away off, O, so far. They live here, but I don't feel them; and they make me, O, so tired. They never say anything that makes me thrill all over as papa does. Don't you see now what I mean?"

"Yes, I see. Will you tell me after I have been here awhile, if I make you tired?"

"I need not tell you in words. You will see me get tired."

"Very good. I hope I shall not weary you."

"I can tell by to-morrow, and if I do look tired you will go, won't you?"

"Certainly; and for fear I may weary you now, I will retire, if you will promise to go too."

She yielded willingly to Miss Vernon's wish, and was led to her room, where the sensitive, pure being was soon at rest.

It seemed almost too early for any one to be stirring, when Miss Vernon heard a little tap on her door, and the next moment beheld a childish face peeping in.

"May I come?"

"Certainly. I hope you have had pleasant dreams, Dawn. Can you tell me why they gave you such a strange name?"

"Strange? Why I am Dawn, that is the reason; and mamma was Twilight, only her mother did n't give her the right name."

"Have you slept well?"

"I did n't know anything till I woke up. Was that sleeping well?"

"I think it was. Now will you tell me at what hour you have breakfast, that I may prepare myself in season?"

"When papa is at home, at eight o'clock. This morning I am going to see Bessie, the new calf, and Minnie Day's kittens, and Percy Willard's new pony, so Aunt Sue says she can have breakfast any time."

Miss Vernon upon this concluded that she need make no hasty toilet, and sank back upon her pillow to think awhile of her new surroundings.

Breakfast waited, but no Dawn appeared. Aunt Sue, fearing that the toast and coffee might be spoiled, rang for Miss Vernon.

At eleven Dawn came in with soiled clothes and wet feet.

"O, Aunty, the pony was so wild, and the kittens so cunning, I could n't come before."

"And see your clothes, Dawn. I must work very hard to-day to wash and dry them. Now go to your room and change them all, and try to remember others when you are in your enjoyments, won't you?"

"Yes, and I won't soil them again, auntie."

"Until the next time, I fear," said the kind housekeeper, who was, perhaps, too forgiving with the strange, wild child.

The next day Dawn was filled with delight at her father's return. He came early in the morning, and found his pet awake and watching for his approach.

"O, papa, such a dream, a real dream, as I had last night. Sit right here by the window, please, while I tell it to you."

"Perhaps your dream will be so real that we shall not want anything more substantial for breakfast."

"O, it's better than food, papa."

"Well, go on, my pet."

"I was thinking how glad I should be to see my papa, when I went to sleep and had this beautiful dream:—

"I was walking in a garden all full of flowers and vines, when I saw my mother coming towards me, with something upon her arm. She came close, and then I saw it was a robe, O, such a white robe, whiter than snow. She put it on me, and it was too long. I asked if it was for me why it was so long. 'You will grow,' she said, 'tall and beautiful, and need the long garment.' Then she led the way, and motioned me to follow. She led me down a dismal lane, and into a damp, dreadful place, where the streets were all mud and dirt. 'O, my dress,' I said, 'my pure white robe.' 'No dust and dirt can stain it,' she replied, 'walk through that dark street and see.' I went, and looked back at each step, but my pure white robe was not soiled, and when I returned to her, it was as spotless as ever. Was it not a lovely dream, and what does it mean, papa?"

"A lesson too deep for your childhood to comprehend, and yet I will some day tell you. But here comes Miss Vernon, and the bell has rung for breakfast."

CHAPTER III.

The next day, while Dawn wandered over the hills, her father conversed with Miss Vernon on what to his mind constituted an education.

"I know that all our growth is slow, but I wish to take the right steps if possible in the right direction; I wish my daughter to be wholly, not fractionally developed. There are certain parts of her nature which I shall trust to no one. Her daily lessons, a knowledge respecting domestic affairs, a thorough comprehension of the making and cost of wearing apparel, and a due regard to proper attire, I shall trust to you, if you are competent to fill such a position, and I think you are."

"I have seen so much misery," he continued, "resulting from the inability of some women to make a home happy, that I have resolved if my child lives to years of maturity, all accomplishments shall give way, if need be, to this one thing, a thorough knowledge of domestic affairs. Society is so at fault in these matters, and women generally have such false ideas of them, that I despair of reforming any one. If I can educate my daughter to live, or rather approximate in some degree, to my ideal of a true woman's life, it is all I can expect. Are you fond of domestic life, Miss Vernon?"

He turned so abruptly upon her that she feared her hesitation might be taken for a lack of feeling on the subject, and yet she could not bear the thought that one whose ideal was so near her own, did not fully comprehend her upon such a theme; but there was no mistaking her meaning when she replied,—

"I love home, and all that makes that spot holy. I only regret that my one-sided labor and my circumstances have kept me from mingling, to any great extent, in its joys and responsibilities. My ideal life would be to work, study and teach, but as no opportunities for doing so have been presented to me, and having had no home of my own, I have been obliged to work on in my one-sided way, unsatisfying as it has been."

"It shall be so no more, Miss Vernon. If you will call my house your home, so long as we harmonize, you shall have an opportunity to realize your wishes, and I will see that your services are well requited."

She was too full of gratitude to speak, but a tear started from her eye, and Mr. Wyman noticed that she turned aside to brush it away.

"You will stay with us, Miss Vernon, I am sure of that. Take Dawn into the kitchen every day, no matter if she rebels, as I fear she may, and slowly, but thoroughly educate her in all those seemingly minor details of household economy. Cause her to feel the importance of these things, and teach her to apply herself diligently to labor. I am not anxious that she should make any exhibition of her mental accomplishments, for I have learned to dislike parlor parades, and the showing off of children's acquirements. I do not want Dawn to dazzle with false how, but to be what she seems, and of use to the world. At the close of each day I shall question her about her studies, and show to her that I am interested not only in her books, but in her domestic attainments. Supply to her, as well as you can, that material, the want of which is so great a loss to a young girl, and your happiness shall be my study. Treat her as you would an own dear child, and when she gives you trouble, send her to me. I fear I may have wearied you, Miss Vernon, and as the day is so fine, had you not better take a walk?"

She was already too anxious to go by herself, and think of the happiness which was about opening for her. It seemed too much. All the years that had passed since her dear mother's death had been so lonely. No one had ever understood her nature, or seemed to think her anything but a machine to teach the children their daily lessons. But now what a prospective! How earnestly would she begin her new life; and burdened with this thought she walked to the edge of a green wood, and sat down to weep tears of pure joy.

When she returned she found her room filled with mosses and trailing vines, which Dawn had gathered for