t in Faith's cheeks, the pleasure in her eye! They would
have considered themselves rewarded. She looked and bent over the
pretty things, her attitude and blush half veiling her admiration and
satisfaction, but there was no veiling them when she looked up at Mr.
Linden. "I am so glad you like chocolate!"--she said naively. But it
was worth a hundred remarks of aesthetic criticism.

"I am so glad I do!" he said, stooping to kiss her. "Faith, one would
almost imagine some bird of the air had told them our chocolate
associations."

"Now won't you put these back for me?" said Faith,--"because, if that
sponge cake is to get done to-day I haven't two minutes to lose!"

The pretty chocolatiere was but the beginning, as Faith soon found.
Found to her most utter and unbounded astonishment--though to that of
no one else.

Tuesday arrived a packet from Madame Danforth, accompanied by a note of
affection and congratulation. The present was peculiar. A satin sachet,
embroidered after the little Frenchwoman's desire, and to do it justice
very exquisitely scented, was the first thing. A set of window curtains
and toilet cover, of a curious and elaborate pattern of netting, made
of very fine thread,--a manufacture in which Madame Danforth delighted
and on which she prided herself,--was the second thing. The third was a
pretty breakfast service of French china.

Faith enjoyed them all, with some amusement and some pleasure of
possession, and not a little affectionate remembrance. Even the sachet,
in this view, was particularly precious; that was the only use Faith
saw in it. But the next arrival gave her a great start.

It was again this time a deal box, but immensely heavy; and it was a
strong box that Faith did not attempt to open; marked only 'Grover &
Baker', which told her nothing. There was no occasion indeed. A note
was delivered with the box, and a small covered basket. The note
conveyed the assurance of Sophy Harrison's love and a request that
Faith would let her shew it on the present occasion. It went on.--

"Papa has sent you, dear Faith, an odd thing for a present--for _such_
a present--but I haven't been able to put it out of his head. He
insists it is what you ought to have, and that he shall have the
pleasure of giving it to you To save you the trouble of opening the box
before you want it, I will state that it contains a _sewing machine_.
Papa has taken great pains to satisfy himself--and it is certainly the