotton-wool doll that Lucinda had bought at a fair for a pin-cushion ; and utterly oblivious of every thing except her curiosity to know what this first imago of humanity that she had ever seen could be, she exclaimed, " Oh, Miss 'Cinder, what's dat ar ? Won't you please to le'mme see dat ar little missus ? " Lucinda's surprise at her mission's audacity knew no bounds. "Such disregard of all rules of decorum!" She sat looking at Chloe for some moments in silence, when, having made up her mind what course to pursue, she rose from her chair and produced a handkerchief from a drawer, which she tied over Chlorinda's eyes, telling her very mildly, that if she made any noise she should tie another over her mouth; then she put the cotton- wool doll on the table, and placed Chloe before it. "Now, Chlorinda, the doll which excited your undue furiosity is right before you, within reach of your hand ; this is your punishment for your disrespect to me, and your 146 MAKGARET. indulgence of one of the worst foibles of which you could be guilty. Stand there till I take off your bandage." Lucinda sat down, with a red and gilt Tolume of Tup- per's Proverbial Philosophy to while away the interim in her teaching. While she skimmed lightly over her favorite passages, and Chloe stood opening and shutting her eyes under the bandage, clutching her dress with her hands to keep them from grasping the forbidden object, there came a knock at the door, and Honora's head appeared. " Miss Lucinda," she said, while her eyes discerned Chloe in her disgrace, " your ma wants you irnmejately. She is in a desprit 'urry." Lucinda looked discomposed, but rose and laid her book down, saying, " Chloe, I shall only be gone a moment ; I expect you not to move till I come back ; " and she left the room. A moment after, Honora came back and lifted the hand kerchief from Chloe's eyes, with a derisive laugh. " What's the matter, Chloe ? What have you been do ing so 'orrid ? " The room seemed light compared with the previous dark ness, and Chloe's eyes quickly rested on the doll. " It's dat ar ; I wanted to take dat little missus ; " and Chloe pointed at it, clutching her dress again. " Well, for goodness sakes,, take it, child ; " and Honora thrust it into her hands. Chloe examined it in great amaze ment, but in a moment Lucinda's step was heard on the stairs, and Honora replaced the bandage and the doll, and telling Chloe not to mind, that she should have a doll for herself, left the room as Lucinda entered. " Have you stood still, Chlorinda ? Did you touch any thing ? " Chloe dug her toes and contorted a little, and then an swered, " I tetched dat ar, an' dat's de trufe." "Well, then, you must stand twice as lofeg as you have," answered Lucinda, and she seated herself with her book. "I regret to see you show such a lack of self-control." CHAPTER XIV. The face the most fair to our vision allowed, Is the face we encounter and lose in the crowd. OWEN MEREDITH. " Now clean up them things, an' don't be long about it. neither," Mrs. Kinney said to Betty one morning, pointing to the dishes she had been using ; and then she took a panful of doughnuts and another of cookies, one under each arm, and trudged out of the kitchen with them. Mrs. Kinney, having placed the contents of the pans in two huge stoife jars, which she kept in the dark recesses of her bedroom-closet, took off her apron and cross-barred muslin cap, preparatory to improving her appearance, when, suddenly remembering that she had not looked into the parlor since she sent Betty in to fix the fire, she hastened to see if she had dropped any chips on the carpet. As her search was fruitless, there not being a spick or a speck to be found anywhere, she merely put her head inside the kitchen- door to see that Betty was busy. "You be quick with them things, Betsey Jane; it's 'most time to put on the dinner," and returned to her bedroom to go on with her toilet. " Sakes alive ! " she ejaculated, as she looked in the little glass that hung over the bureau, " ef I ha'n't gone an' been an' let that minx see me without my cap on ! " and she put both her hands on her head, as if she thought it might not be too late, even then, to prevent disclosures. She labored under the delusion that nobody knew that the reddish-black hair, which came to such a sharp point at the top of her forehead, and ended in three little stiff curls on each side, was not as natural to her head as the thick iron- gray locks, the tips of which always showed a little below her cap behind. "Gracious ! " she exclaimed again, still holding her hands 148 MAKGABET : to her head. " That Betsey Jane '11 go an' tell all creation what she's seen ! "Whatever but there ! it's no use cryin over spilt milk, and I'm sure I don't care if she does tell 'em ; let her, if she wants to ; " and with no other sign of a disturbed mind than the jerky way in which she handled whatever she touched, she proceeded to array herself in a yellowish brown dress, a cap gayly decked