"And these red prunella boots—they look like boiled crabs." I put them on, and walked round the room crab-fashion, till she laughed hysterically. "Miss Charlotte Alden wears French kid slippers every day, and I must wear mine."

"No," she said, "you must only wear them to church."

"I shall talk to father about that, when he comes here next."

"Cassy, did Charlotte Alden speak to you to-day?"

"No; but she made an acquaintance by stares."

"Well, never mind her if she says anything unpleasant to you; the Aldens are a high set."

"Are they higher than we are in Surrey? Have they heard of my father, who is equal to the President?"

"We are all equal in the sight of God."

"You do not look as if you thought so, Aunt Mercy. Why do you say things in Barmouth you never said in Surrey?"

"Come downstairs, Cassandra, and help me finish the dishes."

Our conversation was ended; but I still had my thoughts on the clothes question, and revolved my plans.

After the morning exercises the next day, Miss Black called me in to her desk. "I think," she said, "you had better study Geology. It is important, for it will lead your mind up from nature to nature's God. My young ladies have finished their studies in that direction; therefore you will recite alone, once a day."

"Yes 'em," I replied; but it was the first time that I had heard of Geology. The compendium she gave me must have been dull and dry. I could not get its lessons perfectly. It never inspired me with any interest for land or sea. I could not associate any of its terms, or descriptions, with the great rock under grand'ther's house. It was not for Miss Black to open the nodules of my understanding, with her hammer of instruction. She proposed Botany also. The young ladies made botanical excursions to the fields and woods outside Barmouth; I might as well join the class at once. It was now in the family of the Legumes. I accompanied the class on one excursion. Not a soul appeared to know that I was present, and I declined going again. Composition I must write once a month. A few more details closed the interview. I mentioned in it that father desired me to study arithmetic. Miss Black placed me in a class; but her interests were in the higher and more elegant branches of education. I made no more advance in the humble walks of learning than in those adorned by the dissection of flowers, the disruption of rocks, or the graces of composition. Though I entered upon my duties under protest, I soon became accustomed to their routine, and the rest of my life seemed more like a dream of the future than a realization of the present. I refused to go home at the end of the month. I preferred waiting, I said, to the end of the year. I was not urged to change my mind; neither was I applauded for my resolution. The day that I could have gone home, I asked father to drive me to Milford, on the opposite side of the river which ran by Barmouth. I shut my eyes tight, when the horse struck the boards of the long wooden bridge between the towns, and opened them when we stopped at an inn by the water side of Milford. Father took me into a parlor, where sat a handsome, fat woman, hemming towels.

"Is that you, Morgeson?" she said. "Is this your daughter?"

"Yes; can I leave her with you, while I go to the bank? She has not been here before."

"Lord ha' mercy on us; you clip her wings, don't you? Come here, child, and let me pull off your pelisse."

I went to her with a haughty air; it did not please me to hear my father called "Morgeson," by a person unknown to me. She understood my expression, and looked up at father; they both smiled, and I was vexed with him for his unwarrantable familiarity. Pinching my cheek with her fat fingers, which were covered with red and green rings, she said, "We shall do very well together. What a pretty silk pelisse, and silver buckles, too."

After father went out, and my bonnet was disposed of, Mrs. Tabor gave me a huge piece of delicious sponge-cake, which softened me somewhat.

"What is your name, dear?"

"Morgeson."

"It is easy to see that."

"Well, Cassandra."

"Oh, what a lovely name," and she drew from her workbasket a paper-covered book; "there is no name in this novel half so pretty; I wish the heroine's name had been Cassandra instead of Aldebrante."

"Let me see it," I begged.

"There is a horrid monk in it"; but she gave it to me, and was presently called out. I devoured its pages, and for the only time in that year of Barmouth life, I forgot my own wants and woes. She saw my interest in the book when she came back, and coaxed it from me, offering me more cake, which I accepted. She told me that she had known father for years, and that he kept his horse at the inn stables, and dined with her. "But I never knew that he had a daughter," she continued. "Are you the only child?"

"I have a sister," and after a moment remembered that I had a brother, too; but did not think it a fact necessary to mention.

"I have no children."

"But you have novels to read."

She laughed, and by the time father returned we were quite chatty. After dinner I asked him to go to some shops with me. He took me to a jeweler's, and without consulting me bought an immense mosaic brooch, with a ruined castle on it, and a pretty ring with a gold stone.

"Is there anything more?" he asked, "you would like?"

"Yes, I want a pink calico dress."

"Why?"

"Because the girls at Miss Black's wear pink calico."

"Why not get a pink silk?"

"I must have a pink French calico, with a three-cornered white cloud on it; it is the fashion."

"The fashion!" he echoed with contempt. But the dress was bought, and we went back to Barmouth.

When I appeared in school with my new brooch and ring the girls crowded round me.

"What does that pin represent, whose estate?" inquired one, with envy in her voice.

"Don't the ring make the blood rush into your hand?" asked another; "it looks so."

"Does it?" I answered; "I'll hold up my hand in the air, as you do, to make it white."

"What is your father's business?" asked Elmira Sawyer, "is he a tailor?"

Her insolence made my head swim; but I did not reply. When recess was over a few minutes afterward, I cried under the lid of my desk. These girls overpowered me, for I could not conciliate them, and had no idea of revenge, believing that their ridicule was deserved. But I thought I should like to prove myself respectable. How could I? Grand'ther was a tailor, and I could not demean myself by assuring them that my father was a gentleman.

In the course of a month Aunt Mercy had my pink calico made up by the best dressmaker in Barmouth. When I put it on I thought I looked better than I ever had before, and went into school triumphantly with it. The girls surveyed me in silence; but criticised me. At last Charlotte Alden asked me in a whisper if old Mr. Warren made my dress. She wrote on a piece of paper, in large letters—"Girls, don't let's wear our pink calicoes again," and pushing it over to Elmira Sawyer, made signs that the paper should be passed to all the girls. They read it, and turning to Charlotte Alden nodded. I watched the paper as it made its round, and saw Mary Bennett drop it on the floor with a giggle.

It was a rainy day, and we passed the recess indoors. I remained quiet, looking over my lesson. "The first period ends with the carboniferous system; the second includes the saliferous and magnesian systems; the third comprises the oolitic and chalk systems; the fourth—" "How attentive some people are to their lessons," I heard Charlotte Alden say. Looking up, I saw her near me with Elmira Sawyer.

"What is that you say?" I asked sharply.

"I am not speaking to you."

"I am angry," I said in a low tone, and rising, "and have borne enough."

"Who are you that you should be angry? We have heard about your mother, when she was in love, poor thing."

I struck her so violent a blow in the face that she staggered backward. "You are a liar," I said, "and you must let me alone." Elmira Sawyer turned white, and moved away. I threw my book at her; it hit her head, and her comb was broken by my geological systems. There was a stir; Miss Black hurried from her desk, saying, "Young ladies, what does this mean? Miss C. Morgeson, your temper equals your vulgarity, I find. Take your seat in my desk."

I obeyed her, and as we passed Mary Bennett's desk, where I saw the paper fall, I picked it up. "See the good manners of your favorite, Miss Black; read it." She bit her lips as she glanced over it, turned back as if to speak to Charlotte Alden, looked at me again, and went on: "Sit down, Miss C. Morgeson, and reflect on the blow you have given. Will you ask pardon?"

"I will not; you know that."

"I have never resorted to severe punishment yet; but I fear I shall be obliged to in your case."

"Let me go from here." I clenched my hands, and tried to get up. She held me down on the seat, and we looked close in each other's eyes. "You are a bad girl." "And you are a bad woman," I replied; "mean and cruel." She made a motion to strike me, but her hand dropped; I felt my nostrils quiver strangely. "For shame," she said, in a tremulous voice, and turned away. I sat on the bench at the back of the desk, heartily tired, till school was dismissed; as Charlotte Alden passed out, courtesying, Miss Black said she hoped she would extend a Christian forgiveness to Miss C. Morgeson, for her unladylike behavior. "Miss C. Morgeson is a peculiar case."

She gave her a meaning look, which was not lost upon me. Charlotte answered, "Certainly," and bowed to me gracefully, whereat I felt a fresh sense of my demerits, and concluded that I was worsted in the fray.

Miss Black asked no explanation of the affair; it was dropped, and none of the girls alluded to it by hint or look afterward. When I told Aunt Mercy of it, she turned pale, and said she knew what Charlotte Alden meant, and that perhaps mother would tell me in good time.

"We had a good many troubles in our young days, Cassy."



CHAPTER X.

