place at the table, the
backward ride in the carriage, and to get the necks of chickens and the
tails of fishes for his share of the dinner. Boys were always put upon
by the girls, and sorry enough he was, he said, that any were coming to
the house. And he vowed a boyish vow--"by thunder and lightning"--that
he would torment the girls to the very best of his ability.

Girls, forsooth! girls coming to live there day and night, and eat, and
drink, and sleep, and sit, and sew, and walk up and down through the
halls, and parlors, and chambers of Dell-Delight--girls, with their
airs, and affectations, and pretensions, and exactions--girls--pah! the
idea was perfectly disgusting and offensive. He really did wonder at
"Brother," but then he already considered "Brother" something of an old
bachelor, and old bachelors would be queer.

But Thurston well knew how to smite the rock, and open the fountain of
sympathy in the lad's heart. He said nothing in reply to the boy's saucy
objections, but on the evening that little Miriam arrived, he beckoned
Paul into the parlor, where the child sat, alone, and pointing her out
to him, said in a low tone:

"Look at her; she has lost all her friends--she has just come from her
mother's grave--she is strange, and sad, and lonesome. Go, try to amuse
her."

"I'm going to her, though I hardly know how," replied the lad, moving
toward the spot where the abstracted child sat deeply musing.

"Miriam! Is that your name," he asked, by way of opening the
conversation.

"Yes," replied the child, very softly and shyly.

"It's a very heathenish--oh, Lord!--I mean it's a very pretty name is
Miriam, it's a Bible name, too. I don't know but what it's a saint's
name also."

The little girl made no reply, and the boy felt at a loss what to say
next. After fidgeting from one foot to the other he began again.

"Miriam, shall I show you my books--Scott's poems, and the Waverley
novels, and Milton's Paradise, and--"

"No, I thank you," interrupted the girl, uneasily.

"Well, would you like to see my pictures--two volumes of engravings, and
a portfolio full of sketches?"

"No, thank you."

"Shall I bring you my drawer full of minerals? I have got--"

"I don't want them, please."

"Well, then, would you like the dried bugs? I've got whole cards of them
under a glass case, and--"

"I don't want them either, please."

"Dear me! I have not got anything else to amuse you with. What do you
want?"