door. I noticed it as we drove up, this after

noon.

The very same eyes! when she was a child nobody could deceive her!' Ollie exclaimed. If you must know then, we are obliged to let out a few rooms to some respectable women, who, who

Are dressmakers? How convenient that will be; shall know all the fashions!'

'But we don't speak of it, Miss Bessie, especially to your mother; where their bell wire runs through our entry, I have had it enclosed in a thick box, and she never catches the sound. It would kill her, I believe, to know that a Stanley and a Stanwood were living under the same roof with seamstresses, and that our house was constantly frequented by their customers.'

Why, then, have you allowed the thing to happen?'

The rooms were not used; and these woment pay a large rent, which is our only steady income. Sometimes your grandfather or your uncle sends a few pounds; but we never know when to expect it, and your mother would die before asking a single penny. It is a pleasant thing, miss, to have ready money; patience knows I had difficult work enough when we wanted it.'

Then you manage all the finances, Ollie?' Ollie's brow clouded. 'Why, yes; they said I could make the money go farther than any one else, but, of course, Miss Bessie

Of course Miss Bessie will not meddle with your plans, dear old Ollie, except when you are willing to sacrifice them for the sake of helping her now and then.'

Since the day of the failure, Ollie had not smiled so radiantly before. That will I indeed, miss; and Heaven knows all my plans and all my humble walks have but one end, to comfort my old master and mistress in the days of their humiliation. As for money, I see you are not the flighty girl that we expected home, with a head full of boardingschool airs; so here's the purse, Miss Bessie, and here am I at your service.'

Very well; now you have passed through the form of resignation, I re-elect you manager of finance. We will trust each other, and be partners, Ollie; for we both have one aim, and though I have given no proof as yet of my capacity, wait awhile patiently and see what I can do. But tell me, are you going to carry up that old tin tea-pot for our supper? Have we not a better one?'

Why, yes, there is a Britannia and a china tea-service, but your father always tells me to do what makes least work, and he has grown used to these.'

'Let us try the others to-night. Come, it is only fair that you should treat to something upon my return; and I would rather have a good-looking table than a good meal any time.'

I am sorry to hear that, miss; for I had contrived a treat for you; look at this beautiful little steak, so relishing after your journey.'

How thoughtful in you, Ollie, and you will let us have the tea-service besides? See, I have washed off the dust, and it looks like

another kind of ware. You are so indulgent, that I shall take care not to add to your labours; bring a tub of water to the diningroom after tea, and I will wash the cups to begin.'

CHAPTER IV.

On taking her tea to the dining-room, by whose fire she had usually left it standing until the table was laid, Ollie was surprised to find the latter in readiness, and a little. dismayed withal at some other of Bessie's improvements. The fire was blazing at a height which Mr Stanwood never required, and Ollie never allowed; the ragged easychair was overspread with a tablecloth, one of the few bright things remaining in the house, and which Ollie had cherished like the apple of her eye; and worse still, on the stand burned two wax candles, which, as relics of former elegance, Ollie had preserved in the parlour candelabra year after year; scraping the dust from them every spring and fall, until it must be confessed their appearance was rather attenuated.

The good woman began to expostulate; but Bessie made her stand at the door and confess the whole aspect of the room was magically changed, and that it did one's heart good to see things begin to look gay again; and that, in case her mother ever should resolve to come down-stairs, it would be fine to have a pleasant room for her. Ollie was in a yielding mood, and Bessie coaxed so prettily, and looked so fairy-like and charming with her shower of golden curls; and the whole was such a change, besides, from the dreary, old monotony, she had not the heart to frown; though Mr Stanwood might have spent all his evenings in the dark, before the housekeeper would have yielded her precious candles to him.

After tea came another expostulation about the dishes, but Bessie had her way; and soon it became an established custom in the house that Bessie's way should be had in all things, though she was assiduously the most yielding of mortals, and asked everything as a favour, nothing as a right. She had a fascinating manner which no one understood, and no one could resist.

Ollie's quick eye detected the remains of the beautiful little steak' she had cooked so carefully upon Mr Stanwood's plate; she felt hurt and slighted, so she told Bessie the first time they were alone again, to think she had not eaten what was prepared exclusively for herself.

'But there was not enough for two, and I feasted upon the savoury odours and upon your kindness, Ollie; while my father, as he finished the morsel of meat, smacked his lips in a way that did me good. I am afraid poor papa does not often have such a supper.'

Then let him work and earn it, I say. IIe is a good man, Mr Stanwood is, and I don't forget that he is your father, Miss Bessie; but he has not the energy of a mouse; sitting around here, in the prime of life, to be waited upon and fed by women!' 'Hush, Ollie.'

