please let me
read this first, uncle. Do you know his real name?"

"No; but I sometimes fancy it may be my old ward, Frank Sheldon, as he
has always had a turn for writing, and is one of the editors of this
periodical."

"One of the editors of this magazine!" repeated Annie, in a quick,
excited tone; "I never knew that before."

"Why, I thought I told you last fall, at Parson Grey's, in some of our
talks about former days."

"No; you said he was employed in some printing establishment at the
east, that was all."

"Well, I intended to have mentioned the rest; but what makes you look so
earnest and rosy, Annie?"

"O, nothing!" she answered; "I was only thinking."

"Frank has written to me, recently, a letter of sympathy and condolence,
and says he will visit the west this summer," the old man continued,
paring an orange. "I was going to make him my sole heir, but now I've
found you, I believe I shall curtail him and take you in for a share."

"O, you had better not!" she exclaimed quickly.

"And why better not, child?"

"Because he is more deserving your generosity than I."

"More deserving? No, indeed, Annie. But see how nicely I have peeled
this orange for you," passing it to her.

"For me, uncle! You had better eat it yourself."

"Why, what ails the girl? She won't even accept an orange from my hand."

"Yes I will, uncle; but after you had prepared it so nicely, I thought
you ought to enjoy it yourself," she answered, accepting the luscious
fruit. He gazed on her affectionately while she ate the juicy slices,
with grateful relish, and when she had finished, said, "Now will Annie
read to me awhile?"

"With the greatest pleasure, uncle," she answered, returning to the
package of books, from which she read till he was satisfied.

"Your voice reminds me of those wild, bright birds I used to hear
singing in that old wilderness of Scraggiewood, when I called on a quiet
evening at that rocky cottage where you were nursed into being; a spot
fit to adorn a fairy tale. No wonder you are such a pure-souled,
imaginative creature, reared in that pristine solitude of nature. Now
you may retire, darling, and don't fail to be down in the morning to
pour the old man's coffee, because it is never so sweet as when coming
from Annie's little hands." Thus speaking, he bestowed a fatherly kiss
upon her soft cheek, and she glided away to her own apartment. A long
time on her downy couch she lay gazing on the moonbeams tha