CHAPTER III.

THE NEW HOME.

THE next day, Edah spent most of the morning in unpacking her trunks, arranging the books she had brought with her, and so forth, all of which was very interesting to Pauline, who overlooked the process, and was very desirous to be allowed to help, though her mother was rather afraid she would be troublesome.

"Shall I be troublesome, sister?" asked the little girl.

"No," said Edah, smiling, "for if you do not do as I wish you to, I shall send you down stairs. You may stay as long as you please, if you will be quiet and not meddle, and I shall like very much to have you help me."

Pauline looked rather disturbed at the first part of this speech, but finally decided to remain upon these conditions. Edah was careful to give her enough to do, and not to put temptation in her way, and thus the morning passed very pleasantly.

"What makes you have so many books, sister?" asked the child, as Edah gave her a heavy dictionary to put away.

"Some to read," said Edah, "and some to study."

"I did not know that grown-up people studied," said Pauline.

"Did you not? Don't you know that lawyers have to study a great deal before they are allowed to practise law, and doctors before they can cure people? And a great many people study for pleasure."

"That is funny! I am sure I would not do that."

"Can you read, Pauline?" asked Edah.

"Not very well," replied Pauline; "not well enough to read stories, and I would rather have some one tell them for me."

"But you cannot always have some one to tell you stories, you know, and there are a great many necessary things to be learned out of books that no one can tell you. If you would spell every day, you would soon learn to read well, and then you could amuse yourself without being dependent on anybody."

"There is no one to hear me now," said Pauline. "Mother has not time, even if she is well enough, and Sue won't; and even if she does, she is so cross I cannot do any thing."

"Are you sure it is only Susan that is cross? Don't you tease her sometimes?"

Pauline hung her head as she said, "I don't tease her any more than she does me."

"Then you do tease her a little?"

Pauline did not make any reply, but said, after a little, "I wish you would hear me. I should like to read to you, and I would do just what you wanted me to."

"I will try the experiment," said Edah, "if mother is willing, but then I shall do so only on two conditions: one is that you shall come the moment I call you, and the other, that you shall do just as I tell you, while you are reading."

"Well," said Pauline, "I will. But won't you tell me stories too sometimes, because you know it will be a good while before I can read well?"

"Oh, yes! I will tell you a story every day that you read well, unless something very important prevents me. But we must ask mother."

"Oh, she won't care: she lets me do just as I please always."

"Is Pauline here?" asked Susan, appearing at the door. "You must have had a nice time unpacking with her in the room. Do come down stairs, Pauline, and leave Edah in peace, and not be teasing her every minute: how troublesome you are!"

"I am not troublesome: am I, sister?" said Pauline.

"Oh, no," said Edah; "she has helped me a great deal."

"I should like to see her help any one," retorted Susan: "she has never done any thing but hinder yet."

"I'm sure I helped you shell all the beans for dinner yesterday," said the child coloring, and beginning to cry, "and I got the baby to sleep twice. You are just as hateful as you can be, Sue, and I will never do any thing for you again as long as I live. I love sister a great deal the best, and I don't love you a bit—so!"

"Hush, hush, Polly! That is very naughty to speak so to sister Susan," said Edah, trying to check her. "You must not do so, if you are going to be my little girl."

"Oh pray don't stop her, Miss Champlin," said Susan, in a voice which trembled with anger: "it may as well come out first as last. I see she has learned her lesson already; but I must say, I think you might be better employed than in setting the child up against her own sister. I shall just tell mother, and see what she thinks of such goings on."

So saying, she left the room, despite of Edah's efforts to detain her.

"Now, Polly, see what mischief you have done by speaking so foolishly," said Edah. "You have made Susan angry at me, and worried poor sick mother."

"I do love you the best, any way," returned Pauline, still crying.

"If you love me, you must show it by being good," said Edah, "and not by making such naughty speeches. Susan has had a great deal to do, and it is no wonder she is fretted sometime; and you ought to try and make things easy for her. Now I think if you really want to be a good girl, you will go and tell Susan that you are sorry."

After a little hesitation, Pauline said—

"I will, if you want me to, but I know she will only be cross."

