a strange house, if there is prayer in it, and Jesus is loved and worshipped there.

[pg 26]

Bright and early next morning, Mabel was dressed and out of doors, with a piece of corn-bread in her hand to feed the chickens and geese. She felt the least bit of terror when the geese craned their long necks and hissed at her, but they soon stopped this and became very friendly.

Folks talk about dumb creatures, but they are not very dumb, are they, children? though they have not the gift of speech. They soon learn to know who love them, and they testify their affection in many pleasant ways. Now Luce was not a dog to strike up friendships with everybody, but he and Johnnie seemed to like each other at first sight. Of course, [pg 27] the very first evening, bedtime came early, and weary eyes were very glad to shut. But before noon the next day Johnnie had discovered that his new companion could perform ever so many tricks: he could shoulder arms, stand on his hind feet, pretend to smoke a pipe, carry a basket, and beg in the most enchanting manner. Johnnie played soldier with Luce for flag-bearer, for nearly an hour, till his auntie called him in.

"I think, dear," she said, "that I must have you read a while every morning. Edie has promised to practise an hour a day, and Mabel is going to sit by me and crochet. All work and no play would never do, but all play and no work would make [pg 28] you all wish you had never seen Locust Hall."

"Now, Aunt Maria, how can you say that! I am sure I should be perfectly happy if I could play with Luce and do nothing else all day long."

"Well, I'll let you try it, some day, on this condition: you will promise, as an honorable boy, that no matter how tired you get, you will keep to your part of the bargain."

Johnnie was about to promise, when Edith called out:

"Better think about it first, Johnnie. I once tried playing a whole day, and it was tiresome enough, I can tell you, before I got through with it. It was dreadful."

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"If we agree to do it, I'll keep to my part, Aunt Maria; but as Edith says, I'll think about it first." So Johnnie went off to the library, and took down a volume of stories about the Revolutionary war.

[pg 30]

CHAPTER III.

VIOLETS AND ROSES.

A few days passed by, and there came a letter from papa saying that mamma was feeling better. This was very delightful to the little girls and Johnnie, though they had had a talk before it came about the duty of being sorrowful under the circumstances. It happened this way: they were outdoors playing May Queen.

"I never saw anything so sweet as these violets," cried Edith, in a rapture. They were as sweet as they could be, little English violets, white as snow, and perfuming the air. The [pg 31] flowers had come to Virginia early in the new spring, and already there were early roses, slender lilies of the valley, with tiny cups to catch the dewdrops, and the fragrant yellow jasmine flinging its golden bells over every roadside fence and tree. Old Uncle Moses had taken the children to the woods, and there they had seen the jasmine in its glory, and the white stars of the dogwood shining through the green branches far and near.

"'Pears like," said Uncle Moses, after one of these expeditions, "'pears like God must love posies, de way he scatter dem roun' dis yer land."

For all that Miss Josephine had been left at home, the little girls had [pg 32] not been obliged to live without a doll. Kind Aunt Maria had given them each one soon after their arrival. Out in the garden, then, with the dollies, Luce full of enthusiasm, and barking and rolling like an animated puff-ball, or else sitting up as straight as a judge, they were playing queen. Mabel had just fastened the wreath on Edith's head, when Johnnie very gravely observed,

"I think we are heartless wretches."

"Johnnie, where do you learn those big words?"

"Well, we're having such nice times, and never thinking of poor mamma. We ought to be miserable, if we had any feeling. I heard Aunt Chloe the other day say, 'Pore things, dey a'n't ole 'nuff to know what dey'd lose, if dey done lose dere mudder.'"

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Mabel's ready tears began to flow.

"O dear! O dear!" she sobbed, "mamma is going to die! What shall we do?"

"Hush, Mabel!" said Edith. "If we ought not to play, why we'll stop; but there isn't any use in crying so. Do please hush this instant."

A quick step came down the walk. The children, looking up, saw the young lady who lived in the next house. She had a sunbonnet on her head, and a light shawl was thrown around her, and in her hand was a pretty little bark canoe, in which was her knitting-work.

[pg 34]

"O Miss Rose, beautiful Miss Rose!" exclaimed Edith, "you're the very person we wanted to see."

"Mith Rothe, when thith canoe geth too old for you, you'll give it to me, won't you?" said Mabel, putting her hands lovingly up towards the fanciful basket.

"Mabel," Johnny said in a tone of reproof, "how often has mamma told you never to ask for things in that way?"

"Never mind your little sister, Johnnie," the young lady said, "but sit down and let me hear why you were all looking so serious when I came up. What lovely garlands you have made, and what a charming morning this is! God is very good [pg 35] to give us so many bright days, and so much joy in them, isn't he?"

Before any one could reply, a servant came up, with a request that the children would go to their Aunt Maria on the porch, and hear a message from their mother.

"Good! good!" Johnnie said, clapping his hands; but Edith and Mabel went more soberly. Miss Rose seated herself in a favorite spot of hers, a rustic chair under the oak-tree, and waited their return. She was fond of children, and since the little visitors had been there, she had often gone in with her knitting to talk and play with them.

After they had heard the letter, they were dismissed by Mrs. MacLain, [pg 36] who had her key-basket on her arm, and was very busy with her housekeeping. They trooped back to their friend Miss Rose, and grouped themselves around her, and the little girls began to weave a wreath for her hair, while Johnnie made her a bouquet.

"The question is, Miss Rose, whether we ought to be happy while we are away from mamma and papa."

"And while mamma is sick."

"And perhaps might die."

Miss Rose put her work down on her lap, and with one soft hand smoothed away the thick curls that had a way of falling over and shading Johnnie's forehead and eyes. She thought to herself, "What a [pg 37] pretty boy he is! How noble and