im, was nearly eighteen years old; and it had
been his fixed resolution that she should be protected from the wicked
world of youth that is always going up and down in the earth seeking whom
it may marry. If incessant care, and invention, and management could
secure it, she should arrive safely where Grandpa Burt was determined
she should arrive ultimately, at the head of her husband's dinner-table,
Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am.

Mrs. Simcoe was Mr. Burt's housekeeper. So far as any body could say,
Mrs. Burt died at a period of which the memory of man runneth not to
the contrary. There were traditions of other housekeepers. But since
the death of Hope's mother Mrs. Simcoe was the only incumbent. She had
been Mrs. Wayne's nurse in her last moments, and had rocked the little
Hope to sleep the night after her mother's burial. She was always tidy,
erect, imperturbable. She pervaded the house; and her eye was upon a
table-cloth, a pane of glass, or a carpet, almost as soon as the spot
which arrested it. Housekeeper _nascitur non fit_. She was so silent and
shadowy that the whole house sympathized with her, until it became
extremely uncomfortable to the servants, who constantly went away; and a
story that the house was haunted became immensely popular and credible
the moment it was told.

There had been no visiting at Pinewood for a long time, because of the
want of a mistress and of the unsocial habits of Mr. Burt. But the
neighboring ladies were just beginning to call upon Miss Wayne. When she
returned the visits Mrs. Simcoe accompanied her in the carriage, and sat
there while Miss Wayne performed the parlor ceremony. Then they drove
home. Mr. Burt dined at two, and Miss Hope sat opposite her grandfather
at table; Hiram waited. Mrs. Simcoe dined alone in her room.

There, too, she sat alone in the long summer afternoons, when the work of
the house was over for the day. She held a book by the open window, or
gazed for a very long time out upon the landscape. There were pine-trees
near her window; but beyond she could see green meadows, and blue hills,
and a glittering river, and rounded reaches of woods. She watched the
clouds, or, at least, looked at the sky. She heard the birds in spring
days, and the dry hot locusts on sultry afternoons; and she looked with
the same unchanging eyes upon the opening buds and blooming flowers, as
upon the worms that swung themselves on filaments and ate the leaves and
ruined the trees, or the autum