'No, I will not hush until I've said my say:

I want you to understand him. He is always in a brown study, eats and drinks, and sleeps and wakes in it: he could not tell you this minute what he had for supper.'

་

'I declare, I will ask him!'

CHAPTER V.

'But Ollie will take our heads off.'

'Why so deplorable? Here are you in the prime of life, and I am young and full of energy, and fond of work.

Suppose you learn the dressmaker's trade, you, a Stanwood!' said the father, with some bitterness; 'as for myself, I am past work; I cannot accept dishonourable labour, and the honourable is beyond my reach.'

'I shall appeal to higher authority; you are master of the house.

We don't know about that, Bessie,' opening his book.

Why don't we know, papa? Whose comfort should be consulted if not yours? I expected a compliment or two about the appearance of my room, and so far I have had only expostulations.'

To tell the truth, I did not observe the change at first, but as I sat alone here by the fire, where I have sat alone so many nights, it seemed to come over me all at once; and I looked around and saw what my bright-haired little witch had been doing. Why, Bessie, it is like a chapter of the Arabian Nights.'

No, father, say it is like a chapter of home; that is what I longed to hear you say of your own accord. Home to my thinking is far better than any diamond cave or enchanted castle; home, where there are ready sympathies, and loving words, and where there is always a bright, warm, cheery look, and a sense of security and peace.'

All this I felt and might have said, dear, but, in fact, I have learned to dwell more upon enchanted castles than upon such a home as you describe; they are alike unattainable for us.'

'And do you think I intend living upon your small means, papa, and doing nothing toward adding to your happiness? I am selfish enough to be glad of our poverty on my own account; for now I may be of some use in my home, be a nurse and companion for dear mamma, and oh, if I could win you both to love me as I love you now!'

'Then you really love us, and are not disappointed in your home, and are content to comfort us in our old age!'

'How could I but be fond of you, and think of the home I knew so little about, in all those dreary years I have been away? Oh, father, you do not know the long nights I have lain awake thinking about you all, and wondering how it looked, and how all was going on here at home; and then I have cried until morning, thinking perhaps you might become estranged from me; and when I returned, I should be an unwelcome intruder after all, and should wish myself back again, or in my grave.'

'My good, tender child! We do not deserve such affection, yet your mother and I have done our best for you; one by one she has sold her jewels to defray your school expenses; and for the rest, we wished as long as possible to keep you ignorant of the deplorable state of our affairs.'

Only this morning an old acquaintance offered me a clerkship, with a salary of £100; I resented it as an insult. Would you have me disgrace my wife and child, Bessie?'

'But is it more disgraceful to earn ever so small a pittance in ever so humble a way, than to live upon the earnings of a poor old woman, and the charity of relatives, and perhaps even to borrow money which there is no hope of repaying?'

Yes, I have done all that; and now there is no retracing the past, there is no hope for the future, and you would add drudgery and disgrace to my other trials,' moaned the father, weaker and childish with that imbecile will, than the slight young thing who nestled beside Ollie, and sought to inspire him with her own brave energy. There she nestled and argued till long after Ollie's slim candles had flickered and gone out, and the last crumbling brand had rolled down on the hearth. And the weak will yielded to the stronger one, and Bessie had her way. Mr Stanwood promised, as soon as the morrow should dawn, to solicit the clerkship which he had so indignantly refused.

Then Bessie, tired with the change, and travel, and excitement of the day, crept to her bed in a great lonely, cheerless room, and lay there planning what more she could do to change the aspect of her home; and then she thought, poor child, of other homes, and other returns which she had witnessed, when a whole house, wild with joy, had flown to meet the wanderers, and parents had lingered over their children with blessings and grateful tears.

'But this is nothing to me, and I will not think of it; the greater the want in my home, the greater my field of work. And why am I weeping like a fretful child?' mused our brave Bessie, turning impatiently upon her pillow.

"The girl is pretty and well-disposed; somewhat too vivacious, perhaps, and she has not my delicate sensibility, or the change in our home would have shocked her more,' mused Mrs Stanwood, as she fell asleep that night; 'but I foresee how my poor nerves must suffer from that shocking flow of spirits. Ah! this life is but a vale of tears; well for us who believe in the promise of a better life beyond.'

There is no poverty with a home and such a child!' and this reply proved such a change from her previous ways of thinking, that it startled the husband as much as if the sun, rising some day, should shed forth darkness instead of light into the world. But instead of darkness, the invalid was beginning now to shed forth light.

CHAPTER VII.

