lar trump, and had borne himself like a
veteran." Kate walked elate, saying the words over and over, with a
proud smile, "A hero, a regular trump,"--he, her own dear Billy. The
old Squire, too, with ill-concealed pride in his boy, was once more
like his former self.

Happy days--brief, hopeful days! Alas, alas! Many Junes have come and
gone since little Billy was laid to rest in the old burying-ground,
close to the wheat-field where the partridge calls, calls, the long
day through. June roses scatter their leaves above him, and when the
sun drops low, with long golden shafts upon the green mound which
covers him, from far down in the laurel thicket comes the liquid
gurgle of the wood-thrush. Kate looks into faces, once frank and
bright, and full of youth and hope, now grown old and seamed with
care, and she tells herself that "whom the gods love, die young."

MAMMY

Two little snub noses were flattening themselves against the nursery
window pane, while the four eager eyes watched the soft flakes
whirling through the air and silently descending upon the whitening
earth.

"Sposen we was to steal out," whispered the boy, "an' hide, so Mammy
couldn't never find us no more."

An excited chuckle interrupted the further development of this
deliciously lawless scheme; but, though the little sister caught the
infection, she prudently turned from the tempting prospect, saying,
"No, Sed, I's 'fraid you might git the croups an' die."

The other occupants of the room were a little roly-poly cherub of a
girl, seated in a tiny chair, holding in her arms a rag baby, which
she rocked and dangled in servile imitation of her mammy, who, with
bumpings peculiar to the nursery chair, was rocking to sleep a still
younger babe. A fair little maiden, curled up comfortably upon a
cushion, the firelight glistening upon her yellow locks, bent over a
book, from which she read, in high-pitched, childish voice, to her
mammy, the story of "Ellen Lynn." Mammy was very proud that her
nursling could read, and would cast admiring looks upon the child as
she bent over her book, with finger pointing to each word. Both were
absorbed in the story, and every picture was examined with scrupulous
care.

Another occupant of the nursery was "Chany," the under nursemaid.
Gawky, sleek, and black, she sat flat upon the floor, her large,
well-shod feet turned to the fire, a picture of lazy, vacant content.

"Ch-Ch-Chany," stuttered Mammy, "look in d