The atmosphere of my two lives was so different, that when I passed into one, the other ceased to affect me. I forgot all that I suffered and hated at Miss Black's, as soon as I crossed the threshold, and entered grand'ther's house. The difference kept up a healthy mean; either alone would perhaps have been more than I could then have sustained. All that year my life was narrowed to that house, my school, and the church. Father offered to take me to ride, when he came to Barmouth, or carry me to Milford; but the motion of the carriage, and the conveying power of the horse, created such a fearful and realizing sense of escape, that I gave up riding with him. Aunt Mercy seldom left home; my schoolmates did not invite me to visit them; the seashore was too distant for me to ramble there; the storehouses and wharves by the river-side offered no agreeable saunterings; and the street, in Aunt Mercy's estimation, was not the place for an idle promenade. My exercise, therefore, was confined to the garden—a pleasant spot, now that midsummer had come, and inhabited with winged and crawling creatures, with whom I claimed companionship, especially with the red, furry caterpillars, that have, alas, nearly passed away, and given place to a variegated, fantastic tribe, which gentleman farmers are fond of writing about.

Mother rode over to Barmouth occasionally, but seemed more glad when she went away than when she came. Veronica came with her once, but said she would come no more while I was there. She too would wait till the end of the year, for I spoiled the place. She said this so calmly that I never thought of being offended by it. I told her the episode of the pink calico. "It is a lovely color," she said, when I showed it to her. "If you like, I will take it home and burn it."

As I developed the dramatic part of my story—the blow given Charlotte Alden, Verry rubbed her face shrinkingly, as if she had felt the blow. "Let me see your hand," she asked; "did I ever strike anybody?"

"You threw a pail of salt downstairs, once, upon my head, and put out my sight."

"I wish, when you are home, you would pound Mr. Park; he talks too much about the Resurrection. And," she added mysteriously, "he likes mother."

"Likes mother!" I said aghast.

"He watches her so when she holds Arthur! Why do you stare at me? Why do I talk to you? I am going. Now mind, I shall never leave home to go to any school; I shall know enough without."

While Veronica was holding this placable talk with me, I discovered in her the high-bred air, the absence of which I deplored in myself.

How cool and unimpressionable she looked! She did not attract me then. My mind wandered to what I had heard Mary Bennett say, in recess one day, that her brother had seen me in church, and came home with the opinion that I was the handsomest girl in Miss Black's school.

"Is it possible!" replied the girl to whom she had made the remark. "I never should think of calling her pretty."

"Stop, Veronica," I called; "am I pretty?" She turned back. "Everybody in Surrey says so; and everybody says I am not." And she banged the door against me.

She did not come to Barmouth again. She was ill in the winter, and, father told me, queerer than ever, and more trouble. The summer passed, and I had no particular torment, except Miss Black's reference to composition. I could not do justice to the themes she gave us, not having the books from which she took them at command, and betrayed an ignorance which excited her utmost contempt, on "The Scenery of Singapore," "The Habits of the Hottentots," and "The Relative Merits of Homer and Virgil."

In October Sally and Ruth Aiken came for the fall sewing. They had farmed it all summer, they said, and were tanned so deep a hue that their faces bore no small resemblance to ham. Ruth brought me some apples in an ochre-colored bag, and Sally eyed me with her old severity. As they took their accustomed seats at the table, I thought they had swallowed the interval of time which had gone by since they left, so precisely the same was the moment of their leaving and that of their coming back. I knew grand'ther no better than when I saw him first. He was sociable to those who visited the house, but never with those abiding in his family. Me he never noticed, except when I ate less than usual; then he peered into my face, and said, "What ails you?" We had the benefit of his taciturn presence continually, for he rarely went out; and although he did not interfere with Aunt Mercy's work, he supervised it, weighed and measured every article that was used, and kept the cellar and garden in perfect order.

It was approaching the season of killing the pig, and he conferred often with Aunt Mercy on the subject. The weather was watched, and the pig poked daily, in the hope that the fat was thickening on his ribs. When the day of his destiny arrived, there was almost confusion in the house, and for a week after, of evenings, grand'ther went about with a lantern, and was not himself till a new occupant was obtained for the vacant pen, and all his idiosyncracies revealed and understood.

"Grand'ther," I asked, "will the beautiful pigeons that live in the pig's roof like the horrid new pig?"

"Yes," he answered, briskly rubbing his hands, "but they eat the pig's corn; and I can't afford that; I shall have to shoot them, I guess."

"Oh, don't, grand'ther."

"I will this very day. Where's the gun, Mercy?"

In an hour the pigeons were shot, except two which had flown away.

"Why did you ask him not to shoot the pigeons?" said Aunt Mercy. "If you had said nothing, he would not have done, it."

"He is a disagreeable relation," I answered, "and I am glad he is a tailor."

Aunt Mercy reproved me; but the loss of the pigeons vexed her. Perhaps grand'ther thought so, for that night he asked after her geraniums, and told her that a gardener had promised him some fine slips for her. She looked pleased, but did not thank him. There was already a beautiful stand of flowers in the middle room, which was odorous the year round with their perfume.

The weather was now cold, and we congregated about the fire; for there was no other comfortable room in the house. One afternoon, when I was digging in Aunt Mercy's geranium pots, and picking off the dead leaves, two deacons came to visit grand'ther, and, hovering over the fire with him, complained of the lukewarmness of the church brethren in regard to the spiritual condition of the Society. A shower of grace was needed; there were reviving symptoms in some of the neighboring churches, but none in Barmouth. Something must be done—a fast day appointed, or especial prayer-meetings held. This was on Saturday; the next day the ceremony of the Lord's Supper would take place, and grand'ther recommended that the minister should be asked to suggest something to the church which might remove it from its hardness.

"Are the vessels scoured, Mercy?" he asked, after the deacons had gone.

"I have no sand."

He presently brought her a biggin of fine white sand, which brought the shore of Surrey to my mind's eye. I followed her as she carried it to the well-room, where I saw, on the meal-chest, two large pewter plates, two flagons of the same metal, and a dozen or more cups, some of silver, and marked with the owner's name. They were soon cleaned. Then she made a fire in the oven, and mixed loaves in a peculiar shape, and launched them into the oven. She watched the bread carefully, and took it out before it had time to brown.

"This work belongs to the deacons' wives," she said; "but it has been done in this house for years. The bread is not like ours—it is unleavened."

Grand'ther carried it into the church after she had cut it with a sharp knife so that at the touch it would fall apart into square bits. When the remains were brought back, I went to the closet, where they were deposited, and took a piece of the bread, eating it reflectively, to test its solemnizing powers. I felt none, and when Aunt Mercy boiled the remnants with milk for a pudding, the sacred ideality of the ceremony I had seen at church was destroyed for me.

Was it a pity that my life was not conducted on Nature's plan, who shows us the beautiful, while she conceals the interior? We do not see the roots of her roses, and she hides from us her skeletons.

November passed, with its Thanksgiving—the sole day of all the year which grand'ther celebrated, by buying a goose for dinner, which goose was stewed with rye dumplings, that slid over my plate like glass balls. Sally and Ruth betook themselves to their farm, and hybernated. December came, and with it a young woman named Caroline, to learn the tailor's trade. Lively and pretty, she changed our atmosphere. She broke the silence of the morning by singing the "Star-spangled Banner," or the "Braes of Balquhither," and disturbed the monotony of the evenings by making molasses candy, which grand'ther ate, and which seemed to have a mollifying influence. Grand'ther kept his eye on Caroline; but his eye had no disturbing effect. She had no perception of his character; was fearless with him, and went contrary to all his ideas, and he liked her for it. She even reproved him for keeping such a long face. Her sewing, which was very bad, tried his patience so, that if it had not been for her mother, who was a poor widow, he would have given up the task of teaching her the trade. She said she knew she couldn't learn it; what was the use of trying? She meant to go West, and thought she might make a good home-missionary, as she did, for she married a poor young man, who had forsaken the trade of a cooper, to study for the ministry, and was helped off to Ohio by the Society of Home Missions. She came to see me in Surrey ten years afterward, a gaunt, hollow-eyed woman, of forbidding manners, and an implacable faith in no rewards or punishments this side of the grave.

I suffered so from the cold that December that I informed mother of the fact by letter. She wrote back:

"My child, have courage. One of these days you will feel a tender pity, when you think of your mother's girlhood. You are learning how she lived at your age. I trembled at the prosperity of your opening life, and believed it best for you to have a period of contrast. I thought you would, by and by, understand me better than I do myself; for you are not like me, Cassy, you are like your father. You shall never go back to Barmouth, unless you wish it. Dear Cassy, do you pray any? I send you some new petticoats, and a shawl. Does Mercy warm the bed for you? Your affectionate Mother."

I dressed and undressed in Aunt Mercy's room, which was under the roof, with benumbed fingers. My hair was like the coat of a cow in frosty weather; it was so frowzy, and so divided against itself, that when I tried to comb it, it streamed out like the tail of a comet. Aunt Mercy discovered that I was afflicted with chilblains, and had a good cry over them, telling me, at the same moment, that my French slippers were the cause. We had but one fire in the house, except the fire in the shop, which was allowed to go down at sunset. Sometimes I found a remaining warmth in the goose, which had been left in the ashes, and borrowed it for my stiffened fingers. I did not get thoroughly warm all day, for the fire in the middle room, made of green wood, was continually in the process of being stifled with a greener stick, as the others kindled. The school-room was warm; but I had a back seat by a window, where my feet were iced by a current, and my head exposed to a draught. In January I had so bad an ague that I was confined at home a week. But I grew fast in spite of all my discomforts. Aunt Mercy took the tucks out of my skirts, and I burst out where there were no tucks. I assumed a womanly shape. Stiff as my hands were, and purple as were my arms, I could see that they were plump and well shaped. I had lost the meagerness of childhood and began to feel a new and delightful affluence. What an appetite I had, too!

