overgrown, that it was very perplexing to count them without marking.

"A little examination into such things soon puts the mystery to flight, doesn't it?" said Henry. "Some people like the mystery best, however, and for them seeing is not believing.' And now, girls, let us pack up, and get away home."

CHAPTER VII.

A BIRTHDAY.

"Where sucks the bee now? Summer is flying ;
Leaves round the beech-tree faded are lying;
Violets are gone from their grassy dell,

With the cowslip cups, where the fairies dwell;
The rose from the garden hath pass'd away;

Yet happy, fair girl, is thy natal day."-MRS. HEMANS.

It was a fine clear morning late in the autumn, when the leaves were falling rapidly, and every breath of wind was followed by a plentiful shower of them; when all the flowers were gone from Mr. Ashton's garden, except the chrysanthema and the Michaelmas daisies; when the nuts and blackberries had all disappeared, and there was nothing in the fields but stubble. There were one or two persons in Mr. Ashton's house, however, who were glad that the day was fine, for it was one which they honoured with more notice than usual; it was Maud's birthday -the thirteenth anniversary of that occasion. Maud was standing at the hall-door, waiting for Mr. Ashton's return from his walk before break

fast; for he always tried to get a breath of fresh air, and to see which way the wind was, before he sat down to his morning meal. As soon as she heard his step in the shrubbery walk, she hastened to him to receive his greetings.

"Good morning, Maudie dear; many happy returns of the day to you," as he kissed her forehead. "I'm glad to see such a fine morning for your birthday."

"Thank you, thank you, grandpapa; you've got some flowers there, have you not?” said she, as she took his hand.

"Yes; I've been robbing the greenhouse a little," producing a handful of beautiful flowers which he had been carrying under his left arm. "You know we couldn't do without flowers upon the table on this day, could we?"

"You are always so kind, grandpapa," said Maud, coughing.

66

Why, you have nothing on your head, child; let us make haste in, pray: this chill October wind will give you cold."

Mrs. Jackson met them in the hall, and mingled her good wishes with an affectionate scolding on the same account.

"To think that you should go out o' doors without anything to cover your head and shoulders, when here's your hat and shawl close beside you here, and your garden bonnet hanging yonder; and, indeed, you had better ha' put on the master's own coat there, than to ha' gone out like that, and you with such a cough, too."

"Well, Mrs. Jackson, I don't think I shall take any harm."

"Indeed, and I hope you wont, on your own birthday, too; and I wish you many returns of it, and happy ones, Miss Maud."

Maud went in to breakfast, with her heart palpitating with pleasure and curiosity. She knew very well what had happened before on her birthday; every one in the house, from the kitchen-maid to Mr. Ashton, had made her some little present, and she had found them duly arranged on the breakfast-table when she came down in the morning. She was sure that they had been planning something of the kind this time, for she had caught a few whispers in the kitchen which had not been intended for her ear. Maud was very susceptible of kindness from any one, and so her breath came rather faster as she

entered the dining-room. And I defy any one who duly appreciates the affection of others, to enter a room where they believe that their friends have been preparing a pleasant surprise for them, without sharing her half-curious, half-joyful feeling.

Sure enough, as soon as she was seated, the servant placed a tray before her, on which the various presents were arranged. There was, first of all, an enormous cake, which she immediately set down to the account of Mrs. Jackson; ;, then a pair of warm worsted gloves, neatly knitted by the housemaid. Poor Jenny, the little kitchen-maid, had contributed some cuffs, almost her first attempt at knitting; but Maud would have worn them had they been ten times as rough. The gardener had sent a beautiful orange-tree, which he had taken great pains with, and which was just breaking out into flower. Maud seemed especially gratified with this, as she passed her hands over the smooth leaves, for she knew what pride he had taken in it. There was a book from Mr. Ansted, and a new song from Mrs. Ansted, and a neck-ribbon from Ellen, accompanied by a note, stating that she was to be