with pink satin bows, and a very large lace collar. If she was satisfied with the tout ensemble, that was enough, even though, being quite short and scant in the skirt, the gown made her look rather more bunchy than usual, and the pink ribbons were not quite suited to her sallow complexion. Having locked the closet-door and put the key under the pillow she changed its hiding-place every time she locked the door she took her knitting, and, with the air of a pudgy princess, shut herself in the parlor, lifted the curtain about an inch to look out, and then sat down with her feet on the fender of the Franklin stove, and began to knit. For about a half-hour Mrs. Kinney sat alone, sometimes knitting energetically, and sometimes pausing to cast a com placent look upon 'her surroundings ; and they were such as her soul delighted in. Every thing had an air of severe order and good preservation, the striped green and yellow and black carpet, the very same that she had begun housekeep ing with, the six shining mahogany chairs that stood at reg ular intervals against the wall, and the red and yellow table- spread and astral lamp, and the tall brass candlesticks and gay china vases on the mantel. On the wall, with its gayly flowered paper, hung the portraits of herself and Mr. Kin ney, painted by a travelling artist some years before Mr. Kinney died, which had always been considered " wonderful good likenesses" by the originals, though their acquaintances looked in vain, whenever they were permitted to look at all, for any resemblance. Mrs. Jarley would have been more likely to recognize them as portraits of some of her wax- figures. In the midst of one of her contemplations, the sound of A. STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 14:9 footsteps in the next room caught her ear ; and while yet the look of blank horror was on her face, the door opened, and Mr. Skinner came in, with the pinched, blue appearance of a thin-blooded person after a long cold ride. " Shut that door ! " Mrs. Kinney screamed to Betty, who, having admitted Mr. Skinner, still stood holding the knob, as if she could not bear to tear herself away with only that little bit of satisfaction for her curiosity. She had no doubt^ of his being the expected guest, but why any such fuss should be made for him, was a mystery she needed to have solved. When Betty was gone, Mrs. Kinney took up her knit ting, having cast a wrathful glance at her visitor, that made him stop midway between her and the door, and changed the beaming smile with which he had been regarding her to the most sheepishly downcast expression. " Whatever you come to that back door for's mor'n I know," were the first words with which she greeted him. " Ef you wanted to see Betsey Jane, fer goodness sakes why didn't you stay in the kitchen not come in here, a-trackin' up my bettermost carpet ? " Mr. Skinner lifted up first one foot and then the other, to see if there was any snow under it ; and as there was none, and more especially as a hasty glance around the room had advised him of its grandeur, which was as new to him as if he had not put up there for ten days after New- Year's, he took courage to say, " I I'm sure I have no wish in life to see any body but you. Oh, look not so distant and forbidding upon your humble servant, my dear friend." " Don't ' my dear' me, if you please, sir ; " and Mrs. Kin ney tossed her pink bows in the most indignant manner ; "it's gen'ally presumed to be proper for pussons to come to the front door when they come a visitin', partic'larly ef they hcv designs. But it's all one an' the same to me, I'm sure ; " and she knit away in grim disregard of the fact that her guest was still standing. He took a step towards her, holding his hat with both hands. 150 MAKGAEET ! " I would ruther have come to the front door, and project ed myself into your fair presence, but I too wividly recalled your oft-capitulated injunctions to enter at the back door; and, my dear I would say I did wiolence to my feelin's, and sub mitted to be brung to this aujence by a menial. Oh, dear ob ject of my affections, may I ventur' to hope that you will oversee my offence, and restore me back again to favor once more ? " Mrs. Kinney was really very much softened by this fervent appeal, but it would not do to succumb too readily; so she replied, " I don't know's I will. I don't know whatever on the face of the airth you come back here at all fer, to either door. It beats me how these men will stick round. It was jest so with Tobias Kinney," and she shook her pink bows with irresistible effect at least, it would seem so, for Mr. Skinner at once stooped over and set his hat on the floor, and having possessed himself of a chair, sat down near Mrs. Kin ney, and with a smile that was meant to be very tender, said, " Oh ! do you ask me what I come here for ? oh " " Oh, go 'long ! don't be silly, fer pity's sake " and the coquettish Mrs. Kinney braced her feet against the stove, and gave her chair