"The creature will eat us out of house and home," said grand'ther one day, looking at me, for him good-humoredly.

"Well, don't shoot me, as you shot the pigeons."

"Pah, have pigeons a soul?"

In February the weather softened, and a great revival broke out. It was the dullest time of the year in Barmouth. The ships were at sea still, and the farmers had only to fodder their cattle, so that everybody could attend the protracted meeting. It was the same as Sunday at our house for nine days. Miss Black, in consequence of the awakening, dismissed the school for two weeks, that the pupils might profit in what she told us was The Scheme of Salvation.

Caroline was among the first converts. I observed her from the moment I was told she was under Conviction, till she experienced Religion. She sang no more of mornings, and the making of molasses candy was suspended in the evenings. I thought her less pleasing, and felt shy of holding ordinary conversations with her, for had she not been set apart for a mysterious work? I perceived that when she sewed between meetings her work was worse done than ever; but grand'ther made no mention of it. I went with Aunt Mercy to meetings three times a day, and employed myself in scanning the countenances around me, curious to discover the first symptoms of Conviction.

One night when grand'ther came in to prayers, he told Aunt Mercy that Pardon Hitch was awfully distressed in mind, in view of his sins. She replied that he was always a good man.

"As good as any unregenerate man can be."

"I might as well be a thorough reprobate then," I thought, "like Sal Thompson, who seems remarkably happy, as to try to behave as well as Pardon Hitch, who is a model in Barmouth."

When we went to church the next morning, I saw him in one of the back pews, leaning against the rail, as if he had no strength. His face was full of anguish. He sat there motionless all day. He was prayed for, but did not seem to hear the prayers. At night his wife led him home. By the end of the third day, he interrupted an exhorting brother by rising, and uttering an inarticulate cry. We all looked. The tears were streaming down his pale face, which was lighted up by a smile of joy. He seemed like a man escaped from some great danger, torn, bruised, breathless, but alive. The minister left the pulpit to shake hands with him; the brethren crowded round to congratulate him, and the meeting broke up at once.

Neither grand'ther nor Aunt Mercy had spoken to me concerning my interest in Religion; but on that very evening Mr. Boold, the minister, came in to tea and asked me, while he was taking off his overcoat, if I knew that Christ had died for me? I answered that I was not sure of it.

"Do you read your Bible, child?"

"Every day."

"And what does it teach you?"

"I do not know."

"Miss Mercy, I will thank you for another cup. 'Now is the day, and now is the hour; come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, I will give you rest.'"

"But I do not want rest; I have no burden," I said.

"Cassandra," thundered grand'ther, "have you no respect for God nor man?"

"Have you read," went on the minister, "the memoir of Nathan Dickerman? A mere child, he realized his burden of sin in time, and died sanctified."

I thought it best to say no more. Aunt Mercy looked disturbed, and left the table as soon as she could with decency.

"Cassandra," she said, when we were alone, "what will become of you?"

"What will, indeed? You have always said that I was possessed. Why did you not explain this fact to Mr. Boold?"

She kissed me,—her usual treatment when she was perplexed.

The revival culminated and declined. Sixty new members were admitted into the church, and things settled into the old state. School was resumed; I found that not one of my schoolmates had met with a change, but Miss Black did not touch on the topic. My year was nearly out; March had come and gone, and it was now April. One mild day, in the latter part of the month, the girls went to the yard at recess. Charlotte Alden said pleasantly that the weather was fair enough for out-of-doors play, and asked if I would try the tilt. I gave a cordial assent. We balanced the board so that each could seat herself, and began to tilt slowly. As she was heavy, I was obliged to exert my strength to keep my place, and move her. She asked if I dared to go higher. "Oh yes, if you wish it." Happening to look round, I caught her winking at the girls near us, and felt that she was brewing mischief, but I had no time to dwell on it. She bore the end she was on to the ground with a sudden jerk, and I fell from the other, some eight feet, struck a stone, and fainted.

The next thing that I recollect was Aunt Mercy's carrying me across the street in her arms. She had seen my fall from the window. Reaching the house, she let me slide on the floor in a heap, and began to wring her hands and stamp her feet.

"I am not hurt, Aunt Mercy."

"You are nearly killed, you know you are. This is your last day at that miserable school. I am going for the doctor, as soon as you say you wont faint again."

Thus my education at Miss Black's was finished with a blow.

When Aunt Mercy represented to Miss Black that I was not to return to school, and that she feared I had not made the improvement that was expected, Miss Black asked, with hauteur, what had been expected—what my friends could expect. Aunt Mercy was intimidated, and retired as soon as she had paid her the last quarter's bills.

A week after my tournament with Charlotte Alden I went back to Surrey. There was little preparation to make—few friends to bid farewell. Ruth and Sally had emerged from their farm, and were sewing again at grand'ther's. Sally bade me remember that riches took to themselves wings and flew away; she hoped they had not been a snare to my mother; but she wasn't what she was, it was a fact.

"No, she isn't," Ruth affirmed. "Do you remember, Sally, when she came out to the farm once, and rode the white colt bare-back round the big meadow, with her hair flying?"

"Hold your tongue, Ruth."

Ruth looked penitent as she gave me a paper of hollyhock seeds, and said the flowers were a beautiful blood-red, and that I must plant them near the sink drain. Caroline had already gone home, so Aunt Mercy had nothing cheery but her plants and her snuff; for she had lately contracted the habit of snuff-taking but very privately.

"Train her well, Locke; she is skittish," said grand'ther as we got into the chaise to go home.

"Grand'ther, if I am ever rich enough to own a peaked-roof pig-sty, will you come and see me?"

"Away with you." And he went nimbly back to the house, chafing his little hands.



CHAPTER XI.

I was going home! When we rode over the brow of the hill within a mile of Surrey, and I saw the crescent-shaped village, and the tall chimneys of our house on its outer edge, instead of my heart leaping for joy, as I had expected, a sudden indifference filled it. I felt averse to the change from the narrow ways of Barmouth, which, for the moment, I regretted. When I entered the house, and saw mother in her old place, her surroundings unaltered, I suffered a disappointment. I had not had the power of transferring the atmosphere of my year's misery to Surrey.

The family gathered round me. I heard the wonted sound of the banging of doors. "The doors at grand'ther's," I mused, "had list nailed round their edges; but then he had the list, being a tailor."

"I vum," said Temperance, with her hand on her hip, and not offering to approach me, "your hair is as thick as a mop."

Hepsey, rubbing her fingers against her thumb, remarked that she hoped learning had not taken away my appetite. "I have made an Indian bannock for you, and we are going to have broiled sword-fish, besides, for supper. Is it best to cook more, Mrs. Morgeson, now that Cassandra has come?"

The boy, by name Charles, came to see the new arrival, but smitten with diffidence crept under the table, and examined me from his retreat.

"Don't you wish to see Arthur?" inquired mother; "he is getting his double teeth."

"Oh yes, and where's Veronica?"

"She's up garret writing geography, and told me nothing in the world must disturb her, till she had finished an account of the city of Palmiry," said Temperance.

"Call her when supper is ready," replied mother, who asked me to come into the bedroom where Arthur was sleeping. He was a handsome child, large and fair, and as I lifted his white, lax fingers, a torrent of love swept through me, and I kissed him.

"I am afraid I make an idol of him, Cassy."

"Are you unhappy because you love him so well, mother, and feel that you must make expiation?"

"Cassandra," she spoke with haste, "did you experience any shadow of a change during the revival at Barmouth?"

"No more than the baby here did."

"I shall have faith, though, that it will be well with you, because you have had the blessing of so good a man as your grand'ther."

"But I never heard a word of grand'ther's prayers. Do you remember his voice?"

A smile crept into her blue eye, as she said: "My hearing him, or not, would make no difference, since God could hear and answer."

"Grand'ther does not like me; I never pleased him."

