id="id00139">"Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him," said Mrs. Wharton; "she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, which compelled her to do that."

"Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I punished her."

"Ah, yes, I see, Harriet," said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the yellow-covered publication on the table; "I see how it is, now; you have been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick, Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?"

"Ellen, do you think so?" said the mother hastily and in great agitation. "Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what shall I do! perhaps my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill."

"Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?"

"Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!"

The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her arms.

"Precious lamb!" said Mammy, "she has cried herself to sleep." Then, kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm.

Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the sunshine of her aunt's cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was sick, a cloud came over her face.

"Aunty," she whispered, "I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do something for Lewie. I can almost always amuse him."

"Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we will go."

Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother's arms, and kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised her eyes to her face. But her mother's eyes, with a gaze of almost despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware even of the presence of her little daughter.

A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without intruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and put her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably wrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying over the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will relate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; and by so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the young widow, whom we have introduced to the reader.

II.

Brook Farm.

   "By the gathering round the winter hearth,
   When twilight called unto household mirth;
   By the fairy tale, or the legend old,
   In that ring of happy faces told;
   By the quiet hours when hearts unite
   In the parting prayer and the kind "good night",
   By the smiling eye and the loving tone,
   Over thy life has the spell been thrown."—SPELLS OF HOME.

When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the kitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and indignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely the rough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up a continued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other in the sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stamped about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself felt throughout the whole house.

"And so ye've been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs.
McCrae?" were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed
Mammy as she entered the kitchen.

"I did as I was bid, Bridget," said Mammy, with a sigh.

"And indade it wouldn't be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to do the like o' that. I'd rather coot off my right hand than use it to turn the kay on the darlint."

"I always mind my mistress, Bridget," said Mammy, "though it's often I'm forced to pray for patience wi' her."

"And indade I don't ask for patience wid her at all, anny how," stormed Bridget. "To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but a kind an' a pleasant word for iverybody, away to the cold room, just because the brat she doats on chooses to yowl in the fashion he did the morn. I don't know, indade, what's the matther with the woman! I think it's a quare thing, and an on nattheral thing, anny how!"

"She's much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there's excuses to be made for my mistress," said Mammy, mildly. "She's young yet in years, no but twenty-two; and she's nothing but a child in her ways and her knowledge. She never knew the blessing of a mither's care, puir thing; and up to the very day she was married, her life was passed at one o' them fashionable boarding-schules, where they teach them to play on instruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to paint, and to talk some unchristian tongue that's never going to do them no good for this life nor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint that they've got a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them to be wives and mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she ran away with Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only fulish thing I ever knew him to do, was running away wi' that chit of a schule-girl. He met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this schule, and Master Harry was over head and ears in love in a minute; and after two or three meetings and a few notes passing, they determined on this runnin' away folly. I think it was them novels she was always readin' put it in her head. It wouldn't do, you know, to be like other folks, but they must have a little kind of a romance about it. Puir, fulish, young things!"

"You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then," continued Mammy; "indeed, I've been in the family ever since I came over from Scotland, quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I was soon back in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry's father, had lost his property before this time; but his brother, 'Uncle Ben,' as they called him, was very rich. They all lived together—'Uncle Ben,' old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that's Mrs. Wharton. Miss Ellen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was the housekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, when he walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. I never shall forget the time there was then! The old gentleman was complaining, and had had a bad night, though Master Harry did not know that. Well, the sudden shock threw him into an apoplectic fit; and two days after, he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost distracted then: he called himself