er mother go two miles out of their way to
carry home some old woman or little child, who lives at a distance. I've
seen Alice myself with half a dozen or more of these children, and she
looked as proud and happy as a queen. Queer taste, isn't it?"

John thought it was, though he himself said: "It is like what Lily would
have done, had she possessed the power and means."

"Well, brother, what of Miss Alice? Was she at church?" Anna asked
softly. "I need not ask though, for of course she was. I should almost
as soon think of hearing that Mr. Howard himself was absent as Alice."

"That reminds me," said John, "of what you said concerning Mr. Howard
and Alice. There can't be any truth in it. She surely does not fancy
him."

"Not as a lover," Anna replied. "She respects him greatly, however,
because he is a clergyman."

"Is she then a very strong church woman?" John asked.

"Yes, but not a bit of a blue," Anna replied. "If all Christians were
like Alice, religion would be divested of much of its supposed gloom.
She shows it everywhere, and so does not have to wear it on set
occasions to prove that she possesses it. How were you pleased with Miss
Johnson?"

"How was I pleased with her? I felt like kissing the hem of her blue
silk, of course! But I tell you, Anna, those ragged, dirty urchins who
came trooping into that damask-cushioned pew, marred the picture
terribly. What possible pleasure can she take in teaching them?"

Anna had an idea of the pleasure it might be to feel that one was doing
good, but she could not explain lucidly, so she did not attempt it. She
only said Miss Alice was very benevolent and received her reward in the
love bestowed upon her so freely by those whom she befriended.

"And to win her good graces, must one pretend to be interested in those
ragamuffins?" John asked, a little spitefully.

"Why, no, not unless they were. Alice could not wish you to be
deceitful," was Anna's reply, after which a long silence ensued, and
Anna dropped away to sleep, while her brother sat watching the fire
blazing in the grate, and trying to decide as to his future course.

Should he return to New York, accept the offer of an old friend of his
father's, an experienced practitioner, and thus earn his own bread
honorably; or, should he remain a while at Snowdon and cultivate Alice
Johnson? He had never yet failed when he chose to exert himself, and
though he might, for a time, be compelled to adopt a different