ough
the orchard and round by the pasture, calling and calling, till our
throats were sore. At last, as no trace of the child could be found, I
made up my mind that she must have wandered away into the woods and got
lost. It was a terrible thought, my dears! I called Enoch, the man, and
bade him saddle the horse and ride round to call out the neighbors, that
they might all search together. As he was leading the horse out, he
noticed a quantity of hay on the ground, and wondered how it had come
there. Coming nearer, he saw the hole in the stack, looked in,
and--there was the child, fast asleep!"

"Oh! naughty little mother!" cried Hildegarde. "What did you do to her,
Cousin Wealthy?"

"Nothing, my dear," replied the good lady. "I was quite ill for several
days from the fright, and that was enough punishment for the poor child.
She never _meant_ to be naughty, you know. But my heart was in my mouth
all the time. Once, coming home from a walk, I heard a cheery little
voice crying, 'Cousin Wealthy! Cousin! see where I am!' I looked up.
Hilda, she was sitting on the ridge-pole of the house, waving her bonnet
by a loop of the pink quilled ribbon,--it was almost as bad as the green
braid about coming off,--and smiling like a cherub. 'I came through the
skylight,' she said, 'and the air up here is _so_ fresh and nice! I wish
you would come up, Cousin!'

"Another time--oh, that was the worst time of all! I really thought I
should die that time." Miss Wealthy paused, and shook her head.

"Oh, do go on, dear!" cried Hildegarde; "unless you are tired, that is.
It is so delightful!"

"It was anything but delightful for me, my dear, I can assure you,"
rejoined Miss Wealthy. "This happened several years later, when Mildred
was thirteen or fourteen. She came to me for a winter visit, and I was
delighted to find how womanly she had grown. We had a great deal of bad
weather, and she was with me in the house a good deal, and was most
sweet and helpful; and as I did not go out much, I did not see what she
did out of doors, and she _always_ came home in time for dinner and tea.
Well, one day--it was in March, and the river was just breaking up, as
we had had some mild weather--the minister came to see me, and I began
to tell him about Mildred, and how she had developed, and how much
comfort I took in her womanly ways. He was sitting on the sofa, from
which, you know, one can see the river very well. Suddenly he said,
'Dear me! what is