She looked astonished, then reflective. It occurred to her that she, also, had been no favorite of his. She changed the subject. We talked on what had happened in Surrey, and commenced a discussion on my wardrobe, when we were summoned to tea. Temperance brought Arthur to the table half asleep, but he roused when she drummed on his plate with a spoon. Hepsey was stationed by the bannock, knife in hand, to serve it. As we began our meal, Veronica came in from the kitchen, with a plate of toasted crackers. She set the plate down, and gravely shook hands with me, saying she had concluded to live entirely on toast, but supposed I would eat all sorts of food, as usual. She had grown tall; her face was still long and narrow, but prettier, and her large, dark eyes had a slight cast, which gave her face an indescribable expression. Distant, indifferent, and speculative as the eyes were, a ray of fire shot into them occasionally, which made her gaze powerful and concentrated. I was within a month of sixteen, and Veronica was in her thirteenth year; but she looked as old as I did. She carefully prepared her toast with milk and butter, and ate it in silence. The plenty around me, the ease and independence, gave me a delightful sense of comfort. The dishes were odd, some of china, some of delf, and were continually moved out of their places, for we helped ourselves, although Temperance stayed in the room, ostensibly as a waiter. She was too much engaged in conversation to fulfill her duties that way. I looked round the room; nothing had been added to it, except red damask curtains, which were out of keeping with the old chintz covers. It was a delightful room, however; the blue sea glimmered between the curtains, and, turning my eyes toward it, my heart gave the leap which I had looked for. I grew blithe as I saw it winking under the rays of the afternoon sun, and, clapping my hands, said I was glad to get home. We left Veronica at the table, and mother resumed her conversation with me in a corner of the room. Presently Temperance came in with Charles, bringing fresh plates. As soon as they began their supper, Veronica asked Temperance how the fish tasted.

"Is it salt?"

"Middling."

"How is the bannock?"

"Excellent. I will say it for Hepsey that she hasn't her beat as a cook; been at it long enough," she added, in expiation of her praise.

"Temperance, is that pound cake, or sponge?"

"Pound."

"Charles can eat it," Verry said with a sigh.

"A mighty small piece he'll have—the glutton. But he has not been here long; they are all so when they first come."

She then gave him a large slice of the cake.

Veronica, contrary to her wont, huddled herself on the sofa. Arthur played round the chair of mother, who looked happy and forgetful. After Temperance had rearranged the table for father's supper we were quiet. I meditated how I could best amuse myself, where I should go, and what I should do, when Veronica, whom I had forgotten, interrupted my thoughts.

"Mother," she said, "eating toast does not make me better-tempered; I feel evil still. You know," turning to me, "that my temper is worse than ever; it is like a tiger's."

"Oh, Verry," said mother, "not quite so bad; you are too hard upon yourself."

"Mother, you said so to Hepsey, when I tore her turban from her head, it was so ugly. Can you forget you said such a thing?"

"Verry, you drive me wild. Must I say that I was wrong? Say so to my own child?"

Verry turned her face to the wall and said no more; but she had started a less pleasant train of thought. It was changed again by Temperance coming with lights. Though the tall brass lamps glittered like gold, their circle of light was small; the corners of the room were obscure. Mr. Park, entering, retreated into one, and mother was obliged to forego the pleasure of undressing Arthur; so she sent him off with Temperance and Charles, whose duty it was to rock the cradle as long as his babyship required.

Soon after father came, and Hepsey brought in his hot supper; while he was eating it, Grandfather John Morgeson bustled in. As he shook hands with me, I saw that his hair had whitened; he held a tasseled cane between his knees, and thumped the floor whenever he asked a question. Mr. Park buzzed about the last Sunday's discourse, and mother listened with a vague, respectful attention. Her hand was pressed against her breast, as if she were repressing an inward voice which claimed her attention. Leaning her head against her chair, she had quite pushed out her comb, her hair dropped on her shoulder, and looked like a brown, coiled serpent. Veronica, who had been silently observing her, rose from the sofa, picked up the comb, and fastened her hair, without speaking. As she passed she gave me a dark look.

"Eh, Verry," said father, "are you there? Were you glad to see Cassy home again?"

"Should I be glad? What can she do?"

Grandfather pursed up his mouth, and turned toward mother, as if he would like to say: "You understand bringing up children, don't you?"

She comprehended him, and, giving her head a slight toss, told Verry to go and play on the piano.

"I was going," she answered pettishly, and darting out a moment after we heard her.

Grandfather went, and presently Mr. Park got up in a lingering way, said that Verry must learn to play for the Lord, and bade us "Good night." But he came back again, to ask me if I would join Dr. Snell's Bible Class. It would meet the next evening; the boys and girls of my own age went. I promised him to go, wondering whether I should meet an ancient beau, Joe Bacon. Mother retired; Verry still played.

"Her talent is wonderful," said father, taking the cigar from his mouth. "By the way, you must take lessons in Milford; I wish you would learn to sing." I acquiesced, but I had no wish to learn to play. I could never perform mechanically what I heard now from Verry. When she ceased, I woke from a dream, chaotic, but not tumultuous, beautiful, but inharmonious. Though the fire had gone out, the lamps winked brightly, and father, moving his cigar to the other side of his mouth, changed his regards from one lamp to the other, and said he thought I was growing to be an attractive girl. He asked me if I would take pains to make myself an accomplished one also? I must, of course, be left to myself in many things; but he hoped that I would confide in him, if I did not ask his advice. A very strong relation of reserve generally existed between parent and child, instead of a confidential one, and the child was apt to discover that reserve on the part of the parent was not superiority, but cowardice, or indifference. "Let it not be so with us," was his conclusion. He threw away the stump of his cigar, and went to fasten the hall-door. I took one of the brass lamps, proposing to go to bed. As I passed through the upper entry, Veronica opened her door. She was undressed, and had a little book in her hand, which she shook at me, saying, "There is the day of the month put down on which you came home; and now mind," then shut the door. I pondered over what father had said; he had perceived something in me which I was not aware of. I resolved to think seriously over it; in the morning I found I had not thought of it at all.



CHAPTER XII.

The next evening I dressed my hair after the fashion of the Barmouth girls, with the small pride of wishing to make myself look different from the Surrey girls. I expected they would stare at me in the Bible Class. It would be my debut as a grown girl, and I must offer myself to their criticism. I went late, so that I might be observed by the assembled class. It met in the upper story of Temperance Hall—a new edifice. As I climbed the steep stairs, Joe Bacon's head came in view; he had stationed himself on a bench at the landing to watch for my arrival, of which he had been apprized by our satellite, Charles. Joe was the first boy who had ever offered his arm as my escort home from a party. After that event I had felt that there was something between us which the world did not understand. I was flattered, therefore, at the first glimpse of him on this occasion. When Dr. Snell made his opening prayer, Joe thrust a Bible before me, open at the lesson of the evening, and then, rubbing his nose with embarrassment, fixed his eyes with timid assurance on the opposite wall. Several of my Morgeson cousins were present, greeting me with sniffs. But I was disappointed in Joe Bacon; how young and shabby he looked! He wore a monkey jacket, probably a remnant of his sea-going father's wardrobe. He had done his best, however, for his hair was greased, and combed to a marble smoothness; its sleekness vexed me, not remembering at that moment the pains I had taken to dress my own hair, for a more ignoble end.

The girls gathered round me, after the class was dismissed; and when Dr. Snell came down from his desk, he said he was glad to see me, and that I must come to his rooms to look over the new books he had received. Dr. Snell was no exception to the rule that a minister must not be a native among his own people. His long residence in Surrey had failed to make him appear like one. A bachelor, with a small private fortune, his style of living differed from the average of Congregational parsons. His library was the only lion in our neighborhood. His taste as a collector made him known abroad, and he had a reputation which was not dreamed of by his parishioners, who thought him queer and simple. He loved old fashions; wore knee-breeches, and silver buckles in his shoes; brewed metheglin in his closet, and drank it from silver-pegged flagons; and kept diet bread on a salver to offer his visitors. He lived near us on the north road, and was very much afraid of his landlady, Mrs. Grossman, who sat in terrible state in her parlor, the year through, wearing a black satin cloak and an awful structure of a cap, which had a potent nod.

I was pleased with Dr. Snell's notice; his smile was courtly and his bow Grandisonian.

Joe Bacon was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He obtruded his arm, and hoarsely muttered, "See you home." I took it, and we marched along silently, till we were beyond the sound of voices. He began, rather inarticulately, to say how glad he was to see me, and that he hoped he was going to have better times now; but I could make no response to his wishes; the suspicion that he had a serious liking for me was disgusting. As he talked on I grew irritable, and replied shortly. When we reached our house, I slipped my hand from his arm, and ran up the steps, turning back with my hand on the door-knob to say, "Good-night." The lamp in the hall shone through the fanlight upon his face; it looked intelligent with pain. I skipped down the steps. "Please open the door, Joe." He brightened, but before he could comply with my request Temperance flung it wide, for the purpose of making a survey of the clouds and guessing at to-morrow's weather. His retreat was precipitate.

"Oh ho," said Temperance, "a feller came home with you. We shall have somebody sitting up a-Thursday nights, I reckon, before long."

"Nonsense with your Thursday nights."

"Everybody is just alike. We shall have rain, see if we don't; rain or no rain, I'll whitewash to-morrow."

Poor Joe! That night ended my first sentiment. He died with the measles in less than a month.

