together, in reading aloud. We will take turns at the reading, and try to make sure that none of the depth or the sweetness of our author escapes us, by comparing impressions as we go along. Do you accede to the proposal?"

"I accede to anything and everything," replied Ruth, good humoredly. And she added, in a half-arch, half-caressing way, "What is the use of objecting? You would be sure to coax or reason me into it, after all. there is no resisting, Miss Frost."

You have ways

Further talk was precluded by the abrupt entrance of Mrs. Prescott. Care sat upon her brow, as usual; and she made no delay in discharging herself of her mission. There is this excellent quality (among others) in Mrs. Prescott; her straightforwardness is unquestionable. One feels confident, upon very short acquaintance, that there are no byways in her character. She never holds forth the gloved hand of policy; she knows nothing of the crooked walks of diplomacy. What she has to do, she does openly; what she has to say, she says plainly. Her faults lie as close to the surface as her virtues, her motives are as patent as her acts. In her own characteristic phrase, she "always likes to speak her mind.”

"I suppose your lesson is over, I haven't heard the piano going lately," she said, in her rapid, crisp way, implying as much of an apology as she often condescends to make. "I just came in to tell you that some of us ladies are going down to set Mr. Taylor's things to rights a little, this afternoon. They were put into the house this morning, and there they lie in heaps. And to-morrow is Saturday, and Mrs. Taylor can't get here till noon,-so she won't have much time to get in living order for Sunday. I guess she'll like to have things straightened round some, if it ain't done just exactly as she'd do it herself. And I'd like to have you go along, if you're willing;-of course, we shouldn't expect you to do any hard work, but we would like your advice about arranging things. Mrs. Taylor mightn't like our

ways; she's used to city style, I guess. Mr. Taylor is there, to tell us which furniture goes in the parlor, and which in the keeping-room, and what they use in their own room. That is about all he is good for, I guess, though he did come on to 'make a beginning,' as he says. It's my opinion that it would be all beginning, and no end! You ought to have seen him this morning, sitting on a box and looking at the muss. He had unpacked three boxes, and piled the things all in a heap, and was just taking breath before he begun on another! It's a mercy I happened in, or he'd have had everything out, and stirred up on the floor, in a mess. I told him he had better wait until this afternoon, and have some help. He looked as much relieved as if I had brought him a house all in apple-pie order, with a dinner smoking on the table. So I brought him home with me, and he's out in the meadow, talking to father. Will you go with us, Miss Frost?"

66

Certainly, if there is the smallest possibility of my being of service. I really was not aware, however, that there were two ways of arranging furniture, one for the city, and another for the country; I thought individual taste ruled in that matter, and that the greatest attainable amount of comfort and beauty was the universal aim.”

"Umph! that shows you haven't used your eyes. Whenever I go into a city house, which I don't do often," with an intonation slightly flavored with contempt," it always looks to me as if they'd put all their best things right where they'd get used up the quickest,chairs and tables and sofas where you couldn't stir without hitting against their corners; and china, and all sorts of knick-knacks, where you couldn't miss of knocking them off. Now, that isn't our way up here; at least, it isn't my way. What's worth saving, I like to save. Why, I've got the mahogany table, that father gave me when I was first married and went to housekeeping, packed away up garret now, just as good as new, though it's been moved twice; there isn't a pin-scratch on it anywheres."

I did not in the least doubt it. To any one who had had an opportunity of witnessing Mrs. Prescott's daily battle with dust, dirt, and decay, in their innumerable forms; and her many and marvellous solutions of the everreturning problem how to make the few things she could bring herself to use, serve as substitutes for the multitude that it would have broken her heart to summon forth from their life-long inaction; it was not difficult to believe in any marvel of preservation that had been achieved under her own strict domestic rule. My faith was strong that, if she could only be spared to cherish it, that beloved mahogany table would survive the crumbling of empires, and resist the tooth of Time; and, outliving the earth itself, would be no very preposterous candidate for admission into that extremely material heaven, which certain dust-clogged imaginations are so fond of presenting to our view.

I left the subject of the table untouched, however, and confined myself to the business in hand.

"I hope you intend to be impartial in your invitation, Mrs. Prescott. Cannot these two friends of mine find an opening for their respective talents, somewhere in the afternoon's work?"

Mrs. Prescott stared in undisguised amazement.

“I mean to have Alice go," she said, with a mixture of austerity and amusement; "I'm going to paper the keeping room down there, and she's got to help me. As for Ruth, I should like to have her go, of course; there's not the least danger of our having too much help; many hands make light work. But if you can get her to go, you'll do more than I think you will-that's all I've got to say about it."

And Mrs. Prescott walked off, not to waste time on a subject of so little importance.

Ruth looked at me imploringly. "You don't mean it, Miss Frost! you know I can't go!"

I hesitated. Immediately, Alice rose and went quietly

out. I could not but marvel at the fineness of her instincts. Doubtless, she understood, as well as if I had told her so, that her presence was, at that moment, a constraint upon me. Struggle against it as I may, my affections, my sympathy, and my emotions, will always refuse to utter themselves freely in the presence of a third person,—a looker-on,—no matter how congenial to me may be that person's self, nor how thoroughly in sympathy with the spirit of the moment. Then I put my arms round my excited companion. "Ruth, it is the first favor I have asked of you. And I have set my heart upon it."

I cannot

refuse, if But you

She burst into tears. "Of course, you insist,—when you have done so much for me. don't know what a trial it will be to me! I can't bear all those eyes!"

If it had really been a favor for myself, in any narrow sense, I could not have insisted. But it was for Ruth's own sake that I steeled myself.

"You need not look at any eyes but mine, and they intend to keep very tender watch over you. Not because of anything I have done for you, that is nothing,—but to show me that you

love me,

Ruth!"

And so, finally, she promised.

XX.

THE GWYNNE PLACE.

N nearly every New England village, I find, there is some one dwelling that enjoys a sinister distinction over its neighbors. Either, it had its foundation in some ugly and ominous circumstance; or it is stained through and through with an ever-darkening story of horror; or a dim shadow of mystery lurks in its corners; or it is

pervaded by the faint, misty, elusive scent of ghostly revelries. Now and then, there appears to have been a sufficient germ for this luxuriant, legendary foliage, in some actual fact. Oftener still, it has grown out of the gray old structure by a process analogous to that which has covered its roof with moss and its walls with mould; without any more fertile soil wherein to have taken root, than the bare fact that its builder came of an unknown stock, or that it has, at some period of its history, stood for a long time untenanted. And an empty house, in a quiet New England town, is the lawful playground of the imagination, the readiest material for all the latent superstition of the place to work upon. The winds take up their abode in it, and fill it with solemn whispers capable of manifold interpretation,-birds and bats people it with vague, flitting forms, its chill, damp, vault-like atmosphere is thrillingly suggestive of ghostly occupants,-dry-rot gets into its timbers and gnaws away at their heart like the