"That makes no difference," said Edah; "if she is cross, you must be the more good-natured, that is all. Now, go and tell her."

Pauline went, with some hesitation, and found Susan already relating the story of her misdeeds to her mother, who looked anxious and uncomfortable.

"How could you be so naughty, Pauline?" she said to her. "Did you tell Susan you did not love her a bit?"

"Yes, mother," replied Polly; "but sister said I was very naughty, and that I must come and tell Susan that I was sorry; so I came."

"That's a good girl," said her mother. "You see, Susan, that Edah is not doing any thing wrong about it, and that you are quite mistaken. Come, now, kiss and be friends."

Susan consented rather unwillingly; and Pauline, quite elated with her victory over herself, went on telling her mother how sister had promised to hear her read, and was going to tell her a story every day when she was good.

Mrs. Champlin readily consented to the arrangement, thinking at the time that Edah would soon tire of her charge.

When Pauline left the room, Susan said—

"You see how it is, mother. She wants to take the whole management into her own hands, and rule the household just as she pleases, and that is why she makes such a fuss over Pauline—not because she cares any thing about her."

"For shame, Susan! You are very wrong to say so, and I will hear no more about it. I think I am able to maintain my own authority. When I cannot, I will ask your help. You have had a great deal of work to do since I was sick, I know, and I give you great credit for doing it so nicely; but I do wish you would try to get the better of your faults of temper. Your perpetual quarrels with Sam and Pauline weary my life out, and I feel as if I could die. But if I should be taken away, I don't know what would become of the family, for you have no sort of influence with Pauline. Do, for my sake, my child, try to get along a little better."

Susan was moved by her mother's remonstrances, and promised to try and keep the peace, if she could—a promise which she kept very well for two days, and part of the third.

But unfortunately her batter-pudding turned out to be heavy at dinner, and Sam, as usual, took the opportunity to make some annoying speeches. Now, a failure in cookery is at best a trying thing, especially to a young housekeeper, and it becomes doubly so when commented upon. Susan lost her temper, and the more irritation she showed, the more Sam teased her, despite Edah's efforts to stop him.

"I do not see, Sam," she said to him, when they were alone after dinner, "how you can take such pleasure in annoying and teasing poor Susan. It does not seem to me right or fair."

"She need not be so touchy, then," said Sam. "She swells up like a turkey-cock if one looks at her. If she did not care any thing about it, I should let her alone."

"Well, I do not think it is right," said Edah. "If you had a lame foot, you would not think that a reason why people should tread on your toes, would you?"

"You need not take Sue's part," returned Sam, evading a reply, "for she cannot bear you. She is as jealous of you as she can be."

"I am afraid she is," returned Edah; "but that makes no difference. It does not make me want to see her uncomfortable, because she does not like me, and I think it is very wrong to make her so angry."

"Why is it wrong?" asked Sam, in rather a defiant tone.

"It is leading her into temptation," replied Edah; "offending her, as the Bible says. You know our Saviour says—'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones'—"

"Oh, don't try to come the parson over me," said Sam, interrupting her. "I tell you what it is, Miss Champlin, I think you take a deal too much on yourself in this house. It is just as Sam says—you want to rule the whole family, and if I were mother, I would not have it. A pretty story it is, to be sure," he continued, getting more and more angry as he went on, "for you to stay away all your life, and never come near us, and the first moment you do come, to set every thing topsy turvy."

Edah felt the color rise in her own face, but she controlled herself, and said gently—

"But, Sam, how you do mistake me! I have not the least desire to govern you, but I don't like to see you doing wrong, and annoying Sam so."

"Susan can take care of herself," returned Sam, "and so can I, without any of your help. You think because you are two or three years older, and have some property more than we have, and some grand acquaintances, that it is mighty condescending in you to come out here and make a visit. But we are as good as you are, any day, and as to being walked over by you with your young lady airs, I, for one, won't, and there's an end of it."

So saying, he left the room, slamming the door after him.

Edah was both hurt and angry, but she tried to govern herself, and called Pauline to take her reading lesson. But the day seemed an unfortunate one. Pauline was beginning to tire a little of her regular employment, and the lessons had ceased to be a novelty. She was rather unwilling to come, and was so inattentive that Edah reproved her, and told her that she must do better, or lose her story. Pauline did a little better for the moment, but soon relapsed again, and was really very provoking.

