nd
overlook and underlook the shining tumult,--the shifting, yet
enduring apparition of delight.

It came in two leaps, down a winding channel, through which it
seemed to turn and spring, like some light, graceful, impetuous
living creature. You _felt_ it reach the first rock-landing; you
were conscious of the impetus which forced it on to take the second
spring which brought it down beneath your feet. And it kept
coming--coming. It was an eternal moment; a swift, vanishing, yet
never over-and-done movement of grace and splendor. That is the
magic of a waterfall. Something exquisite by very suggestion of
evanescence, caught _in transitu_, and held for the eye and mind to
dwell on.

They were never tired of looking. The chance would not come,--that
ought to be a pause,--for them to turn and go away.

"But there are more," Sylvie said at length, admonishing them. "And
the Second Cataract is grander than this."

"You number them going down," said Mr. Kirkbright.

"Yes. People always number things as they come to them, don't they?
Our first is somebody's else last, I suppose, always."

"What a little spirit that is!" said Christopher Kirkbright to Miss
Euphrasia, dropping back to help his sister down a rocky plunge.

"A little spirit waked up by touch of misfortune," said Miss
Euphrasia. "She would have gone through life blindfolded by purple
and fine linen, if things had been left as they were with her."

Desire and Sylvie walked on together.

"Leave them alone," said Miss Kirkbright to her brother. And she
stopped, and began to gather handfuls of the late ferns.

Now she had the chance given her, Desire said it straight out, as
she said everything.

"I came up here after you, Miss Argenter. Did you know it?"

"No. After me? How?" asked Sylvie.

"To see if you and your mother would come and make your home with us
this winter,--pretty much as you do with Mrs. Jeffords. I can say
_us_, because Hazel Ripwinkley, my cousin, is with me nearly all
the time; but for the rest of it, I am all the family there really
is, now that Rachel Froke has gone away; unless you came to call my
dear old Frendely 'family,' as I do; seeing that next to Rachel, she
is root and spring of it. You could help me; you could help her; and
I think you would like my work. I should be glad of you; and your
mother could have Rachel Froke's gray parlor. It is a one-sided
proposition, because, you see, I know all about you already, from
Mis