struck me as unpleasant. It was a large old-fashioned square farm-house, which had once boasted a coat of red paint, but the winds and rains of many years had sadly marred its beauty, so much so that, but for the patches of dull red still visible beneath the eaves and round the windows, one would have been loth to believe the old house had all been of a deep red. The high road lay between the house and the long stretch of meadow-land which separated it from the river. The picket fence in front of the dwelling was in rather a dilapidated condition, and the gate, being minus a hinge, hung awry. Many tall sunflowers stood in the narrow strip of ground between the front fence and the house, and they were about all I could see in the way of ornament. But with this rather shabby look there was after all something inviting and attractive about the place, something that suggested the idea of quiet and repose and cozy comfort. Reader, have you never seen a home like Uncle Nathan's? I have seen many of them. Little did I then think how, in course of time, I should learn to love that old house and its inmates. A little before we reached home Uncle Nathan addressed me in a confidential voice, saying:

"Aunt Lucinder (as every body calls her) is my sister, who keeps house for me. She's kinder partickler and fussy, and you must not mind if she does snap you up kinder short sometimes, 'tis her way you know; but never you fear, for with all her sharp speeches she has a kind heart, and her bark is a deal worse than her bite; and if you once gain her over for a friend, you'll have a firm one, depend upon that. Then there's mother, she lives with us, too, she's an old, old woman Walter, and we have all try to please her in everything, and of course you'll always be quiet and respectful-like to her. I have often before spoke of hiring a boy to do chores about the house, but Lucinder always said, 'all boys were good for was to make a noise and litter up the house,' but I guess you'll get along famously with her; she's an old maid you know, that is she never was married, and folks say that old maids are always kinder cross and crusty." Seeing my sober face as we drew nigh the house my uncle laughed, as he said in an encouraging tone, "Don't you be a grain scared, Walter, neither of them old wimmen will hurt you. I shouldn't a said a word, only I thought if I gave you a hint of Aunt Lucinder's queer ways you'd know better how to get along with her." I had always thought all women like my own mild-speaking mother and kind old Mrs. Judson, but by this time I began to think Aunt Lucinda must differ very widely from them; and when I followed Uncle Nathan into the clean wide kitchen where a bountiful supper awaited our arrival, I felt somehow as though I was stepping upon dangerous ground, and I almost feared to set my foot down lest it might chance to be in the wrong place. Aunt Lucinda, however, gave me a much more kindly welcome than I had feared, which I regarded as a favourable omen. She also introduced me to the notice of my aged grandmother who was seated in her deep arm-chair in the corner. She has seen more than eighty years of life, but as she sits there, day by day, in her quiet decrepitude, she still pretends to a superintendence of the labors of Aunt Lucinda in a way that might sometimes provoke a smile. She seems not to realize that my uncle and aunt are themselves middle aged gray-haired people, and still calls them her boy and girl. When made aware who I was my grandmother seemed delighted to see me, and talked long and affectionately of my mother whom she had not seen for many years. Aunt Lucinda was busily employed at the ironing-board, but looked often to see that her mother's wants were all supplied; nothing could exceed the affection and care she seemed to bestow upon her aged parent, indulging every whim, so that the old lady hardly can realize that she is old and almost helpless. We were soon seated at the supper table, and they all must have had the idea that I had brought with me from Elmwood a most unheard-of appetite, if I could judge by the quantities of food they insisted upon piling on my plate. Aunt Lucinda treated me with a good degree of kindness, but evidently kept a sharp eye to all my movements, doubtless expecting that in a short time I would break out in some flagrant misdemeanor, when she would be called to open hostilities. Poor Aunt Lucinda, you had little to fear from the homesick boy who sat in the purple twilight, leaning his elbows upon the window-sill, thinking of his now far-distant mother and sister, and his loved companion, Charley Gray. As I sat there a line of light in the eastern sky gradually became brighter, till the full round moon rose to view, bathing the whole scene in a flood of silver light. Seated thus, gazing over the moonlit landscape I began (with a mind beyond my years) to look far away into the future, and I made many resolves for my course of action in time to come. I wished to assist my uncle in doing up the "chores" for the night, but he would not hear of it. "You'll get work enough here," said he, "but you shall rest after your journey and you shall not lift a hand to-night." When work was over and the house quiet, Aunt Lucinda placed the large family Bible upon the table, preparatory to their evening worship. "Now won't it be nice, Lucinda," said Uncle Nathan, "we've got some one in the house that has good eyes, to read the chapter for us every night, it bothers me to read by lamplight, and I have often heard you call a word wrong if the light was the least mite dim." "My sight isn't so bad as it might be," replied my aunt who evidently did not relish this hint that she was not as young as she had been, but she readily consented that for the future I should read the Chapter from the Bible each evening. After reading we all kneeled and Uncle Nathan offered a simple but heartfelt prayer, in which he failed not to remember the poor boy, who kneeled by his side, as well as his distant friends. After prayers I was shown at once to the room which was to be mine during my stay, and very different it was from the one I occupied at Farmer Judson's. It was an airy, cheerful, looking apartment, furnished plainly, but with everything necessary to my comfort. When left alone my first act was to remove from my trunk the small Bible which was my mother's parting gift, with the request that I would allow no day to pass without reading at least one Chapter, alone. And I have no doubt the obeying my mother's parting injunction, made the slumber all the sweeter, which weighed down my eyelids almost as soon as my head pressed my pillow.