a shove back ; but her tone was such that Mr. Skinner felt free to follow her. " Oh ! words cannot inform you what egonies of mind I have underwent sence I bid you adoo a week ago to-day. Oh ! do not keep me in suspense no longer." " I ain't a keepin' ef you in suspense. What folderols ! It beats me what you're a-drivin' at." Mr. Skinner coughed and rubbed his knees, and was very nearly at his wit's-end, not being in the least able to fathom Mrs. Kinney's perversities ; but there was too much at stake for him to give it up without a desperate effort ; so, hitching his chair a little nearer, he began : " Oh ! recall to your recol lection our last interview, at which I laid my hand and heart, and all of my possessions at your feet, and what you said, which it was, that you Avould not give me a concise answer then, but if I would call to-day, you would do it." A 8TOKY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 151 "Do what, fer the sakes alive ?" and Mrs. Kinncy looked m pretended mystification at Mr. Skinner, who began to feel utterly hopeless. " Which it was, that you would tell me whether you would accept 'em them things I 'numerated." " Accept of 'em ! an' in the name of natur' what be I to do with 'em ef I do accept of 'em ? " Mr. Skinner's chin dropped, and his eyes were fixed on Mrs. Kinney, with the blankest expression for a moment. Then the solution of the difficult problem dawned upon him, and rubbing his knees gently, he replied, " Marry 'em." This coming to the point was what she had been endeav oring to drive her admirer to do all the time, and yet she dropped her knitting, and fell back in the chair, with every appearance of having been taken entirely by surprise, as much so as if the subject had never been presented to her before. Another hitch of Mr. Skinner's chair brought him near enough to take one of the hands that hung so limp at each side. "Oh !" he exclaimed, "best of females, have I been too suddent in my overtoors ? Oh ! fair Keziah, will you have me?" "Yes," the fair Keziah replied promptly, and in her naturally distinct tones, but without opening her eyes or moving from her touching posture. " Oil ! when ? name the blissful day," exclaimed the ecstatic Mr. Skinner, his eyes taking a turn around the room while he listened for the answer. "A week from to-day," replied tLe fairest; and she had just unclosed her eyes to look at Mr. Skinner, who, in his speechless surprise, had dropped her hand, when the door opened, and Benjamin Truffles appeared. Of course, Mrs. Kinney was herself again at once, and started up, screaming, "You rascal! you villain! you good- for-nothing ! you Benjamin Truffles I What be you a-doin' here ? " 152 MAKGABET : " I come to see ef you'd bony ma your quiltin' frames,'* answered Benjamin, whose equanimity was not easily dis turbed, and who had been taking a look around the room he was so seldom permitted to enter. " No, I won't, an' that's the end on't. I hate folks as is allers borryin, an' you can go home an' tell her so. Go 'long with you." And Mrs. Kinney, having laid aside once and for all the touching character in which she had appeared for a short time, lifted her hands as if about to drive intruding pigs from her garden, and ran towards Benjamin, who disap peared from the room. At the same instant the kitchen-door shut softly, and when Mrs. Kinney opened it, Betty was quietly dishing the dinner. Mr. Skinner stayed to dinner, and enjoyed it very much, notwithstanding that his betrothed was too much out of temper to add the charm of amiable conversation to that of the viands. It was fortunate for him, perhaps, that he was quite independent of that accompaniment to his meals. When dinner was over, he was told, rather peremptorily, considering the newness of his relations to Mrs. Kinney, to go away and not come back till the v/edding-day ; and when he was gone, Mrs. Kinney bade her man bring round the sleigh, as she was going to Moresville to do some errands. In her usual mufflings she set forth. Having despatched her smaller affairs, she drove to the minister's house, which was next to the blacksmith's shop, and, making her way carefully to the door, she knocked, and then stood gazing at two other sleighs that were in a line with hers, quite filling the space between the minister's gate and the door of the shop. The one in front of hers was Mrs. More's, and that lady and Mrs. Rice were in it, talking to Henry Newton, who was on the sidewalk. The people in the third sleigh, which stood before the shop, had evidently stopped to have one of the horses shod ; for Mr. Newton was busy with his tools, while the gentleman of the party was talking to the ladies in the sleigh. *' It looks like a weddin'," thought Mrs. Kinney, as she A STOKY OF LIFE IN A PRAIRIE HOME. 153 cast an admiring look at the array of teams ; and it suddenly occurred to her that she would give her invitation to Mrs. More and Mrs. Rice then and there, and save herself time and trouble. So, saying