"Why, Pauline," she said, "you must do better, or I cannot hear you. I cannot spend the time with you, unless you take pains to learn. You don't try at all."

"I don't care," said Pauline; "I won't read if I don't choose to."

"Then you will lose your story."

"I don't care for that, either," retorted the child. "Sam will tell me stories, if I want him to. I am not going to read any more."

"Very well," said Edah, putting away the book.

"I like Susan better than you now," said Pauline, after a little, apparently determined to provoke a contest. "I don't like you a bit."

Edah made no answer.

"I don't think your hair is pretty a bit," after a short pause. "Mother says you are not half as pretty as Susan."

"Mother is quite right," said Edah, smiling, though she felt annoyed. "Susan is very handsome, I think myself."

"You only say so to plague me, but I don't care. I shall not like you any more."

Edah rose and went to her own room, shutting Pauline out. She spent some time in endeavoring to compose her feelings, and when she had it some measure succeeded, she sat down and wrote a long letter to Milly. She said not a word of any annoyances at home, but gave an account of her journey, and of the kind reception she had met with, and when it was finished, she put on her bonnet and carried it to the post-office herself.

The pleasure of writing to her friend, with the exercise and the fresh air, entirely dispelled her annoyance, and she returned home in very good spirits. Mrs. Champlin came out to tea, and was, as usual, kind and cordial to Edah, and Pauline had almost forgotten her pet. But Sam did his best, by words and looks, to be disagreeable, and that is an undertaking in which any one can succeed. Susan seemed to enjoy Edah's discomfort, and indeed said—

"I thought you would find Sam out, after a while."

After tea, Pauline came round for her story, as usual; but after a little hesitation, Edah said—

"You know, Polly, I cannot tell you a story, because you did not read well, and would not mind."

"I don't care! I think you might, any way," said Pauline, bursting into tears.

"What is the matter, Pauline?" asked her mother, rather sharply.

"Sister won't tell me a story. She promised to, and now she won't."

"I promised to tell you one, if you were good—not without," said Edah. "You know that was part of the bargain."

"Do stop crying, Pauline," said Mrs. Champlin; "you tire and worry my life out. If you did not mean to keep on telling her stories, Edah, you should not have begun. It is perfectly absurd to expect such a baby as she is to keep to an engagement, and I must say I think you take a great deal upon yourself in attempting to govern her at all. I wish you would leave that to me."

Sam and Susan exchanged glances of triumph.

Edah felt her color rise, and her lip trembled, as she said—

"I did not mean any interference, mother, I am sure—"

But she was interrupted.

"Do let the matter drop, and have done with it. I am tired of these constant disputes, and they have been worse than ever since you came. Pauline, be quiet."

"Come here, Polly," said Sam, "and I will tell you a story, without asking you any thing for it. I am not as rich as some folk; but I can afford to give away a story."

Edah's first impulse was to leave the room, and shut herself up in her own apartment for the remainder of the evening; but she felt it would be wrong to give way to the rebellious feelings which were rising in her heart, so she restrained her tears—those provoking tears, which would come whenever she was angry—and took up an apron which had been begun for Pauline.

"Pray, don't trouble yourself to do that," said Susan; "I can do it as well as not, and I would much rather. I do wish you would let it be," she continued, as Edah kept on with her work; "I prefer to finish it myself. How ridiculous you do make yourself!" she added, in a tone too low for her mother to hear, as she took the work out of her hands.

Edah could not trust herself to speak, so she resigned the sewing in silence, and began to work at a collar of her own—Sam and Susan, meanwhile, keeping up a lively conversation till their mother retired.

Susan made herself very active in waiting on her mother, and was very careful not to allow Edah to do any thing either for her or the baby, which she had undressed every night since her arrival.

Edah took a lamp and went to her own room as soon as she could.

"I will go back to Miss Anderson's to-morrow," she thought. "I might as well have gone with Milly, for all the thanks I get for coming here."

