put under
the charge of two elderly cousins of my father,--a gentleman and his
wife whom I had once seen, and liked dearly. I knew that their home
was at a fine old-fashioned country-place, far from town, and close
beside a river, and I was pleased with this prospect, and at once began
to make charming plans for the new life.

I had lived always with grown people, and seldom had had any thing to
do with children. I was very small for my age, and a strange mixture
of childishness and maturity; and, having the appearance of being
absorbed in my own affairs, no one ever noticed me much, or seemed to
think it better that I should not listen to the conversation. In spite
of considerable curiosity, I followed an instinct which directed me
never to ask questions at these times; so I often heard stray sentences
which puzzled me, and which really would have been made simple and
commonplace at once, if I had only asked their meaning. I was, for the
most of the time, in a world of my own. I had a great deal of
imagination, and was always telling myself stories; and my mind was
adrift in these so much, that my real absent-mindedness was mistaken
for childish unconcern. Yet I was a thoroughly simple unaffected
child. My dreams and thoughtfulness gave me a certain tact and
perception unusual in a child; but my pleasures were as deep in simple
things as heart could wish.

It happened that our cousin Matthew was to come to the city on business
the week that the ship was to sail, and that I could stay with my
father and mother to the very last day, and then go home with him.
This was much pleasanter than leaving sooner under the care of an utter
stranger, as was at first planned. My cousin Agnes wrote a kind letter
about my coming, which seemed to give her much pleasure. She
remembered me very well, and sent me a message which made me feel of
consequence; and I was delighted with the plan of making her so long a
visit.

One evening I was reading a story-book, and I heard my father say in an
undertone, "How long has madam been at the ferry this last time? Eight
or ten years, has she not? I suppose she is there yet?"--"Oh, yes!"
said my mother, "or Agnes would have told us. She spoke of her in the
last letter you had, while we were in Sweden."

"I should think she would be glad to have a home at last, after her
years of wandering about. Not that I should be surprised now to hear
that she had disappeared again. When I w