repeated Ida. "Why I wonder if it isn't the
Billy Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln has gone almost mad."

"I think not," returned her cousin, "for Mrs. Lincoln would hardly
suffer her daughter to _mention_ a poor boy's name, much less to go
mad about him."

"But," answered Ida, "he worked on Mr. Lincoln's farm when Jenny was a
little girl; and now that she is older she talks of him nearly all the
time, and Rose says it would not surprise her if she should some day
run off with him."

"Possibly it is the same," returned George. "Any way, he is very
fine-looking, and a fine fellow too, besides being an excellent
scholar."

The next day, when Billy chanced to be alone, George approached him,
and after making some casual remarks about the books he had borrowed,
&c., he said, "Did you ever see Jenny Lincoln in Chicopee?"

"Oh, yes," answered Billy, brightening up, for Jenny had always been
and still was a great favorite with him; "Oh, yes, I know Jenny very
well. I worked for her father some years ago, and became greatly
interested in her."

"Indeed? Then you must know Henry Lincoln?"

"Yes, I know him," said Billy; while George continued, "And think but
little of him of course?"

On this subject Billy was noncommittal. He had no cause for liking
Henry, but would not say so to a comparative stranger, and at last he
succeeded in changing the conversation. George was about moving away,
when observing a little old-fashioned looking book lying upon one of
the boxes, he took it up and turning to the fly-leaf read the name of
"Frank Howard."

"Frank Howard! Frank Howard!" he repeated; "where have I heard that
name? Who is he, Bender?"

"He was a little English boy I once, loved very much; but he is dead
now," answered Billy; and George, with a suddenly awakened curiosity,
said, "Tell me about him and his family, will you?"

Without dreaming that George had ever seen them, Billy told the story
of Frank's sickness and death,--of the noble conduct of his little
sister, who, when there was no other alternative, went cheerfully to
the poor-house, winning by her gentle ways the love of those unused to
love, and taming the wild mood of a maniac until she was harmless as a
child. As he proceeded with his story, George became each moment more
and more interested, and when at last there was a pause, he asked,
"And is Mary in the poor-house now?"

"I have not mentioned her name, and pray how came you to know it?"
said Billy i