But better thoughts soon succeeded. She could not think that she had done wrong, as far as Pauline was concerned, for she had only kept her word with the child, and her mother had known of the arrangement from the beginning. At the same time, she felt conscious of having indulged very improper feelings, both towards Sam and Susan, and of not having made sufficient efforts to overcome them. She regretted what had occurred very much, as she feared that she should have no further influence either with Sam or Pauline, to whom she had become much attached.

After a good deal of painful thought on the subject, she concluded to remain a few days longer, and try to set matters right with her stepmother. If she did not succeed in doing so, and if there seemed no farther prospect of her being useful in the family, she could at any time return to Miss Anderson's or go to New York.

She had just finished her reading, and was preparing for bed, when her mother's door at the foot of the stairs was opened, and her father called loudly, "Susan! Susan! Get up directly; Pauline is in a fit."

But Susan was a sound sleeper, and did not hear.

Edah threw on her wrapper, and ran down stairs to her mother's room, where she found the poor child in convulsions, and her mother supporting her, though herself almost fainting from weakness and fright.

Edah was one of those happy people whose courage rises with the danger, and who are cool in proportion to the agitation of those about them, and now she instinctively took the command of affairs on herself.

"Run for the doctor, father; but first waken Sam," she said, taking the struggling child on her lap: "oh, here he is! Sam, you must make a fire directly, and put on plenty of water—a good large fire, Sam—to heat quick. Susan, take Eddy up stairs, and put him into your bed, without waking him, if you can. There, Polly dear, sister is holding you! You will be better presently. Don't cry, if you can help it, Susan, but attend to mother. Has father gone for the doctor?"

"Yes," said Sam, "and I have made the fire."

"That's right. Now, if you have not a bathing-tub, get the largest wash-tub in the house, and have it ready in the dining-room. See if there is any mustard, and have it at hand. I know a bath is often the first thing needed."

"How you do think of every thing!" Sam could not help saying. "Do you think she will die, Edah?"

"Hush!" said Edah, fearing the child would understand. "I hope she will soon be better. Here comes the doctor."

For two or three hours, Pauline lay unconscious, apparently between life and death, and it seemed doubtful which would obtain the mastery. The convulsions which shook her little feeble frame were frightful to witness, and Sam and Susan were almost overcome. But Edah preserved her calmness, and did every thing necessary, with a quiet good sense and steadiness, which astonished the doctor, who was not accustomed to think very highly of young ladies.

"Upon my word," said he, "you are one of a thousand. If you should think of studying medicine, I should like to take you into my office."

"I have no such views at present," returned Edah, smiling, "but if I ever should have, I will let you know."

At last, the convulsions became less frequent, and ceased: the little girl seemed to return to consciousness, and to suffer less, and after a while she fell asleep on Edah's lap. Tired as she was, she would not move for fear of disturbing her, but persuading the children to go to bed, she sat down in a rocking-chair, where she could rest her head comfortably. Mrs. Champlin also fell asleep, and the house was once more quiet.

Pauline slept till morning, and awoke almost free from pain, but weak and languid, and disposed to be very fretful. She would allow no one but Edah to do any thing for her: sister must rock her, and sing to her; sister must feed her; she would take medicine from no one else, and obey no one else. She was often restless at night, and then Edah must take her on her lap, and sing to her till she fell asleep again.

All this was wearisome enough, especially to one entirely unaccustomed to such labors, and the more so, from there being no servants in the house, except a young Irish girl, who, as Sam said, was as green as the island she came from. Edah felt this deficiency very much, and she thought, moreover, that it was altogether too hard upon Susan, who was growing very fast, and, of course, not very strong.

One evening, when Pauline had fallen asleep, after an unusually fretful day, Sam came softly into the room, and whispered to Edah—

"Mother is asleep, and Sue wants you to come down stairs and get some supper, and have a little rest. I am sure you must want it, for you are as pale as a ghost. I will sit by Polly, and call you if I cannot keep her quiet."

Edah willingly consented, for she did indeed feel wearied almost to death.

Susan had got a nice supper ready, near the open window, at which the sweet evening air came in pleasantly.

"Come, Edah," she said, "draw up the other rocking-chair, and let us have a comfortable rest. I don't believe you have sat down to-day, and I'm sure I haven't. My shoulders and ankles ache like the toothache."