"I wish," said Temperance, who was spelling over a newspaper, "that Dr. Snell would come in before the plum-cake is gone, that Hepsey made last. The old dear loves it; he is always hungry. I candidly believe Mis Grossman keeps him short."

I expected that Temperance would break out then about Joe; but she never mentioned him, except to tell me that she had heard of his death. She did not whitewash the next day, for Charles came down with the measles, and was tended by her with a fretful tenderness. Veronica was seized soon after, and then Arthur, and then I had them. Veronica was the worst patient. When her room was darkened she got out of bed, tore down the quilt that was fastened to the window, and broke three panes of glass before she could be captured and taken back. The quilt was not put up again, however. She cried with anger, unless her hands were continually washed with lavender water, and made little pellets of cotton which she stuffed in her ears and nose, so that she might not hear or smell.

I went to Dr. Snell's as soon as I was able. He was in his bedchamber, writing a sermon on fine note-paper, and had disarranged the wide ruffles of his shirt so that he looked like a mildly angry turkey. Thrusting his spectacles up into the roots of his hair, he rose, and led me into a large room adjoining his bedroom, which contained nothing but tall bookcases, threw open the doors of one, pushed up a little ladder before it, for me to mount to a row of volumes bound in calf, whose backs were labeled "British Classics." "There," he said, "you will find 'The Spectator,'" and trotted back to his sermon, with his pen in his mouth. I examined the books, and selected Tom Jones and Goldsmith's Plays to take home. From that time I grazed at pleasure in his oddly assorted library, ranging from "The Gentleman's Magazine" to a file of the "Boston Recorder"; but never a volume of poetry anywhere. I became a devourer of books which I could not digest, and their influence located in my mind curious and inconsistent relations between facts and ideas.

My music lessons in Milford were my only task. I remained inapt, while Veronica played better and better; when I saw her fingers interpreting her feelings, touching the keys of the piano as if they were the chords of her thoughts, practice by note seemed a soulless, mechanical effort, which I would not make. One day mother and I were reading the separate volumes of charming Miss Austen's "Mansfield Park," when a message arrived from Aunt Mercy, with the news of Grand'ther Warren's dangerous illness. Mother dropped her book on the floor, but I turned down the leaf where I was reading. She went to Barmouth immediately, and the next day grand'ther died. He gave all he had to Aunt Mercy, except six silver spoons, which he directed the Barmouth silversmith to make for Caroline, who was now married to her missionary. Mother came home to prepare for the funeral. When the bonnets, veils, and black gloves came home, Veronica declared she would not go. As she had been allowed to stay away from Grand'ther Warren living, why should she be forced to go to him when dead? She was so violent in her opposition that mother ordered Temperance to keep her in her room. Father tried to persuade her, but she grew white, and trembled so that he told her she should stay at home. While we were gone she sent her bonnet to the Widow Smith's daughter, who appeared in the Poor Seats wearing it, on the very Sunday after the funeral, when we all went to church in our mourning to make the discovery, which discomposed us exceedingly.

All the church were present at grand'ther's funeral,—obsequies, as Mr. Boold called it, who exalted his character and behavior so greatly in his discourse that his nearest friends would not have recognized him, although everybody knew that he was a good man. Mr. Boold expatiated on his tenderness and delicate appreciation, and his study of the feelings and wants of others, till he was moved to tears himself by the picture he drew. I thought of the pigeons he had shot, and of the summary treatment he gave me—of his coldness and silence toward Aunt Mercy, and my eyes remained dry; but mother and Aunt Mercy wept bitterly. After it was over, and they had gone back to the empty house, they removed their heavy bonnets, kissed each other, said they knew that he was in heaven, and held a comforting conversation about the future; but my mind was chained to the edge of the yawning grave into which I had seen his coffin lowered.

"Shut up the old shell, Mercy," said father. "Come, and live with us."

She was rejoiced at the prospect, for the life at our house was congenial, and she readily and gratefully consented. She came in a few days, with a multitude of boxes, and her plants. Mother established her in the room next the stairs—good place for her, Veronica said, for she could be easily locked out of our premises. The plants were placed on a new revolving stand, which stood on the landing-place beneath the stair window. Veronica was so delighted with them that she made amicable overtures to Aunt Mercy, and never quarreled with her afterward, except when she was ill. She entreated her to leave off her bombazine dresses; the touch of them interfered with her feelings for her, she said; in fact, their contact made her crawl all over.

Aunt Mercy took upon herself many of mother's irksome cares; such as remembering where the patches and old linen were—the hammer and nails; watching the sweetmeat pots; keeping the run of the napkins and blankets; packing the winter clothing, and having an eye on mice and ants, moth and mold. Occasionally she read a novel; but was faithful to all the week-day meetings, making the acquaintance thereby of mother's tea-drinking friends, who considered her an accomplished person, because she worked lace so beautifully, and had such a faculty for raising plants! Mother left the house in her charge, and made several journeys with father this year. This period was perhaps her happiest. The only annoyance, visible to me, that I can remember, was one between her and father on the subject of charity. He was for giving to all needy persons, while she only desired to bestow it on the deserving, but they had renounced the wish of manufacturing each other's habits and opinions. Whether mother ever desired the expression of that exaltation of feeling which only lasts in a man while he is in love, I cannot say. It was not for me to know her heart. It is not ordained that these beautiful secrets of feeling should be revealed, where they might prove to be the sweetest knowledge we could have.

Though the days flew by, days filled with the busy nothings of prosperity, they bore no meaning. I shifted the hours, as one shifts the kaleidoscope, with an eye only to their movement. Neither the remembrance of yesterday nor the hope of to-morrow stimulated me. The mere fact of breathing had ceased to be a happiness, since the day I entered Miss Black's school. But I was not yet thoughtful. As for my position, I was loved and I was hated, and it pleased me as much to be hated as to be loved. My acquaintances were kind enough to let me know that I was generally thought proud, exacting, ill-natured, and apt to expect the best of everything. But one thing I know of myself then—that I concealed nothing; the desires and emotions which are usually kept as a private fund I displayed and exhausted. My audacity shocked those who possessed this fund. My candor was called anything but truthfulness; they named it sarcasm, cunning, coarseness, or tact, as those were constituted who came in contact with me. Insight into character, frankness, generosity, disinterestedness, were sometimes given me. Veronica alone was uncompromising; she put aside by instinct what baffled or attracted others, and, setting my real value upon me, acted accordingly. I do not accuse her of injustice, but of a fierce harshness which kept us apart for long years. As for her, she was the most reticent girl I ever knew, and but for her explosive temper, which betrayed her, she would have been a mystery. The difference in our physical constitutions would have separated us, if there had been no other cause. The weeks that she was confined to her room, preyed upon by some inscrutable disease, were weeks of darkness and solitude. Temperance and Aunt Merce took as much care of her as she would allow; but she preferred being alone most of the time. Thus she acquired the fortitude of an Indian; pain could extort no groan from her. It reacted on her temper, though, for after an attack she was exasperating. Her invention was put to the rack to tease and offend. I kept out of her way; if by chance she caught sight of me, she forced me to hear the bitter truth of myself. Sometimes she examined me to learn if I had improved by the means which father so generously provided for me. "Is he not yet tired of his task?" she asked once. And, "Do you carry everything before you, with your wide eyebrows and sharp teeth? Temperance, where's the Buffon Dr. Snell sent me? I want to classify Cass."

"I'll warrant you'll find her a sheep," Temperance replied.

"Sheep are innocent," said Veronica. "You may go," nodding to me, over the book, and Temperance also made energetic signs to me to go, and not bother the poor girl.

Always regarding her from the point of view she presented, I felt little love for her; her peculiarities offended me as they did mother. We did not perceive the process, but Verry was educated by sickness; her mind fed and grew on pain, and at last mastered it. The darkness in her nature broke; by slow degrees she gained health, though never much strength. Upon each recovery a change was visible; a spiritual dawn had risen in her soul; moral activity blending with her ideality made her life beautiful, even in the humblest sense. Veronica! you were endowed with genius; but while its rays penetrated you, we did not see them. How could we profit by what you saw and heard, when we were blind and deaf? To us, the voices of the deep sang no epic of grief; the speech of the woods was not articulate; the sea-gull's flashing flight, and the dark swallow's circling sweep, were facts only. Sunrise and sunset were not a paean to day and night, but five o'clock A.M. or P.M. The seasons that came and went were changes from hot to cold; to you, they were the moods of nature, which found response in those of your own life and soul; her storms and calms were pulses which bore a similitude to the emotions of your heart!

Veronica's habits of isolation clung to her; she would never leave home. The teaching she had was obtained in Surrey. But her knowledge was greater than mine. When I went to Rosville she was reading "Paradise Lost," and writing her opinions upon it in a large blank book. She was also devising a plan for raising trees and flowers in the garret, so that she might realize a picture of a tropical wilderness. Her tastes were so contradictory that time never hung heavy with her; though she had as little practical talent as any person I ever knew, she was a help to both sick and well. She remembered people's ill turns, and what was done for them; and for the well she remembered dates and suggested agreeable occupations—gave them happy ideas. Besides being a calendar of domestic traditions, she was weather-wise, and prognosticated gales, meteors, high tides, and rains.

