hall never do that while we have a house--Shall she, aunt
Mellicent?" said Constantia.

"No," returned the good lady; "honest people are now scarce, so we must
take care of each other. But, Eustace, does your father approve of your
turning soldier while you are such a child?"

"No, dear aunt, and that is the only trouble I ever knew, except the
death of our blessed mother. I don't know his reasons, but he wants to
place me in safety; I hate safety, it sounds so womanish. As we came
along I met several fellows less than myself, who said they were
ensigns. I know I could make an ensign; I could wrap the colours round
my body, and die with the staff in my hand."

Constantia burst into tears, and declared Eustace talked so shockingly
she could not bear it.

"My pretty love," said he, "I did not mean to frighten you. No, I
intend, instead of being killed myself, to tear down the rebel
standards, and send them to you. What would you do with them?"

Constantine paused a moment--"Would they," said she, "make a tent for my
dear father to sit and read in? It goes to my heart to see him out of
doors this stormy weather, wandering about and looking at his burnt
library."

"Could I not put it a little in repair while I stay?" inquired Eustace.
"I am a very good mason, and a tolerable carpenter. I built a shed last
year for the old poney. Isabel, you can glaze the windows, and
white-wash. I think, between us, we might put it into comfortable
order."

Mrs. Mellicent, a little shocked at her niece's avowing her expertness
in these handicraft employments, apprehended that her lamented sister
had neglected her daughter's education through her solicitous attention
to more important duties. She began therefore to question her about her
accomplishments--"Can you work tent-stitch neat, my love?" was her first
inquiry. "No!"--"Bless me, had you leather hangings to your best
apartments?" Isabel was ignorant what hangings meant. Mrs. Mellicent
proceeded to examine her skill in confectionery, and found with
astonishment it was a science of which she did not know the name. "Can
you paint chimney-boards, or cut paper, or work samplers?" "Dear aunt,"
said Isabel, "I am a brown bird of the mountains, as my mother called
me. She taught me to sing, because she said it made work go on more
merrily, but the longest day was short enough for what I had to do; I
was laundress, and sempstress, and cook, and gardener; and if Cicely
went to look for