"You are growing so fast," said Edah, gladly accepting the cup of tea Susan handed her; "I think it is altogether too hard upon you. I wish we had a right good girl that would do every thing in the kitchen, so that you need have nothing to do but to wait upon mother."

"That would be nice, if it could only be done," returned Susan: "but it can't."

"Why not?" asked Edah. "Cannot you find such a person here?"

"Oh, yes; I could find one easy enough, if that were all; but the truth is, Edah," she continued, after a pause, "we cannot afford it. It is as much as we can do to get along and live as we are, and we do not half do that. Father does not attend to his business, but lets every thing go at loose ends, and yet he won't let Sam do any thing by which he could earn his own living.

"Mother used to sew a little before she was sick, but we had to be careful not to let father know it. Since she has been laid up, there have been a great many days when I have not known how to get a decent dinner—and there you have the whole story."

Susan tried to laugh, but her lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I wish I had known this before," said Edah, much affected. "I saw indeed that father was altered, and that you and mother seemed careworn; but I had no idea it was so bad. I might have helped you as well as not."

"You have done all we could expect, I am sure," returned Susan, "in dressing Pauline up so nicely, to say nothing of myself. I suppose you thought I was very cross when you came, and I know I am very bad-tempered, but I should not be quite so bad, if I were not worried out of my life."

"But, Susan, I might pay the girl myself. I have money enough with me, and can get more by writing for it. If you will find a proper person, I will agree to pay her wages, as long as I stay, at any rate. I would have some one that can do every thing about house, and then you and I can do all the nursing, sewing, and so on. And by and by, when they are all well, you can go to school if you like."

Susan tried to answer, but was unable to control her voice for a minute or two. At last she said—

"I cannot say how much I am obliged to you: I am sure I don't know what we should have done without you. I will find some one to-morrow."

"But what will mother say?" asked Edah. "I am afraid she will think as she did about Pauline, that I interfere too much: I felt very badly about that, though I really think that as long as she knew from the beginning—"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Susan. "That was not it. She happened to feel just so, that was all. You must not mind what she says when she is worried, for no matter how she feels, she just speaks it right out. She will be right glad, I know, and very much obliged to you. As for father, he won't say any thing as long as we don't ask him for money."

"Don't ask him, then," said Edah: "we can manage that easily enough. I will pay you three dollars a week for my board, and get what is wanted for Pauline, and that will do something towards household expenses. But I must go back to Polly, or she will be crying."

The arrangement was communicated to Mrs. Champlin, who saw no objection to it. And a capable middle-aged woman was soon installed in the kitchen. The change was an agreeable one in every respect, for with the best intentions in the world, Susan was not much of a cook, and Biddy's ideas on the subject were very vague. Ruby-Anne cooked, washed, and cleaned to admiration, and the whole house soon assumed a more comfortable aspect.

Susan seemed for a while fairly shamed out of her ill-humor, and Edah felt herself much more pleasantly situated at home than she had yet been. Pauline improved rapidly, and in a little while seemed as well as ever, and Mrs. Champlin appeared to be gaining strength under her improved fare. The poor baby, however, did not partake of the general amendment: it continued a sickly little creature, and required a great deal of care.

"Sam," said Edah, one Saturday morning, after Pauline had quite recovered, "do you think we could manage to go over to Raeburn to church to-morrow?"

"I don't know," said Sam; "I suppose you could not walk over, could you?"

"I am afraid I could not walk there and back," replied Edah. "But I really want to go to-morrow very much, and I wish we could contrive it."

"Why do you want to go to-morrow particularly?" asked Susan.

"It will be Communion Sunday, I presume," said Edah; "it is the first Sunday in the month, and you know I have not been to church since I came here."

"They do have Communion the first Sunday in the month, I know," said Sam. "I presume I could get some sort of a 'gohicle,' though perhaps not a very smart one—not much like Mr. Liston's carriage; but I suppose you won't mind its not being very handsome."

"I do not care what it is, so it is clean and safe," said Edah; "but I have quite set my heart upon going."

"I will do the best I can," said Sam.