Home, father said, was her sphere. All that she required, he thought he could do; but of me he was doubtful. Where did I belong? he asked.

I was still "possessed," Aunt Merce said, and mother called me "lawless." "What upon earth are you coming to?" asked Temperance. "You are sowing your wild oats with a vengeance."

"Locke Morgeson's daughter can do anything," commented the villagers. In consequence of the unlimited power accorded me I was unpopular. "Do you think she is handsome?" inquired my friends of each other. "In what respect can she be called a beauty?" "Though she reads, she has no great wit," said one. "She dresses oddly for effect," another avowed, "and her manners are ridiculous." But they borrowed my dresses for patterns, imitated my bonnets, and adopted my colors. When I learned to manage a sailboat, they had an aquatic mania. When I learned to ride a horse, the ancient and moth-eaten sidesaddles of the town were resuscitated, and old family nags were made back-sore with the wearing of them, and their youthful spirits revived by new beginners sliding about on their rounded sides. My whims were sneered at, and then followed. Of course I was driven from whim to whim, to keep them busy, and to preserve my originality, and at last I became eccentric for eccentricity's sake. All this prepared the way for my Nemesis. But as yet my wild oats were green and flourishing in the field of youth.



CHAPTER XIII.

I was preaching one day to mother and Aunt Merce a sermon after the manner of Mr. Boold, of Barmouth, taking the sofa for a desk, and for my text "Like David's Harp of solemn sound," and had attracted Temperance and Charles into the room by my declamation, when my audience was unexpectedly increased by the entrance of father, with a strange gentleman. Aunt Merce laughed hysterically; I waved my hand to her, a la Boold, and descended from my position.

"Take a chair," said Temperance, who was never abashed, thumping one down before the stranger.

"What is all this?" inquired father.

"Only a Ranz des Vaches, father, to please Aunt Merce."

The stranger's eyes were fastened upon me, while father introduced us to "Mr. Charles Morgeson, of Rosville."

"Please receive me as a relative," he said, turning to shake hands with mother. "We have an ancestor in common that makes a sufficient cousinship for a claim, Mrs. Morgeson."

"Why not have looked us up before?" I asked.

"Why," said Veronica, who had just come in, "there are six Charles Morgesons buried in our graveyard."

"I supposed," he said, "that the name was extinct. I lately saw your father's in a State Committee List, and feeling curious regarding it, I came here."

He bowed distantly to Veronica when she entered, but she did not return his bow, though she looked at him fixedly. Temperance and Hepsey hurried up a fine supper immediately. A visitor was a creature to be fed. Feeding together removes embarrassment, and before supper was over we were all acquainted with Mr. Morgeson. There were three cheerful old ladies spending the week with us—the widow Desire Carver, and her two maiden sisters, Polly and Serepta Chandler. They filled the part of chorus in the domestic drama, saying, "Aha," whenever there was a pause. Veronica affected these old ladies greatly, and when they were in the house gave them her society. But for their being there at this time, I doubt whether she would have seen Mr. Morgeson again. That evening she played for them. Her wild, pathetic melodies made our visitor's gray eyes flash with pleasure, and light up his cold face with gleams of feeling; but she was not gratified by his interest. "I think it strange that you should like my music," she said crossly.

"Do you" he answered, amused at her tone, "perhaps it is; but why should I not as well as your friends here?" indicating the old ladies.

"Ah, we like it very much," said the three, clicking their snuff-boxes.

"You, too, play?" he asked me.

"Miss Cassy don't play," answered the three, looking at me over their spectacles. "Miss Verry's sun puts out her fire."

"Cassandra does other things better than playing," Veronica said to Mr. Morgeson.

"Why, Veronica," I said, surprised, going toward her.

"Go off, go off," she replied, in an undertone, and struck up a loud march. He had heard her, and while she played looked at her earnestly. Then, seeming to forget the presence of the three, he turned and put out his hand to me, with an authority I did not resist. I laid my hand in his; it was not grasped, but upheld. Veronica immediately stopped playing.

He stayed several days at our house. After the first evening we found him taciturn. He played with Arthur, spoke of his children to him, and promised him a pony if he would go to Rosville. With father he discussed business matters, and went out with him to the shipyards and offices. I scarcely remember that he spoke to me, except in a casual way, more than once. He asked me if I knew whether the sea had any influence upon me; I replied that I had not thought of it. "There are so many things you have not thought of," he answered, "that this is not strange."

Veronica observed him closely; he was aware of it, but was not embarrassed; he met her dark gaze with one keener than her own, and neither talked with the other. The morning he went away, while the chaise was waiting, which was to go to Milford to meet the stagecoach, and he was inviting us to visit him, a thought seemed to strike him. "By the way, Morgeson, why not give Miss Cassandra a finish at Rosville? I have told you of our Academy, and of the advantages which Rosville affords in the way of society. What do you say, Mrs. Morgeson, will you let her come to my house for a year?"

"Locke decides for Cassy," she answered; "I never do now," looking at me reproachfully.

Cousin Charles's hawk eyes caught the look, and he heard me too, when I tapped her shoulder till she turned round and smiled. I whispered, "Mother, your eyes are as blue as the sea yonder, and I love you." She glanced toward it; it was murmuring softly, creeping along the shore, licking the rocks and sand as if recognizing a master. And I saw and felt its steady, resistless heaving, insidious and terrible.

"Well," said father, "we will talk of it on the way to Milford."

"I have kinder of a creeping about your Cousin Charles, as you call him," said Temperance, after she had closed the porch door. "He is too much shut up for me. How's Mis Cousin Charles, I wonder?"

"He is fond of flowers," remarked Aunt Merce; "he examined all my plants, and knew all their botanical names."

"That's a balm for every wound with you, isn't it?" Temperance said. "I spose I can clean the parlor, unless Mis Carver and Chandler are sitting in a row there?"

Veronica, who had hovered between the parlor and the hall while Cousin Charles was taking his leave, so that she might avoid the necessity of any direct notice of him, had heard his proposition about Rosville, said, "Cassandra will go there."

"Do you feel it in your bones, Verry?" Temperance asked.

"Cassandra does."

"Do I? I believe I do."

"You are eighteen; you are too old to go to school."

"But I am not too old to have an agreeable time; besides, I am not eighteen, and shall not be till four days from now."

"You think too much of having a good time, Cassandra," said mother. "I foresee the day when the pitcher will come back from the well broken. You are idle and frivolous; eternally chasing after amusement."

"God knows I don't find it."

"I know you are not happy."

"Tell me," I cried, striking the table with my hand, making Veronica wink, "tell me how to feel and act."

"I have no influence with you, nor with Veronica."

"Because," said Verry, "we are all so different; but I like you, mother, and all that you do."

"Different!" she exclaimed, "children talk to parents about a difference between them."

"I never thought about it before." I said, "but where is the family likeness?"

Aunt Merce laughed.

"There's the Morgesons," I continued, "I hate 'em all."

"All?" she echoed; "you are like this new one."

"And Grand'ther Warren"—I continued.

"Your talk," interrupted Aunt Merce, jumping up and walking about, "is enough to make him rise out of his grave."

"I believe," said Veronica, "that Grand'ther Warren nearly crushed you and mother, when girls of our age. Did you know that you had any wants then? or dare to dream anything beside that he laid down for you?"

Aunt Merce and mother exchanged glances.

"Say, mother, what shall I do?" I asked again.

"Do," she answered in a mechanical voice; "read the Bible, and sew more."

"Veronica's life is not misspent," she continued, and seeming to forget that Verry was still there. "Why should she find work for her hands when neither you nor I do?"

Veronica slipped out of the room; and I sat on the floor beside mother. I loved her in an unsatisfactory way. What could we be to each other? We kissed tenderly; I saw she was saddened by something regarding me, which she could not explain, because she refused to explain me naturally. I thought she wished me to believe she could have no infirmity in common with me—no temptations, no errors—that she must repress all the doubts and longings of her heart for example's sake.

There was a weight upon me all that day, a dreary sense of imperfection.

When father came home he asked me if I would like to go to Rosville. I answered, "Yes." Mother must travel with me, for he could not leave home. The sooner I went the better. He also thought Veronica should go. She was called and consulted, and, provided Temperance would accompany us to take care of her, she consented. It was all arranged that evening. Temperance said we must wait a week at least, for her corns to be cured, and the plum-colored silk made, which had been shut up in a band-box for three years.

We started on our journey one bright morning in June, to go to Boston in a stagecoach, a hundred miles from Surrey, and thence to Rosville, forty miles further, by railroad. We stopped a night on the way to Boston at a country inn, which stood before an egg-shaped pond. Temperance remade our beds, declaiming the while against the unwholesome situation of the house; the idea of anybody's living in the vicinity of fresh water astonished her; to impose upon travelers' health that way was too much. She went to the kitchen to learn whether the landlady cooked, or hired a cook. She sat up all night with our luggage in sight, to keep off what she called "prowlers"—she did not like to say robbers, for fear of exciting our imaginations—and frightened us by falling out of her chair toward morning. Veronica insisted upon her going to bed, but she refused, till Veronica threatened to sit up herself, when she carried her own carpet-bag to bed with her.

