are of youngsters, missis."

At this moment our friend Libbie appeared at her window, and Mrs.
Slater, who had taken her discomfited husband's place, called out,--

"Elizabeth Marsh, where are Dixons and you bound to?"

"Dixons are not up yet; he said last night he'd take his holiday out in
lying in bed. I'm going to the old-fashioned place, Dunham."

"Thou art never going by thyself, moping!"

"No. I'm going with Margaret Hall and her lad," replied Libbie, hastily
withdrawing from the window, in order to avoid hearing any remarks on
the associates she had chosen for her day of pleasure--the scold of the
neighbourhood, and her sickly, ailing child!

But Jupiter might have been a dove, and his ivy leaves an olive branch,
for the peace he had brought, the happiness he had caused, to three
individuals at least. For of course it could not long be a mystery who
had sent little Frank Hall his valentine; nor could his mother long
entertain her hard manner towards one who had given her child a new
pleasure. She was shy, and she was proud, and for some time she struggled
against the natural desire of manifesting her gratitude; but one evening,
when Libbie was returning home, with a bundle of work half as large as
herself, as she dragged herself along through the heated streets, she
was overtaken by Margaret Hall, her burden gently pulled from her, and
her way home shortened, and her weary spirits soothed and cheered, by
the outpourings of Margaret's heart; for the barrier of reserve once
broken down, she had much to say, to thank her for days of amusement and
happy employment for her lad, to speak of his gratitude, to tell of her
hopes and fears,--the hopes and fears that made up the dates of her
life. From that time, Libbie lost her awe of the termagant in interest
for the mother, whose all was ventured in so frail a bark. From this
time, Libbie was a fast friend with both mother and son, planning
mitigations for the sorrowful days of the latter as eagerly as poor
Margaret Hall, and with far more success. His life had flickered up
under the charm and excitement of the last few months. He even seemed
strong enough to undertake the journey to Dunham, which Libbie had
arranged as a Whitsuntide treat, and for which she and his mother had
been hoarding up for several weeks. The canal boat left Knott-mill at
six, and it was now past five; so Libbie let herself out very gently,
and went across to her friends. She knocked at the d