And he accordingly exerted himself to such good purpose that at teatime, he told Edah he had engaged a horse and wagon for the next morning.

"You will have to be ready early though," he added, laughing, "for the horse is not what you would call a fast one, by any means."

Mrs. Champlin seemed to wonder that people should take so much pains to go to one church instead of another, but she made no objection. She did not know much about Episcopalians, she said, but she had always supposed they were pretty much the same as Roman Catholics. Sam was wonderfully taken with them, and very often went to Raeburn to church, and sometimes she felt troubled about it, for she would not like to have him turn out a papist.

"They are no more alike than Presbyterians and Mormons are alike," said Sam, rather sharply; "not that ever I could see."

"You need not be so sharp, Sam," replied Mrs. Champlin, smiling. "I said I did not know much about them."

Sam was about to return a still sharper answer, when an entreating look from Edah stopped him, and he only muttered that he wished people would not talk of what they did not understand.

"I like them, any way," said Pauline, in her sharp way, "for sister says the Episcopal Church is her church, and I am going to have it for mine too when I grow up."

"Well done, Polly!" exclaimed her father, laughing. "Stick to your friends. But if you are a Churchwoman, you will have to learn the Catechism, and how will you like that?"

"Sister will teach it to me, I know," said the little girl. "She has taught me some hymns out of her church book already, and she tells me beautiful stories out of the Bible, when I am going to sleep. Sister will teach me the—I don't know how to pronounce it—won't you?"

"If mother is willing," replied Edah.

"Teach her all you can," said Mrs. Champlin; "no one else takes any pains with her. I don't know what the poor child will do when you go away, I am sure."

"Or any of the rest of us," added Sam.

"You will do as you did before," said Susan, rather sharply. "Edah is very good to be sure, but she is not the only person in the world."

A fortnight before, Sam would have taken advantage of this speech to provoke Susan into a regular rage, but now he let it pass, and adroitly turned the conversation upon some new shirts she had been making for him, declaring that he liked them better than any he had ever had. This compliment put Susan in a good humor at once, and she was very pleasant all the evening.

The next morning, at a little after nine, the "gohicle," as Sam was pleased to term it, was at the door, and Edah appeared, ready dressed, and with her Prayer-Book in her hand. She could not help laughing, as she seated herself in the old-fashioned one-horse wagon, and thought of what Miss Concklin would say to such a conveyance. It was clean, however, and tolerably easy, and the old horse started off at a better pace than his appearance had promised.

When they reached the top of one of the hills which surrounded the village, Sam stopped to let the horse rest, and to give Edah an opportunity of admiring the beautiful prospect spread out beneath them. On one side lay the village they had just left, with its neat white houses peeping out from among the trees, but, alas! with no church tower or spire to point towards heaven. In the opposite direction lay Raeburn, nestled in a nook of the green hills, just where two clear brawling streams came winding down between high wooded banks to meet the bright river, which now glanced in the sun, and now disappeared under the shadow of the bank, as it wound from side to side of the narrow green valley.

Here and there on the hillsides arose tall columns of smoke, showing that the autumn "burnings" had begun, and the air was filled with the indescribable hum and murmur of a calm day in the middle of August.

As they gazed and listened, the faint sound of the bell arose from the distant church tower, and Sam started the old horse, who seemed to have employed his interval of rest in taking a quiet nap.

"We shall get there in good time," he said, in answer to a question from Edah; "they always ring the bell an hour before church."

"Is there a Sunday School at Raeburn?" asked Edah.

"Yes, a pretty good one, I believe, and Miss Annie Laurence has one at the Mills, near her father's house—Spring Bank, as they call it. There has never been one at Brooksville, which has always been a heathenish kind of place from the first."

"But who are the Laurences, Sam? I have not heard of them before."

"Oh, Captain Laurence is the richest man in all this country. He owned all the valley when he came here, about forty years ago. There was not a house anywhere round when they settled here, and they had to send a wagon forty miles for every bit of groceries they used. Mrs. Laurence is the loveliest old lady—every one round here fairly worships her and her daughters. There are two of the young ladies still unmarried, but one of them is lame, and does not go out much, except to church. Miss Annie goes everywhere—sometimes on her pony, and sometimes on foot, and she knows every poor person for ten miles round. There isn't one of the lumbermen—and they are a rough set enough—that don't take off his hat to her, and Mrs. Laurence and her daughters have more influence among them than all the men in the county. They are very rich now, and can do what they please, but there was a good while before this railroad was made that they were very much straitened. You will see them at church this morning."

