em. She
was an insatiable reader, and a superior scholar.

James, now a blushing, amiable young man, with a little down on his
chin, had quite fallen in love with his new sister. How happy, he
thought, Chester must be with his heiress, whom he had won in spite of
the cruel professor!

Georgie was now a stout lad, big enough to climb trees and shake off the
peaches, and polite enough to pick the handsomest ones for Mrs. Chester;
and Willie was what his father called him, "quite a little man." He
felt himself quite a big one, and tyrannized over the turkeys and
chickens accordingly. He had a little sister, about three years old,--a
sweet child to kiss, except that, on the afternoon we are describing,
her face was stained from ear to ear, and from nose to chin, with
peach-juice.

We must not forget Hepsy. She was there, sitting on the grass, and
knitting a purse for Mrs. Chester. O, how her poor heart throbbed when
she gazed upon that pretty face! How her eyes had rained tears of late,
when they saw only the gloom of her own chamber! But she had conquered
that wild passion which once devoured her heart, and banished
selfishness from her breast. She loved the fair bride very tenderly, and
felt that to see her and Chester happy would console her for all she had
endured. Hepsy's health was good, for her, although she was never
strong, and often the disease of her spine caused her hours of secret
pain.

Chester was the life of the company,--brimful of good spirits and fun.
Every word he spoke was treasured in Hepsy's heart. With a somewhat
different feeling, yet with no less admiration, his fair Sophronia
caught at the merest drops of nonsense that dripped from his lips,
thinking them pearls. She was not very witty herself, and she naturally
looked upon Chester as the most brilliant and talented man then existing
in the known world.

"There's Deacon Dustan's carriage!" suddenly cried Georgie, from the top
of the peach-tree, looking towards the road.

The boy had been lately reading stories of the whale-fishery, and he
fancied himself a man at the masthead, on the lookout for blowers.

"We must go over and see the deacon's people to-morrow, Phronie," said
Chester.

"O, yes!" exclaimed Phronie, clapping her little hands with childish
glee, "anywhere you please."

"The carriage has stopped," observed Lizzie, listening.

Willie ran off towards the fence to see. His little sister, following
him, fell headlong into the