Mrs Stanwood made important discoveries, and found much food for reflection in her brief visit to the parlour. In the excitement of the moment, Mr Stanwood told of his vanquished pride and indolence; of his new purpose in life, and his small but honest gains: and Ollie, in her enthusiasm, told how Miss Bessie went every day to read heathenish Greek and Latin, and dull books of theology, to the blind old clergyman who lived opposite; and how the money which she had received for this service had all been spent in additions to the comfort of her home. And the dressmaker's bell ringing loudly more than once, Bessie praised the thrift of their old housekeeper in procuring tenants for useless rooms.

Mrs Stanwood made no comments during these disclosures. Once or twice she wiped a tear from her face, then returned quietly to her room, where she suffered a long relapse, and no one but herself knew that this time the disease was in her soul; that while she lay so quiet, heart and mind were racked with dreadful strife, as looking back through all the past, and on toward the future, she saw her own conduct and her duties in their true light, unobscured by selfishness. The wife felt reproached for having left her husband to struggle through his sorrows alone; the mother was abashed before the example of her child. She had suffered-true; but she had courted suffering as a hope of release from wearisome existence, and as an excuse for opportunities neglected, and duties unfulfilled.

And from that sickness she came forth renewed: with faults and weaknesses still, but with a humble, penitent heart, resolved, if possible, to make the future atone for all the past.

Her thoughts went back now to another child-a son who had wandered years ago from home; and over whose fate she had wondered and wept for weary years: no tidings came, and she tried to believe him dead, but doubts still haunted her, and now the family fortunes were brightening, she told Bessie that only one wish was left ungratified: could she but see Harry again, or even have certain tidings of his death!

'He is an ungrateful fellow, and you have worried enough about him, my love,' said Mr Stanwood.

'Poor fellow, wandering about the world without any home! But he will be sure to come back to us, mamma; only have patience,' said Bessie.

Bessie predicted, and Harry, like everything else in the world, stepped forth at the nod of those golden curls. But of this in another chapter.

One day Bessie fell in love with a pretty cottage, which nestled amidst shrubs and vines in a neighbouring suburb. A card in the window whispered temptingly, 'To let!' and all the way home she thought how her mother would enjoy the change to country life, and how cosily they all might live here, and what a grand stroke of policy it would be to rent the whole of the great, expensive house, and remove to this newer, cheaper, and more comfortable one.

'Never, never!' said Mr Stanwood, 'the scene of my former prosperity, the house my father gave me first, and in which I will die. It is too far from my office,' said Mr Stanwood. Said Ollie, 'Unless we are here to watch it, they will burn our house, or-or Bessie listened to all others, and had

her way.

She was in her element now: she could furnish the whole house, and warm and keep it open. She flew about like a bummingbird among flowers, and everywhere left some evidence of her taste and industry. She trained her vines and watered her flowers, swept, dusted, sewed, and sang from morning till night, as if there were no such word as weariness. Strangers stopped as they passed by, to ask whose home this little Eden could be so near the city, and yet such a contrast to its cumbrous brick and stone.

CHAPTER VIII.

In one of those stone streets, at the doorway of a fashionable hotel, stood Harry Stanwood one bright morning in June, twirling his glove, and yawning listlessly.

He was handsome and manly to look upon, with all the pride and dignity of the Stanwoods, and all the frankness, ease, and grace of the Stanleys in his bearing; but a cold sneer disfigured his mouth as he muttered, Home, yes, and nothing changed; trust luck for that! Cold, proud, empty, dark, old house; damp rooms, chilly reception, reproaches, no fire, no food, no sympathy, no love, no anything but repining, and despair, and selfishness. Mother sick up-stairs, father dawdling over his books, Ollie toothless and severe, Bess, the bright-haired little blessing that she was! changed to a pert miss fresh from boarding-school. But duty is duty, and home I must go; I shall feel all the easier for it after they are dead.'

Striding through the familiar streets hurriedly, half afraid that his resolution would evaporate, Harry reached the tall, dark door of the frowning house, and rang its bell softly, not forgetful of his mother's nerves.

'No, sir: Wilson; you can read it on the plate.'

'But surely Mr Stanwood lived here

once.

'I think not, sir; never heard the name;’ and the door was closed in his face.

Harry's heart smote him. Where could they have gone? What might not have happened to them during his absence and neglect? Were they all lost to him for ever? The old home looked less repulsive now.

Tired of inquiries, he procured a directory, and went through the whole list of Stanwoods;

but found none acquainted with his birth or kin. Thrice passing by the cottage, he read his father's name upon the gate, and would not enter; sure that it could not be the abode of those who used to mourn and sigh through the months, in that only home which he could recollect.