As Sam had foretold, they arrived at church in excellent season, before the last bell had commenced ringing. As Edah was standing in the porch, waiting for Sam, who was disposing of the old horse, she saw Mr. Willson approaching and she was hesitating whether or not to introduce herself, when Sam came up, and saved her the trouble.

"This is my oldest sister, Mr. Willson; the one I told you of, you know. She has come to stay a couple of months with us."

Mr. Willson shook hands with Edah, and expressed his pleasure at seeing her.

"So you have brought your sister to church this warm day. Did you not find the ride rather a fatiguing one, Miss Champlin?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Edah; "it was a very pleasant one to me. I am not much accustomed to hills, and take great delight in them. You would have seen me at church before but for my little sister's illness. But hearing from Sam that this was Communion-day, I felt that I must come, if possible."

"You will take a seat in our pew, if you please, and I shall insist on your dining with us after church, and going home in the cool of the day."

They took their seats accordingly, and as they did so, the little bell began its last summons. The people of the village and the neighborhood began to drop in, and the church was soon well-filled. Mrs. Willson, a motherly sort of personage, with two pretty daughters, looked rather surprised at seeing a stranger in her pew, but soon guessed who she must be, and made her very politely welcome.

Edah felt a little annoyed at the staring of the congregation, but she reflected that they were not much accustomed to seeing strangers, and therefore excusable. Mr. and Mrs. Laurence and their daughters arrived just as the bell stopped ringing, and took their places in a large square pew opposite that of the Rector. Edah was rather surprised to see such elegant-looking people, and hoped she might make their acquaintance before she left Brooksville.

When the service commenced, there were so few responses that Edah felt half afraid to raise her voice as she was accustomed to do at home, but she was encouraged by being joined by the family opposite, and soon felt at her ease. Edah was pleased to observe how attentive Sam was, especially to the sermon. During the Offertory, he asked her, in a whisper, if there would be any thing improper in his staying through the Communion Service.

"Certainly not," replied Edah.

And he resumed his seat accordingly, after having politely made way for the youngest Miss Willson.

The number of communicants was small, and the service proportionably short, and Edah missed those opportunities for mental devotion which are enjoyed when there are a number of groups to approach one after the other. She enjoyed the service very much, however, and felt as if she collected strength for a long time to come.

She was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Laurence after church, and received from Mrs. Laurence a cordial invitation to visit them.

"I seldom make calls, except upon the sick," she said, "but I shall be very glad to see you at our house, and Annie will have the pleasure of calling in a few days. You must not go away without seeing all the beauties of this wild country."

Edah expressed her thanks, and said she should be very happy to accept the invitation, if possible, but added that her mother was very feeble, and needed a great deal of attention.

The carriage now appeared, and the Spring Bank party departed, and Edah and her brother accompanied Mr. Willson home.

"Do you intend to remain here long?" asked Mrs. Willson, at dinner.

"I did not think of staying more than six weeks when I came," said Edah, "but at present I am rather undecided. It will depend upon the state of mother's health."

"You had better spend the winter with us," remarked Mr. Willson. "We can offer you no special inducement in the way of society, though there are some pleasant people about here; but you could make yourself exceedingly useful, if that is any argument."

"I have thought myself that I might remain here some time longer than I at first intended, though it is very uncertain. But in what way could I make myself useful?"

"You might establish a Sunday School in Brooksville, like Miss Laurence's at the Saw-Mills, and perhaps you might aspire to having a church there in time. I advise you to take it into consideration, at any rate."

Sam and Edah arrived at home in very good season, and found Pauline leaning over the gate watching for them. Tea was ready on the table, and they sat down as soon as Edah had taken off her bonnet, and brushed away the dust.

When the meal was over, Susan seated herself with a book, and Edah employed herself in teaching Pauline a hymn, promising to sing it for her as soon as she could say it.