his father's murderer; and, indeed, I think he was never what you might call well from that time."

"But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He had always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in this foolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it was not enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and enough to live on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that perhaps something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought her away from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and tried to improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till last year, when poor master Harry died."

"And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little
Miss Agnes the way she does?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often heard her say that she couldn't abide girls, and bating other reasons, I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know, to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr. Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if his oldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave him the bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointed my young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a girl. She was but sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she acted like a cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and she wouldn't let the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think she never loved her; and from the time of Master Lewie's birth, she has seemed to dislike her more and more."

"But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!"

"Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It was a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her father; poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things right."

Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little
Agnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home.

As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her kind aunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of her little cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely believe that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or two before, was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, and trying to persuade herself that she was "not alone." Agnes was naturally of a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little girl of six years of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present pleasure, though, at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear little baby brother, lying so ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away the smile of pleasure beaming on her lovely face.

It was but little more than two miles from "The Hemlocks," Mrs. Elwyn's residence, to "Brook Farm," the home of the Wharton's, and, as Matthew had received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes that her ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up to her Uncle Wharton's house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear between the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more bright young faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped together, as the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cry resounds through the house, "They've come! they've come! and Agnes is with them!"

A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great breakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon surrounded by smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were assisting them to untie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments the door opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep mourning, entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton's, and, having lately been left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had been brought by her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was received by all as a member, henceforth, of their family.

"Well, aunty," said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, "you are back sooner than I expected."

"Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. By the way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is warm, he must drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. Rodney to get directly into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn's; and tell him to call for me, as he comes back."

"Why, mamma, are you going back there again?" asked Effie.

"Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. I only came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want your papa to drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all in bed; and I desire the rest of you to keep out of my way till I have changed my dress. I do not know yet what is the matter with Lewie. How do you feel, Emily?"

"Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of the house in your absence."

"Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most important thing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household concerns as to give you not a moment's time for reading."

"Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly would not have me grow up a dunce, would you?"

"No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your books altogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little color in these pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not to give you any more assistance in your studies till I give him permission."

"Well, I'll be very good, aunty, and I've promised the boys to take a run with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we are all invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which is nearly finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence."

Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and good nature, rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home from school for the Christmas holidays.

"Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?" they cried.

"Have you a table and seats?" she asked.

"Yes, all made of snow," said Albert. "But don't let us tell her all about it, Bob; I want to surprise her."

"I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, ought to be of snow and icicles," said Mrs. Wharton; "but, whatever it is, I am sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day."

"Oh! that's too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, will you give us something to eat?"

"Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may call upon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be a little moderate, and don't leave us entirely destitute."

"It won't be half so pleasant without you, mother," said Robert; "but we shall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, if all these go. Hallo! here's Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I didn't see you before."

At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Wharton hastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks.

"I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute," said little Grace.

"What more Christmas secrets?" asked her mother.

A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged with great eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant "Yes,