to the girl, who had l>y that time opened the door for her, " You jest wait a minute ; I'll be right back," she descended to the sidewalk, and pushed Henry Newton away. " How do you do, Miss More ? how do you do, Miss Rice ? Be you both on you well ? " Being assured that they were, she lowered her voice a little, and pointed to the sleigh before them. " Who be them folks ? They don't belong to Moresville, that's sartain sure." " No, of course they don't ; I should know who they were, if they lived anywheres within ten miles," said Mrs. Rice. " Til ask Mr. Newton who they be," said Mrs. Kinney, lifting her head preparatory. to lifting her voice. " Pray don't, Mrs. Kinney," said Mrs. More, hastily. " It is not necessary that we should know who they are ; and if it were, we could ask some other time." " We'll wait till they go," said Mrs. Rice, decidedly ; " it won't be long ; " and Mrs. Kinney, having bestowed another look of scrutiny upon the strangers, turned again to her acquaintances. " I thought as how I'd take this 'ere opportunity to speak to you, as I've got such a power of things to see to this week, that I couldn't call, mebbe. I expect you to keep it an awful secret," she added ; " I don't want all creation to know it, 'cause they ain't all goin' to be invited." " Oh, you are going to give a party, eh ? " said Mrs. Rice. " No, I ain't ; that's to say, it ain't exactly a party ; it's more'n a party it's a weddin'." " Oh ! " exclaimed Mrs. Rice, her curiosity fully roused, " Who's going to be married ? " " I be," answered Mrs. Kinney. 154: MARGARET : " You going to be married ? " cried Mrs. Rice, so loud that the lady on the back seat of the other sleigh turned her head, and Mrs. Here's feeling of astonishment at the piece of news she had heard, was arrested it was such a sweet face of which she had a glimpse. " Yes, to be sure it's me ; an' why not ? " asked Mrs. Kinney sharply ; " an' the weddin's to be a week from to day, an' I should be pleased to hev you both come ; an' bring your darter Lucindy, with my respex," she added to Mrs. Rice, who said she certainly would ; she " wouldn't miss the spectacle for the world," as she said afterwards. Just then their attention was directed to the strangers again, as, the loose shoe being fastened on, and two boys summoned from the shop where they had been entertaining themselves, the gentleman was tucking the buffalo-robe around the lady in the front seat. One of the boys climbed in behind, and snuggled down beside the lady whose face Mrs. More had seen, while the other mounted in front, call ing out, " I say, doctor, let me drive ; will you ? " " No, no, my dear ; come back here to me. You know you can't drive." The boy obeyed, saying, " Are we going straight home now?" " Yes, straight home," answered the gentleman, taking his seat ; and gathering up the reins, he turned -the horses' heads to go the other way, and then Mrs. More had another and better view of the fair face. This time the sweet gray eyes looked full into hers ; and when they started for home, after Mrs. Kinney and Mrs. Rice had plied Mr. Newton with questions as to the strangers, none of which he could answer, while half listening to Mrs. Rice's denouncement of " such ridiculous marriages," she still had that face in her mind. What would she have given to know, when within hear ing of her voice, that it was the face of Chloe's Miss Marg'et ? and what would Margaret have given to know that those soft dark eyes that met hers, and those silvery curls, belonged to her who had rescued Chloe from cruelty, cold, and hunger A. STORY OF LIFE IN A PRAIKIE HOME. 155 that ten minutes' fast driving would have brought her to Chloe's refuge ? What would she have said, if she had known that the sharp face and bunchy figure that caught her eye for a moment, belonged to the bride-elect of her ci- devant lover, Mr. Skinner ? And what would she have felt, if she had known that the lady with the soft dark eyes and silvery curls was not only Chloe's friend, but Mr. Russell's " kind aunt," to whom he had hastened from the little red school-house on the day, so far away, and yet so near ? Mrs. Kinney, having engaged the minister to perform the important ceremony, went home, and that week was full of business for her and Betty. She did not spend much thought on her wardrobe, as most brides do. She had bought the new green satin bonnet, which had given such umbrage to Mrs. Rice, with a view to " walking out bride in it," and she had her black satin cloak, which was "just as good as new," though she had worn it for ten years and more. Then, her green brocaded silk dress was plenty good enough to be mar ried in, and the yellow bows on her best cap looked white by lamp-light. But her mind was filled with cakes and pies and jellies, and all the cookeries necessary for the grand occasion ; and it was as much as ever she and Betty could do to get every thing ready in time. They succeeded, however, and the mo mentous hour arrived wh