'Lena Rivers. Mary Jane Holmes

pointing to an old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, "cost an ocean of money when 'twas new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, 'Tilda couldn't tell 'em from gold, unless she's seen more on't than I have, which ain't much likely, bein' I'm double her age."

      "The chest does very well for you, I admit," said John; "but we have neither use nor room for it, so if you can't sell it, why, give it away, or burn it, one or the other."

      Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith 'Lena was dispatched to Widow Fisher's, to see if she would take it at half price. The widow had no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy was told "to keep it, and maybe she'd sometime have a chance to send it to Kentucky. It won't come amiss, I know, s'posin' they be well on't. I b'lieve in lookin' out for a rainy day. I can teach 'Tilda economy yet," whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the room where John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the best way if reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.

      'Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the cause of her uncle's moodiness. The more she saw of him the better she liked him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to cure herself of the peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he would only notice her a little, which he was not likely to do. He seldom noticed any child, much less little 'Lena, who he fancied was ignorant as well as awkward; but he did not know her.

      One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, 'Lena approached him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather timidly, "Uncle, I wish you'd tell me something about my cousins."

      "What about them," he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon his feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.

      "I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the best," continued 'Lena.

      "You'll like Anna the best," said her uncle, and 'Lena asked, "Why!

       What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school and study?"

      "None too well, I reckon," returned her uncle, adding that "there were not many little girls who did."

      "Why I do," said 'Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a moment his whittling, replied rather scornfully, "You! I should like to know what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!"

      'Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she bore the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her age, and now she rather tartly answered, "I study geography, arithmetic, grammar, and——" history, she was going to add, but her uncle stopped her, saying, "That'll do, that'll do. You study all these? Now I don't suppose you know what one of 'em is."

      "Yes, I do," said 'Lena, with a good deal of spirit. "Olney's geography is a description of the earth; Colburn's arithmetic is the science of numbers: Smith's grammar teaches us how to speak correctly."

      "Why don't you do it then," asked her uncle.

      "Do what?" said 'Lena, and her uncle continued, "Why don't you make some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my Anna has never seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don't talk like you do."

      "Don't what, sir?" said 'Lena,

      "Don't talk like you do," repeated her uncle, while 'Lena's eyes fairly danced with mischief as she asked, "if that were good grammar."

      Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so harshly chided 'Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more favorably. It could hardly be said that he treated her with any more attention, and still there was a difference which she felt, and which made her very happy.

CHAPTER IV.

       Table of Contents

      ON THE ROAD.

      At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to sell, and too good to give away, had found a place—some here, some there, and some in John's trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars, dickeys, and so forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was made the receiver of sundry cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and iron spoons, which could not be disposed of elsewhere.

      And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Truesdale's red wagon stood at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing remained for Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot, endeared to her by so many associations. Again and again she went from room to room, weeping always, and lingering longest in the one where her children were born, and where her husband and daughter had died. In the corner stood the old low-post bedstead, the first she had ever owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long years before, when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing deeply at the sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her approaching marriage. He, too, was with her, strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her side forever. His couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead stood there, naked—empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old lady rocked to and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that she were not going to Kentucky, or that it were possible now to remain at her mountain home. Summoning all her courage, she gave one glance at the familiar objects around her, at the flowers she had planted, and then taking 'Lena's hand, went down to the gate, where her son waited.

      He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the cause of her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and manner were unusually kind as he helped her to the best seat in the wagon, and asked if she were comfortable. Then his eye fell upon her dress, and his pity changed to anger as he wondered if she was wholly devoid of taste. At the time of his father's death, he purchased decent mourning for both his mother and 'Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols pronounced "altogether too good for the nasty cars; nobody'd think any better of them for being rigged out in their best meetin' gowns."

      So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark blue and white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had twenty years before, and which was not unlikely, as she never wore out a garment. She was an enemy to long skirts, hence hers came just to her ankles, and as her black stockings had been footed with white, there was visible a dark rim. Altogether she presented a rather grotesque appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which were her snuff-box, brass spectacles and half a dozen "nutcakes," which would "save John's buying dinner."

      Unlike her grandmother's, 'Lena's dress was a great deal too long, and as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old woman, instead of a child ten summers old, as she was. Still the uncommon beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her form, atoned in a measure for the singularity of her appearance.

      In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel Slocum, a freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference for 'Lena, by going with her for her grandmother's cow, bringing her harvest apples, and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the other girls at school. Strange to say, his affection was not returned, and now, notwithstanding he several times wiped both eyes and nose, on the end of which there was an enormous freck, 'Lena did not relent at all, but with a simple "Good-bye, Jo," she sprang into the wagon, which moved rapidly away.

      It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when half that distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized the reins, ordering the driver to stop, and saying, "she must go straight back, for on the shelf of the north room cupboard she had left a whole paper of tea, which she couldn't afford to lose!"

      "Drive on," said Johny rather angrily, at the same time telling his mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.

      "But that was already bought, and 'twould have saved so much," said she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly by her son's manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained in leaving behind her favorite "old hyson."

      This saving was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much,