We arrived in Boston the next day and went to the Bromfield House in Bromfield Street, whither father had directed us. We were ushered to the parlor by a waiter, who seemed struck by Temperance, and who was treated by her with respect. "Mr. Shepherd, the landlord, himself, I guess," she whispered.

Three cadaverous children were there eating bread and butter from a black tray on the center-table.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Temperance, "what bread those children are eating! It is made of sawdust."

"It's good, you old cat," screamed the little girl.

Veronica sat down by her, and offered her some sugar-plums, which the child snatched from her hand.

"We are missionaries," said the oldest boy, "and we are going to Bombay next week in the Cabot. I'll make the natives gee, I tell ye."

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Temperance, "did you ever?"

Presently a sickly, gentle-looking man entered, in a suit of black camlet, and carrying an umbrella; he took a seat by the children, and ran his fingers through his hair, which already stood upright.

"That girl gave Sis some sugar-plums," remarked the boy.

"I hope you thanked her, Clarissa," said the father.

"No; she didn't give me enough," the child answered.

"They have no mother," the poor man said apologetically to Veronica, looking up at her, and, as he caught her eye, blushing deeply. She bowed, and moved away. Mother rang the bell, and when the waiter came gave him a note for Mr. Shepherd, which father had written, bespeaking his attention. Mr. Shepherd soon appeared, and conveyed us to two pleasant rooms with an unmitigated view of the wall of the next house from the windows.

"This," remarked Temperance, "is worse than the pond."

Mr. Shepherd complimented mother on her fine daughters; hoped Mr. Morgeson would run for Congress soon told her she should have the best the house afforded, and retired.

I wanted to shop, and mother gave me money. I found Washington Street, and bought six wide, embroidered belts, a gilt buckle, a variety of ribbons, and a dozen yards of lace. I repented the whole before I got back; for I saw other articles I wanted more. I found mother alone; Temperance had gone out with Veronica, she said, and she had given Veronica the same amount of money, curious to know how she would spend it, as she had never been shopping. It was nearly dark when they returned.

"I like Boston," said Verry.

"But what have you bought?"

She displayed a beautiful gold chain, and a little cross for the throat; a bundle of picture-books for the missionary children; a sewing-silk shawl for Hepsey, and some toys for Arthur.

"To-morrow, I shall go shopping," said mother. "What did you buy, Temperance?"

"A mean shawl. In my opinion, Boston is a den of thieves."

She untied a box, from which she took a sky-blue silk shawl, with brown flowers woven in it.

"I gave eighteen dollars for it, if I gave a cent, Mis Morgeson; I know I am cheated. It's sleazy, isn't it?"

The bell for tea rang, and Mr. Shepherd came up to escort us to the table. Temperance delayed us, to tie on a silk apron, to protect the plum-colored silk, for, as she observed to Mr. Shepherd, she was afraid it would show grease badly. I could not help exchanging smiles with Mr. Shepherd, which made Veronica frown. The whole table stared as we seated ourselves, for we derived an importance from the fact that we were under the personal charge of the landlord.

"How they gawk at you," whispered Temperance. I felt my color rise.

"The gentlemen do not guess that we are sisters," said Veronica quietly.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"You know how, and that I do not agree with your opinion. You look cruel."

"I am cruel hungry."

Her eyes sparkled with disdain.

"What do you mean to do for a year?" I continued.

"Forget you, for one thing."

"I hope you wont be ill again, Verry."

"I shall be," she answered with a shudder; "I need all the illnesses that come."

"As for me," I said, biting my bread and butter, "I feel well to my fingers' ends; they tingle with strength. I am elated with health."

I had not spoken the last word before I became conscious of a streak of pain which cut me like a knife and vanished; my surprise at it was so evident that she asked me what ailed me."

"Nothing."

"I never had the feeling you speak of in my finger ends," she said sadly, looking at her slender hand.

"Poor girl!"

"What has come over you, Cass? An attack of compassion? Are you meaning to leave an amiable impression with me?"

After supper Mr. Shepherd asked mother if she would go to the theater. The celebrated tragedian, Forrest, was playing; would the young ladies like to see Hamlet? We all went, and my attention was divided between Hamlet and two young men who lounged in the box door till Mr. Shepherd looked them away. Veronica laughed at Hamlet, and Temperance said it was stuff and nonsense. Veronica laughed at Ophelia, also, who was a superb, black-haired woman, toying with an elegant Spanish fan, which Hamlet in his energy broke. "It is not Shakespeare," she said.

"Has she read Shakespeare?" I asked mother.

"I am sure I do not know."

That night, after mother and Veronica were asleep, I persuaded Temperance to get up, and bore my ears with a coarse needle, which I had bought for the purpose. It hurt me so, when she pierced one, that I could not summon resolution to have the other operated on; so I went to bed with a bit of sewing silk in the hole she had made. But in the morning I roused her, to tell her I thought I could bear to have the other ear bored. When mother appeared I showed her my ears red and sore, insisting that I must have a certain pair of white cornelian ear-rings, set in chased gold, and three inches long, which I had seen in a shop window. She scolded Temperance, and then gave me the money.

The next day mother and I started for Rosville. Veronica decided to remain in Boston with Temperance till mother returned. She said that if she went she might find Mrs. Morgeson as disagreeable as Mr. Morgeson was; that she liked the Bromfield; besides, she wanted to see the missionary children off for Bombay, and intended to go down to the ship on the day they were to sail. She was also going to ask Mr. Shepherd to look up a celebrated author for her. She must see one if possible.



CHAPTER XIV.

It was sunset when we arrived in Rosville, and found Mr. Morgeson waiting for us with his carriage at the station. From its open sides I looked out on a tranquil, agreeable landscape; there was nothing saline in the atmosphere. The western breeze, which blew in our faces, had an earthy scent, with fluctuating streams of odors from trees and flowers. As we passed through the town, Cousin Charles pointed to the Academy, which stood at the head of a green. Pretty houses stood round it, and streets branched from it in all directions. Flower gardens, shrubbery, and trees were scattered everywhere. Rosville was larger and handsomer than Surrey.

"That is my house, on the right," he said.

We looked down the shady street through which we were going, and saw a modern cottage, with a piazza, and peaked roof, and on the side toward us a large yard, and stables.

We drove into the yard, and a woman came out on the piazza to receive us. It was Mrs. Morgeson, or "My wife, Cousin Alice," as Mr. Morgeson introduced her. Giving us a cordial welcome, she led us into a parlor where tea was waiting. A servant came in for our bonnets and baskets. Cousin Alice begged us to take tea at once. We were hardly seated when we heard the cry of a young child; she left the table hastily, to come back in a moment with an apology, which she made to Cousin Charles rather than to us. I had never seen a table so well arranged, so fastidiously neat; it glittered with glass and French china. Cousin Charles sent away a glass and a plate, frowning at the girl who waited; there must have been a speck or a flaw in them. The viands were as pretty as the dishes, the lamb chops were fragile; the bread was delicious, but cut in transparent slices, and the butter pat was nearly stamped through with its bouquet of flowers. This was all the feast except sponge cake, which felt like muslin in the fingers; I could have squeezed the whole of it into my mouth. Still hungry, I observed that Cousin Charles and Alice had finished; and though she shook her spoon in the cup, feigning to continue, and he snipped crumbs in his plate, I felt constrained to end my repast. He rose then, and pushing back folding-doors, we entered a large room, leaving Alice at the table. Windows extending to the floor opening on the piazza, but notwithstanding the stream of light over the carpet, I thought it somber, and out of keeping with the cottage exterior. The walls were covered with dark red velvet paper, the furniture was dark, the mantel and table tops were black marble, and the vases and candelabra were bronze. He directed mother's attention to the portraits of his children, explaining them, while I went to a table between the windows to examine the green and white sprays of some delicate flower I had never before seen. Its fragrance was intoxicating. I lifted the heavy vase which contained it; it was taken from me gently by Charles, and replaced.

"It will hardly bear touching," he said. "By to-morrow these little white bells will be dead."

I looked up at him. "What a contrast!" I said.

"Where?"

"Here, in this room, and in you."

"And between you and me?"

His face was serene, dark, and delicate, but to look at it made me shiver. Mother came toward us, pleading fatigue as an excuse for retiring, and Cousin Charles called Cousin Alice, who went with us to our room. In the morning, she said, we should see her three children. She never left them, she was so afraid of their being ill, also telling mother that she would do all in her power to make my stay in Rosville pleasant and profitable. As a mother, she could appreciate her anxiety and sadness in leaving me. Mother thanked her warmly, and was sure that I should be happy; but I had an inward misgiving that I should not have enough to eat.