'But it may be some relative,' he said, and returning as a last resouree, he opened the little gate, not seeing the slight form which flitted across the piazza, and disappeared among its vines.

There, mother, I told you so! He has come-Harry has come! But he is not to see you first up here, it looks too much like the old invalidism. Quick, take off that old cap, for this is ten times more becoming; and I want him to realise what a beauty you are."

I can hardly believe you; I am all in a tremble, child! But why did you not wait and greet him first yourself? You have not grown indifferent to Harry?'

"What a question! No; but I only thought of you, which was natural, considering your past anxieties. You know he has not seen me for an age, and I should have needed to wait and introduce myself. Now I think of it, mamma,' all this while Bessie was hooking hooks, tying bows, pinning collars and ruffles, by way of improving her mother's dress now I think of it, I will play a trick upon Harry, and see if he recognises me: mind, if he asks any questions, Bessie is not at home, and her friend, Miss Stanley, is taking her place.'

What surprise, and joy, and tenderness there was in that meeting between the mother and her long-lost son! They were seated together upon a sofa, talking earnestly, and Harry looking amazed and confused as if he were talking in a dream, when Mr Stanwood entered with a demure young lady, whom he introduced as Miss Stanley, an intimate acquaintance.

It was well for the plot that Harry did not see the amused expression which flitted over his mother's face, and which would keep returning whenever she took in Bessie's transformation. Not without difficulty, she had straightened the bright curls and bound them tightly over her ears; behind which they terninated in an ugly twist; her fairy form was disguised in an old, short-waisted dress, a relic of boarding-school finery; and the awkward constraint of her manners completed the change.

With a single glance, and a mental 'Where did they ever pick up such a curious little old specimen of humanity?' Harry dismissed her from his thoughts.

But she was not so easily to be dismissed: he soon found this queer little specimen to be the guiding spirit of his home. He met her everywhere: in garret, cellar, kitchen, garden, wherever he entered, queer little Miss Stanley flitted away just too soon for recall, if indeed he had wished to recall her. She presided at table, she watered the plants, and dusted, and then was in his mother's room reading aloud, or nursing and petting her, and anon, in the kitchen she and Ollie held grave, mysterious consultations.

The elders entering heartily into the spirit of Bessie's plot, combined to mystify him: his father was usually away, his mother, just recovering from serious illness, spent nearly all her time alone, and nothing was left for Harry but to sit by the parlour fire, and watch little Miss Stanley flicker about. Presently he began to wonder about her; to ask himself questions which he would not deign to ask any one else; for Harry was an aristocrat, and what should he care for this poor little drudge? Still he saw plainly enough that without her fairy fingers all the home machinery would stop; and thus the fascination grew and grew, unconsciously to its victim, until the slight interest deepened into a very strong one; and Harry, while pretending to read his newspaper, was all the while only watching her. When smoking upon the piazza, and seemingly absorbed in dreams, he still was watching Miss Stanley through the vines. Then he began to assist her, to take the hammer from her slight fingers, and nail up the broken frame himself; to bring water for her flowers, and help prune her vines.

'You've done it now!' said Ollie, one morning, when they had reached this state of things, and Harry had been at home about a week. If you can entice him to work with his pride and selfishness, I never will say again that you are not a true-born witch.'

"You never did say so, Ollie, however extravagant the opinion. But dear Harry is only thoughtless, and what a splendid fellow ! Oh, I am so proud and so fond, that sometimes I can hardly keep from hugging him. How he would start to see demure little Miss Stanley take such a liberty!'

'But, Miss Bessie, I think it high time for you to finish this frolic, and let Master Harry have his rightful place. It makes me ache to see you wait and tend upon him like a servant. I know how he feels; I know the Stanwoods by heart; he thinks it is not a man's place to meddle in household matters; not dignified. Cannot you see, miss, that by all these things you are establishing dangerous precedents?" Ollie had caught Mr Stanwood's word.

'You and Ollie hold astonishingly long conferences,' said Harry, bringing his chair to the table where our heroine sat at work.

'Yes, since I attempted taking your sister's place, and have discovered Ollie to be a very useful and important personage. Inever hear you speak of Bessie, Mr Stanwood; are you not impatient to meet her again?'

'Do not mention it; I think only with disgust how my sister was banished from home in childhood; how she must have grown up heartless and frivolous, with no wise and loving parental hand to guide her. Girls need home influences, and without them are worse than nothing. From my own character I can judge what hers must be. Had my mother, twenty years ago, been what she now is, we might both have become useful and even distinguished members of society. Now here am I, a mere idler in the world, and Bess, I doubt not, is a silly, sentimental belle.' Since Harry's agreeable disappointment in the