hat she would give me another dollar; and she did."

"Where did the remainder come from?"

"Mostly from you, papa. You are always giving me money. These two
bright, new quarters you gave me when you looked over my writing-book,
and saw it hadn't a blot. How much is there in all?" I earnestly
asked.

Father glanced at the little pile, and smilingly said,--

"Seven dollars and ten cents. That's a good deal of money for a little
girl only nine years old to spend."

"And may I spend it just as I please?"

"Certainly, my dear; just as you please. It's a great thing for little
people to learn to spend money wisely."

Saying this, he seated himself by the window, and drawing me towards
him, placed me upon one knee.

"Gracie, dear, I have just received a letter from grandmother. She
proposes that I come to Vermont and bring you; that I remain as long
as business will admit, and leave you to pass the summer just as you
did last year. How would that suit?" fixing his kind dark eyes full
upon my upturned face to read my changing thoughts.

"O, I should like it very much!" I quickly exclaimed, clapping my
hands with delight. Then I reflected a moment, and a shadow fell over
my prospective happiness.

"On the whole, papa," I said, earnestly, "I think I had better go, and
not stay any longer than you can stay. I am all the little girl _you_
have, and you are all the parent _I_ have, and we should be very
lonely without each other."

I felt his warm, loving kiss upon my cheek as he folded me to his
heart, and a tear fell on my forehead. For two years I had been
motherless; but a double portion of pity and tenderness had been
lavished upon me by my indulgent father. He was a New York merchant of
ample means. Our home was elegant and tasteful.

The home of my father's only surviving parent, my doting grandmother,
whom we were designing to visit, was a plain, unpretending farm-house,
snuggly nestled up among the hills of Vermont. There were tall poplar
trees and a flower-garden in front, a little orchard and a whole row
of nice looking out-buildings in the rear. There was no place on earth
so full of joy for me. The swallows' nests on the barn; the turkeys,
geese, and chickens; the colt, lambs, and little pigs; in short,
everything had an ever-increasing attraction, far exceeding any
pleasures to be found within the limits of the crowded city.

The prospect of another visit to Woodville filled my heart with
intense delig