ut the books and the lawn tea,
and Lillie listened approvingly.

So they had a lawn tea at the Fergusons that week, where Lillie was
the cynosure of all eyes. Mr. Mathews, the new young clergyman of
Springdale, was there. Mr. Mathews had been credited as one of the
admirers of Rose Ferguson; but on this occasion he promenaded and
talked with Lillie, and Lillie alone, with an exclusive devotion.

"What a lovely young creature your new sister is!" he said to Grace.
"She seems to have so much religious sensibility."

"I say, Lillie," said John, "Mathews seemed to be smitten with you. I
had a notion of interfering."

"Did you ever see any thing like it, John? I couldn't shake the
creature off. I was so thankful when you came up and took me. He's
Rose's admirer, and he hardly spoke a word to her. I think it's
shameful."

The next Sunday, Lillie rode over to Spindlewood with John and Rose
and Mr. Mathews.

Never had the picturesque of religion received more lustre than from
her presence. John was delighted to see how they all gazed at her
and wondered. Lillie looked like a first-rate French picture of the
youthful Madonna,--white, pure, and patient. The day was hot, and the
hall crowded; and John noticed, what he never did before, the close
smell and confined air, and it made him uneasy. When we are feeling
with the nerves of some one else, we notice every roughness and
inconvenience. John thought he had never seen his school appear so
little to advantage. Yet Lillie was an image of patient endurance,
trying to be pleased; and John thought her, as she sat and did
nothing, more of a saint than Rose and Grace, who were laboriously
sorting books, and gathering around them large classes of factory
boys, to whom they talked with an exhausting devotedness.

When all was over, Lillie sat back on the carriage-cushions, and
smelled at her gold vinaigrette.

"You are all worn out, dear," said John, tenderly.

"It's no matter," she said faintly.

"O Lillie darling! _does_ your head ache?"

"A little,--you know it was close in there. I'm very sensitive to such
things. I don't think they affect others as they do me," said Lillie,
with the voice of a dying zephyr.

"Lillie, _it is not your duty to go_" said John; "if you are not made
ill by this, I never will take you again; you are too precious to be
risked."

"How can you say so, John? I'm a poor little creature,--no use to
anybody."

Hereupon John told her that her o