ink of her at all. Be assured her
ill-natured shafts will fall as blunt and harmless upon the noble
well-tried armour of my uncle's Christian character, as a bombardment
of cambric needles against the fortress of Cronstadt. How rapidly
Regina has grown, since she came among us? Her complexion is perfect.
Is she the same straightforward, guileless child I left her?"

"Unchanged except in the rapid expansion of her mind, which develops
surprisingly. She is the most mature child I have ever met, and I
presume it is attributable to the fact that she has never been thrown
with children, and having always associated with older persons, has
insensibly imbibed their staid thoughts, and adopted their quiet
ways. I should not be more astonished to see my prim puritanical
grandmother yonder step down from the frame, and turn a somersault on
the carpet, or indulge in leap-frog, than to find Regina guilty of
any boisterous hoidenish behaviour, or unrefined, undignified
language. If she had been born on the _Mayflower_, raised on Plymouth
Rock, and fed three times a day on the 'Blue Laws' of Connecticut,
she could not possibly have proved a more eminently 'proper' child.
Even Hannah, who you may recollect was so surly, harsh, and
suspicious when she first came here, and who really has as little
cordiality or enthusiasm in her nature as a gridiron or a
rolling-pin, seems now to be completely devoted to her; as nearly
infatuated as one of her flinty temperament can be,--and who conquers
old Hannah's heart--you will admit--must be wellnigh perfect."

"Does my uncle continue to teach her?"

"Yes, and I think it is one of his greatest pleasures. She is
ambitious and studious, and Peyton is never too weary to explain
whatever puzzles her. She is exceedingly fond of him, and he said
last week that she was his 'Jabez;' he had received her so
reluctantly, and she proved such a comfort and blessing?"

"I presume her mother writes to her occasionally?"

"Regularly every fortnight she receives a letter. Sometimes for days
after Regina looks perplexed and sorrowful, but she never divulges
the contents. Once, about two months ago, I found her lying on the
rug in her own room, with her face in her hands, and her mother's
last letter beside her. I asked if she had received any bad news, for
I knew she was crying in her quiet way, and she looked up, and said
in a tone that was really piteous: 'There is nothing new. It is
always the same old thi