want to tell Faith. She had resolved to hunt for them as soon as possible, and give them back. She was sure she could find them when she could run about again.

Faith did not look at Esther. She wished Esther had not reminded her of the beads. But Esther had been so grateful for everything that Mrs. Carew and Faith did for her that they had almost forgotten her mischief, and were beginning to like their little visitor.

“Yes, my Aunt Prissy is lovely,” said Faith. “She is a young aunt. Her hair is yellow and her eyes are blue; she can run as fast as I can,” and Faith smiled, remembering the good times she always had when Aunt Prissy came for a visit to the log cabin. “When I go to visit her I shall see the fort where the English soldiers are,” she added.

“Colonel Ethan Allen could take the fort away from them if he wanted to; my father said so,” boasted Esther; and Faith was quite ready to agree to this, for it seemed to her that the tall, dark-eyed colonel could accomplish almost anything.

“How would you and Faithie like to have your supper here by the fire?” asked Mrs Carew, coming in from the kitchen. “Faith can bring in the light stand and use her own set of dishes. And I will make you a fine dish of cream toast.”

Both the little girls were delighted at the plan. And Faith ran to the kitchen and, with her mother’s help, brought in the stand and put it down in front of the settle. She spread a white cloth over it, and then turned to the closet, from which she had taken the blue beads, and brought out her treasured tea-set. There was a round-bodied, squatty teapot with a high handle, a small pitcher, a round sugar-bowl, two cups and saucers, and two plates. The dishes were of delicate cream-tinted china covered with crimson roses and delicate buds and faint green leaves.

One by one Faith brought these treasures to the little table, smiling with delight at Esther’s exclamations of admiration.

“My grandmother who lives in Connecticut sent me these for my last birthday present,” said Faith. “My Grandmother Carew, whom I have never seen. And they came from across the big salt ocean, from England.”

“To think that a little girl in a log cabin should have such lovely things!” exclaimed Esther. “I have a silver mug with my name on it,” she added.

Mrs. Carew brought them in the fine dish of cream toast, and filled the china teapot with milk so they could play that it was a real tea-party. There were baked apples to eat with the toast, and although Esther longed for cake she did not speak of it, and, bolstered up with cushions, and Faith sitting in a high-backed chair facing her, she began really to enjoy herself.

“My father made this little table,” said Faith, helping Esther to a second cup of “tea,” “and he made these chairs and the settle. He came up here with Mr. Stanley years ago, and cut down trees and built this house and the barn and the mill; then he went way back where my grandmother lives and brought my mother here. Some day I am to go to Connecticut and go to school.”

“Why don’t you come to Brandon and go to school?” suggested Esther. “Oh, do! Faith, ask your mother to let you go home with me and go to school this winter. That would be splendid!” And Esther sat up so quickly that she nearly tipped over her cup and saucer.

“I guess I couldn’t,” replied Faith. “My mother would be lonesome.”

But Esther thought it would be a fine idea; and while Faith carried the dishes to the kitchen, washed them with the greatest care, and replaced them on the closet shelf, Esther talked of all the attractions of living in a village and going to school with other little girls.

“I feel as well as ever,” declared Esther as the two little girls went to bed that night; “but I do wish your mother thought sweet things would be good for me. At home I have all I want.”

“Mother says that is the reason you are not well,” answered Faith. “Hear the brook, Esther! Doesn’t it sound as if it was saying, ‘Hurry to bed! Hurry to bed!’ And in the morning it is ‘Time to get up! Time to get up!’”

“You are the queerest girl I ever knew. The idea that a brook could say anything,” replied Esther; but her tone was friendly. “I suppose it’s because you live way off here in the woods. Now if you lived in a village——”

“I don’t want to live in a village if it will stop my hearing what the brook says. And I can tell you what the robins say to the young robins; and what little foxes tell their mothers; and I know how the beavers build their homes under water,” declared Faith, with a little laugh at Esther’s puzzled expression.

“Tell me about the beavers,” said Esther, as they snuggled down in the big feather-bed.

“Every house a beaver builds has two doors,” began Faith, “and it has an up-stairs and down-stairs. One of the doors to the beaver’s house opens on the land side, so that they can get out and get their dinners; and the other opens under the water—way down deep, below where ice freezes.”

“How do you know?” questioned Esther, a little doubtfully.

“Father told me. And I have seen their houses over in the mill meadow, where the brook is as wide as this whole clearing.”

Before Faith had finished her story of how beavers could cut down trees with their sharp teeth, and of the dams they built across streams, Esther was fast asleep.

Faith lay awake thinking over all that Esther had said about school; about seeing little girls and boys of her own age, and of games and parties. Then with a little sigh of content she whispered to herself: “I guess I’d be lonesome without father and mother and the brook.”

Mrs. Carew had heard Esther’s suggestion about Faith going to Brandon to go to school, and after the little girls had gone to bed she spoke of it to Faith’s father, as they sat together before the fire.

“Perhaps we ought to send Faithie where she could go to school and be with other children,” said Mr. Carew, “but I hardly know how we could spare her.”

There was a little silence, for the father and mother knew that their pleasant home on the slope of the hillside would be a very different place without their little maid.

“But of course we would not think of Brandon,” continued Faith’s father. “If we must let her go, why, her Aunt Priscilla will give her a warm welcome and take good care of the child; and the school at Ticonderoga is doubtless a good one.”

“Esther seems sorry for her mischief, but I should not wish Faith to be with her so far from home. Perhaps we had best send some word to Priscilla by the next traveler who goes that way, and ask her if Faith may go to her for the winter months,” said Mrs. Carew.

So, while Faith described the beaver’s home to the sleepy Esther, it was settled that as soon as it could be arranged she should go to stay with her Aunt Priscilla in the village of Ticonderoga, across Lake Champlain, and go to school.

“If ’twere not that some stray Indians might happen along and make a bonfire of our house and mill we might plan for a month’s visit ourselves,” said Mr. Carew.

“We must not think of it,” responded his wife. For the log cabin home was very dear to her, and at that time the Indians, often incited by the British in command of the forts at Ticonderoga and Crown Point, burned the homes of settlers who held their land through grants given by the New Hampshire government.

“More settlers are coming into this region every