"I hear Edward," said Alice. "Good-night."

Presently a girl, the same who had taken our bonnets, came in with a pitcher of warm water and a plate of soda biscuit. She directed us where to find the apparel she had nicely smoothed and folded; took off the handsome counterpane, and the pillows trimmed with lace, putting others of a plainer make in their places; shook down the window curtains; asked us if we would have anything more, and quietly disappeared. I offered mother the warm water, and appropriated the biscuits. There were six. I ate every one, undressing meanwhile, and surveying the apartment.

"Cassy, Mrs. Morgeson is an excellent housekeeper."

"Yes," I said huskily, for the dry biscuit choked me.

"What would Temperance and Hepsey say to this?"

"I think they would grumble, and admire. Look at this," showing her the tassels of the inner window curtains done up in little bags. "And the glass is pinned up with nice yellow paper; and here is a damask napkin fastened to the wall behind the washstand. And everything stands on a mat. I wonder if this is to be my room?"

"It is probably the chamber for visitors. Why, these are beautiful pillow-cases, too," she exclaimed, as she put her head on the pillow. "Come to bed; don't read."

I had taken up a red morocco-bound book, which was lying alone on the bureau. It was Byron, and turning over the leaves till I came to Don Juan, I read it through, and began Childe Harold, but the candle expired. I struck out my hands through the palpable darkness, to find the bed without disturbing mother, whose soul was calmly threading the labyrinth of sleep. I finished Childe Harold early in the morning, though, and went down to breakfast, longing to be a wreck!

The three children were in the breakfast-room, which was not the one we had taken tea in, but a small apartment, with a door opening into the garden. They were beautifully dressed, and their mother was tending and watching them. The oldest was eight years, the youngest three months. Cousin Alice gave us descriptions of their tastes and habits, dwelling with emphasis on those of the baby. I drew from her conversation the opinion that she had a tendency to the rearing of children. I was glad when Cousin Charles came in, looking at his watch. "Send off the babies, Alice, and ring the bell for breakfast."

She sent out the two youngest, put little Edward in his chair, and breakfast began.

"Mrs. Morgeson," said Charles, "the horses will be ready to take you round Rosville. We will call on Dr. Price, for you to see the kind of master Cassandra will have. I have already spoken to him about receiving a new pupil."

"Oh, I am homesick at the idea of school and a master," I said.

Mother tried in vain to look hard-hearted, and to persuade that it was good for me, but she lost her appetite, with the thought of losing me, which the mention of Dr. Price brought home. The breakfast was as well adapted to a delicate taste as the preceding supper. The ham was most savory, but cut in such thin slices that it curled; and the biscuits were as white and feathery as snowflakes. I think also that the boiled eggs were smaller than any I had seen. Cousin Alice gave unremitting attention to Edward, who ate as little as the rest.

"Mother," I said afterward, "I am afraid I am an animal. Did you notice how little the Morgesons ate?"

"I noticed how elegant their table appointments were, and I shall buy new china in Boston to-morrow. I wish Hepsey would not load our table as she does."

"Hepsey is a good woman, mother; do give my love to her. Now that I think of it, she was always making up some nice dish; tell her I remember it, will you?"

When Cousin Charles put us into the carriage, and hoisted little Edward on the front seat, mother noticed that two men held the horses, and that they were not the same he had driven the night before. She said she was afraid to go, they looked ungovernable; but he reassured her, and one of the men averring that Mr. Morgeson could drive anything, she repressed her fears, and we drove out of the yard behind a pair of horses that stood on their hind legs as often as that position was compatible with the necessity they were under of getting on, for they evidently understood that they were guided by a firm hand. Edward was delighted with their behavior, and for the first time I saw his father smile on him.

"These are fine brutes," he said, not taking his eyes from them; "but they are not equal to my mare, Nell. Alice is afraid of her; but I hope that you, Cassandra, will ride with me sometimes when I drive her."

"Oh!" exclaimed mother, grasping my arm.

"You would, would you?" he said, taking out the whip, as the horses recoiled from a man who lay by the roadside, leaping so high that the harness seemed rattling from their backs. He struck them, and said, "Go on now, go on, devils." There was no further trouble. He encouraged mother not to be afraid, looking keenly at me. I looked back at him.

"How much worse is the mare, cousin Charles?"

"You shall see."

After driving round the town we stopped at the Academy. Morning prayers were over, and the scholars, some sixty boys and girls, were coming downstairs from the hall, to go into the rooms, each side of a great door. Dr. Price was behind them. He stopped when he saw us, an introduction took place, and he inquired for Dr. Snell, as an old college friend. Locke Morgeson sounded familiarly, he said; a member of his mother's family named Somers had married a gentleman of that name. He remembered it from an old ivory miniature which his mother had shown him, telling him it was the likeness of her cousin Rachel's husband. I replied we knew that grandfather had married a Rachel Somers. Cousin Charles was surprised and a little vexed that the doctor had never told him, when he must have known that he had been anxiously looking up the Morgeson pedigree; but the doctor declared he had not thought of it before, and that only the name of Locke had recalled it to his mind. He then proposed our going to Miss Prior, the lady who had charge of the girls' department, and we followed him to her school-room.

I was at once interested and impressed by the appearance of my teacher that was to be. She was a dignified, kind-looking woman, who asked me a few questions in such a pleasant, direct manner that I frankly told her I was eighteen years old, very ignorant, and averse from learning; but I did not speak loud enough for anybody beside herself to hear.

"Now," said mother, when we came away, "think how much greater your advantages are than mine have ever been. How miserable was my youth! It is too late for me to make any attempt at cultivation. I have no wish that way. Yet now I feel sometimes as if I were leaving the confines of my old life to go I know not whither, to do I know not what."

But her countenance fell when she heard that Dr. Price had been a Unitarian minister, and that there was no Congregational church in Rosville.

She went to Boston that Friday afternoon, anxious to get safely home with Veronica. We parted with many a kiss and shake of the hand and last words. I cried when I went up to my room, for I found a present there—a beautiful workbox, and in it was a small Bible with my name and hers written on the fly-leaf in large print-like, but tremulous letters. I composed my feelings by putting it away carefully and unpacking my trunk.



CHAPTER XV.

Rosville was a county town. The courts were held there, and its society was adorned with several lawyers of note who had law students, which fact was to the lawyers' daughters the most agreeable feature of their fathers' profession. It had a weekly market day and an annual cattle show. I saw a turnout of whips and wagons about the hitching-posts round the green of a Tuesday the year through, and going to and from school met men with a bovine smell. Caucuses were prevalent, and occasionally a State Convention was held, when Rosville paid honor to some political hero of the day with banners and brass bands. It was a favorite spot for the rustication of naughty boys from Harvard or Yale. Dr. Price had one or two at present who boarded in his house so as to be immediately under his purblind eyes, and who took Greek and Latin at the Academy.

Social feuds raged in the Academy coteries between the collegians and the natives on account of the superior success of the former in flirtation. The latter were not consoled by their experience that no flirtation lasted beyond the period of rustication. Dr. Price usually had several young men fitting for college also, which fact added more piquancy to the provincial society. In the summer riding parties were fashionable, and in the winter county balls and cotillion parties; a professor came down from Boston at this season to set up a dancing school, which was always well attended.

The secular concerns of life engaged the greatest share of the interests of its inhabitants; and although there existed social and professional dissensions, there was little sectarian spirit among them and no religious zeal. The rich and fashionable were Unitarians. The society owned a tumble-down church; a mild preacher stood in its pulpit and prayed and preached, sideways and slouchy. This degree of religious vitality accorded with the habits of its generations. Surrey and Barmouth would have howled over the Total Depravity of Rosville. There was no probationary air about it. Human Nature was the infallible theme there. At first I missed the vibration of the moral sword which poised in our atmosphere. When I felt an emotion without seeing the shadow of its edge turning toward me, I discovered my conscience, which hitherto had only been described to me.

There were churches in the town beside the Unitarian. The Universalists had a bran-new one, and there was still another frequented by the sedimentary part of the population—Methodists.

I toned down perfectly within three months. Soon after my arrival at his house I became afraid of Cousin Charles. Not that he ever said anything to justify fear of him—he was more silent at home than elsewhere; but he was imperious, fastidious, and sarcastic with me by a look, a gesture, an inflection of his voice. My perception of any defect in myself was instantaneous with his discovery of it. I fell into the habit of guessing each day whether I was to offend or please him, and then into that of intending to please. An intangible, silent, magnetic feeling existed between us, changing and developing according to its own mysterious law, remaining intact in spite of the contests between us of resistance and defiance. But my feeling died or slumbered when I was beyond the limits of his personal influence. When in his presence I was so pervaded by it that whether I went contrary to the dictates of his will or not I moved as if under a pivot; when away my natural elasticity prevailed, and I held the same relation to others that I should have held if I had not known him. This continued till the secret was divined, and then his influence was better remembered.