of that great feminine sun of love and beauty. Apple Orchard, so long
lost sight of, will not longer suffer itself to be neglected; and,
fortunately, the return of our heroine, Redbud, affords an opportunity
of passing away, for the time, from other scenes, and going thither in
her company.

Redbud's sickness did not last long. The girl had one of those
constitutions which, though they seem frail and delicate, yet, like
the reed, are able to resist what breaks more robust frames.
The wetting she had gotten, on the evening whose events we have
chronicled, had not seriously affected her;--a severe cold, and with
it some slight fever, had been the result. And this fever expended
itself completely, in a few days, and left the girl well again, though
quite weak and "poorly," as say the Africans.

Redbud, like most persons, was not fond of a sick-room; and after
sending word, day after day, to our friend Verty--who never failed to
call twice at least, morning and evening--that she was better, and
better, the girl, one morning, declared to cousin Lavinia that she was
well enough to put on her dressing-wrapper, and go down stairs.

After some demur, accompanied by many grave and solemn shakes of the
head, Miss Lavinia assented to this view of the case; and accordingly
set about arranging the girl's hair, which had become--thanks to the
fact that she could not bear it tied up--one mass of curls of the
color of gold; and this task having been performed with solemn but
affectionate care, the Squire made his appearance, according to
appointment, and taking his "baby," as he called our heroine of
sixteen and a half, in his arms, carried her down stairs, and
deposited her on a sofa, fronting the open window, looking on the
fresh fields and splendid autumn forest.

Redbud lay here gazing with delight upon the landscape, and smiling
pleasantly. The autumn hours were going to the west--the trees had
grown more golden than on that fine evening, when, with sad mishaps to
Fanny, the gay party had wandered over the hills, though not very far
away, and seen the thunder-storm suck in the dazzling glories of the
bannered trees. Another year, with all its light, and joy, and beauty,
slowly waned away, and had itself decently entombed beneath the thick,
soft bed of yellow leaves, with nothing to disturb it but the rabbit's
tread, or forest cries, or hoof-strokes of the deer. That year had
added life and beauty to the face and form of Redbud