r it grated upon his
feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.

"I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the best,"
continued 'Lena.

"You'll like Anna the best," said her uncle, and 'Lena asked, "Why!
What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school and study?"

"None too well, I reckon," returned her uncle, adding that "there
were not many little girls who did."

"Why _I_ do," said 'Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a moment his
whittling, replied rather scornfully, "_You_! I should like to know
what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!"

'Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she
bore the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her
age, and now she rather tartly answered, "I study geography,
arithmetic, grammar, and----" history, she was going to add, but her
uncle stopped her, saying, "That'll do, that'll do. You study all
these? Now I don't suppose you know what one of 'em is."

"Yes, I do," said 'Lena, with a good deal of spirit. "Olney's
geography is a description of the earth; Colburn's arithmetic is the
science of numbers: Smith's grammar teaches us how to speak
correctly."

"Why don't you do it then," asked her uncle.

"Do what?" said 'Lena, and her uncle continued, "Why don't you make
some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my Anna has
never seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don't _talk
like you do_."

"Don't _what_, sir?" said 'Lena,

"Don't _talk like you do_," repeated her uncle, while 'Lena's eyes
fairly danced with mischief as she asked, "if that were good grammar."

Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself
might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so
harshly chided 'Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more
favorably. It could hardly be said that he treated her with any more
attention, and still there was a difference which she felt, and which
made her very happy.

CHAPTER IV.

ON THE ROAD.

At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to
sell, and too good to give away, had found a place--some here, some
there, and some in John's trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars,
dickeys, and so forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was
made the receiver of sundry cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and
iron spoons, which could not be disposed of elsewhere.

And now every box and tr