native town; one can breathe there; I am glad to go."

"I don't want you to go," I said, impetuously (poor Emily did it).

He turned his full dark eyes upon me, and I felt the tide that flooded cheek and brow with crimson.

"Explain to me, Miss Emily," he said, "you love to keep my mother there."

"I did not mean to say it, Louis, but it is true."

"Why true?"

"I am so sorry—"

My dilemma was a queer one; I had to explain, and the tears that gathered when his mother sang, came back as I described our plain home.

"I love my home, it is good enough for me, I could not exchange it even with you, but you will think us rude, uncultivated people, I fear; you will find no attraction there; everything is as homely there as I am myself!"

And I never can forget how his bright, dark eyes grew humid with sympathy, to be covered with the sunlight of his smile at the earnest honesty of my remarks, especially the last one.

"Ah! Miss Emily, you know not your friend; I am more anxious than ever to go, and care not if you are sorry."

"I am glad now of my unexpected speech," I replied, "and feel as if I had really been to the confessional; your mother is so sensitive, I could not tell her, and I have kept this thought constantly before me, 'He will not stay if he goes, and I am sure he cannot eat rye bread and butter.'"

"You will see, Miss Emily, how I shall eat it, but we are to be interrupted; here comes the soulless girl that shocked you so; mother is with her; excuse me for a moment," and he made his way to a corner of the parlors, seating himself alone as if in reverie.

"Mademoiselle Emily, my friend, Miss Lear, desires an introduction to you; be seated, Miss Lear," and Clara took the chair on the other side; the disappointment of Miss Lear, in not finding Louis, was visible, even to my unpractised eye, and her tender enquiries of his mother regarding his health etc., were amusing.

I saw her furtive glances at my plain toilette, and knew she thought me a lowly wild flower on life's great meadow, a dandelion, unnecessary to be included in a fashionable nosegay, and while these thoughts were passing through my mind, Clara left us to ourselves, and, feeling in duty bound to say something to me, she began:

"Mrs. Desmonde tells me your house is in the country; how sublime the country is! You see sunrises and sunsets, do you not?"

"I hope I do," I replied. "There is great pleasure in watching nature."

"Oh! the country is so sublime, don't you think so?"

"Well that depends on your ideas of the sublime; I do not imagine milking cows and butter-making would correspond with the general ideas of sublimity."

"Oh!" and she tossed her befrizzled head in lofty disdain, "that is perfectly horrid, I cannot see how human beings endure such things; oh! dear, what a poor hand I should be at living under such circumstances."

"You would perhaps enjoy the general housework more, leaving the problem of the dairy to another."

"Housework?—I—ah! I see you are unlearned—beg your pardon—in society ways. Do my hands betray symptoms of housework?" and she laughed ironically.

At this moment Louis came to take the seat his mother had left, and heard of course my reply to Miss Lear's last remark.

"Yes, I know I am verdant in the extreme, and must plead guilty also to the charge of milking, churning and housework; I take, however, some pride in trying to do all these things well, and I believe the most fastidious can partake of the creamy butter rolls, we make at home."

"Bravo," exclaimed Louis, "pray tell me what elicited Miss Emily's speech?"

"We were talking of the country," I replied, growing bold; "Miss Lear thinks the country is sublime, but the butter-making, etc., horrid."

"Well," said Miss Lear, "it may be my ideas are rather crude, but really I cannot imagine I could ever make butter! Do you think I could, Mr. Desmonde?" leaning forward to catch Louis' eye, and plying her flashy fan with renewed energy and great care to show the ring of emeralds and diamonds that glistened on her right fore-finger.

"I cannot say, Miss Lear, I am going up to find out the ways and expect to be Miss Emily's assistant. I imagine it takes brain to do farm work."

Miss Lear waited to rally a little and said only, "Complimentary in the extreme! Pray tell me the hour, I think my carriage must be here;" then the fashion-plate shook hands with us both and departed.

I felt almost ashamed, and repeated verbatim to Louis our conversation; he laughed, and, patting my shoulder, said:

"You spoke quite rightly, she was impertinent, pardon her ignorant vanity."

Then I stood with Louis and Clara in the centre of the parlors and received the adieux of their friends. Louis carried his mother in his arms up stairs and soon dreams carried me home to green fields and butter-making.

CHAPTER V.

LOUIS ROBERT.

Gloriously beautiful was the morning of August twenty-first. We were up early, for the old stage would not wait for us, and we had much to do just at the last moment. I say we, for I tried to do all that was possible to assist Clara in packing the two large trunks we were to take. One thing puzzled me. I had heard Clara say so many times to Louis, who went over the house with her during the early part of each day, "Now leave everything in shape to be taken at any moment." And this last morning all the chairs were covered, and Louis worked with old Jim, time-honored help, to accomplish it all. I had a secret fear that they were planning to go away to seek another home somewhere, and it troubled me. I wondered the more because Clara said nothing to me, and she was naturally so ingenuous and apt to tell me her little plans freely. It seemed to take less time than it takes to write it ere we were landed at the door of my home, and found father and mother waiting to welcome us. There was a look of surprise on the faces of my parents as Louis descended from the stage and turned so gallantly to his little mother, as he often called her. He was not the boy they expected to see, but a man to all appearance, tall and handsome, and the embodiment of a politeness which is founded, as I believe, on a true respect for the opinions and conditions of others. I felt gladly proud of our supper table that night, and I knew Louis looked in vain for rye bread. He did ample justice to our creamy butter, however, and after supper remarked to me that Miss Lear might like a few pounds of such.

Days passed happily along, and the two weeks allotted for Louis' stay came nearly to a close. I dreaded to have the last day appear. Like his mother, he had dropped into his own appropriate niche, and came into our family only as another ray of the sunshine that brightened our home. I had Halbert in my mind much of the time, and talked of him to Louis until he said he felt well acquainted with him, and looked forward to meeting him as one looks to some happiness in store.

Louis was original in his expressions and different from all others of his age. One evening when we were talking of Hal, as we sat on the old doorstone in the moonlight, he said:

"I have something to do for your brother, Miss Emily, I cannot tell you how, but we shall see, we shall never lose sight of each other, we are always to be friends, Miss Emily."

And the light of his dark eyes grew deep and it seemed as if I looked into fathomless depths as he turned them full upon me for a moment.

"Only a few hours between this long breath I am taking and the school to which I go (mother has written the professor, asking if I can stay