, "I really think I mus

?" inquired Bell, looki

is is the fifth, at the least comp

them stretched a great lake, a sheet of silver, dotted as far as the eye could see with green islands. Behind lay a pebbly beach, and farther up, nestled am

o look at. You see," here she turned again to her companion, "first I was a little girl, an

believe this?" a

old nurse in the country,-a farmer's wife, living on a small farm, twenty miles from a city. There, my dear, I first learned that there was a world outside the city of New York. I must tell you all about it some day,-the happy, blessed time I had with those dear people, and how I learned to know my own dearest ones while I was away from them. I buried that first Hildegarde, very dead, oh, very dead indeed! Then the next summer I went to a new world, and my Rose went with me. I have told you about her, and how sweet she is, and how ill she was, and now how she is going to marry the good doctor who cured her of her lameness. We spent the summer with Cousin Wealthy Bond, a cousin of my mother's,-the loveliest old lady, living down in Maine. That was a very new world, Bell; and oh! I have a child there, a little boy, my Benny. At least, he is Cousin Wealthy's Benny now, for she is bringing him up as her own, and loves him rea

her dear and I! The last year, when we had grown used to doing without the dear one, and knew-but mamma always knew it-that we must make happiness for each other,-the last year has been a most lovely time. But sweet and happy as it has all been, Bell, still I have always had a small circle to love and to be with. Mamm

ll. "We are a dreadful

ave you all next door; but then came this last development,-Cousin Wealthy's illness, and her sending for mamma, and your mother's kindness in bringing

ining lake, the dark trees drooping to the water's edge, the green

till they shone like silver, while Hildegarde thoughtfully wr

piest and blessedest, and again some that have money and health and everything that so many people sigh for, are miserable, for one reason or another. I can't bear to hear girls say, 'Oh, if I only had money! I would do so much, and be so good, and all that sort of thing.' I always want to say, 'Why don't you begi

! what did yo

and stalked away. Oh, I cannot stand that sort of thing, you know! A

end's angry eyes and kindling cheek. The strong white bare arms, the deep

o have you knock me

ld

feel as if a blow from the shoulder would be the best argument in the world. I love fight

this, boxing never having come within h

o everything?" she asked. "He seems to be

. "He cannot write verses, and he does not like dancin

while Will and Kitty were curled up like two kittens in the bow. Hildegarde thought to herself that he was

f gleaming fish, two of them long, deep-bodied fellows, striped with pink and silver. Willy

ok the beauties from her brother's hands. "We will ba

nd Roger's turn. Toots makes the best griddl

last night that my biscuits were a dream of joy. You won't find me baki

penitently. "But you see, I am griddle-c

n pickerel-hungry before he is an hour older

s. Merryweather's workstand in another, completed the furniture of the primitive parlour. On one side a door opened into the tiny kitchen, and hither the girls now betook themselves, after reminding Will and Kitty that it was their turn to set t

n here!" she said, as she

moment," Hilda assented; "but what do you wan

in it, and sweet marjoram and summer savory, not to mention oysters and anchovies, a pound of butter, a bottle of claret and three or four oranges; he gives you your choice about two cloves of garlic, and

the pound; and if it isn't rich enough then, you can add two pounds of currants and one of raisins for each pound of flour. That would make,-let me

ound it, and had the bride and groom dance a minuet on the top after the cerem

s. 'Take a squirrel, cut it up and put it on to boil. When the soup is nearly done add to it one pint of picked hickory-nuts and a spoo

st try it some day. Now it is my turn. I quote from Mrs. Rundell the glorious. Thi

out, will be no unpalatable dish to those who rarely taste meat.' That is called a brewis, my dear; suppose we give it to our pampered family here some day,

own'" said Hildegarde, peeping into the oven. "And the tea is made, an

e dining-room. "Roger has fainted with hunger, and lies a pallid

," said Bell, calmly, "it will do him no

ers and plates, and-oh, Willy, we have forgotten

e in triumphantly, bearing the mighty pickerel in their glory, on a huge platter decorated with green leaves and golden-

at as much as I want to, and here I can always eat more than there is; and yet there is l

larges, my son, with every mile one retires from civilisation. When I was a Kickapoo I

ar!" said Mrs.

as only trying to expand his mind, like the Ninkum. Exc