Foreign Missionary Society. "Now," wrote
father, "it will come your turn next, to stand in the gap, when your
mother and I fall back from the forlorn hope--life." This merry and
unaccustomed view of things did not suggest to my mind the change
he intimated; I could not dwell on such an idea, so steadfast
a home-principle were father and mother. It was different with
grandfathers and grandmothers, of course; they died, since it was
not particularly necessary for them to live after their children were
married.

It was early June when I went to Rosville; it was now October. There
was nothing more for me to discover there. My relations at home and
at school were established, and it was probable that the next year's
plans were all settled.

"It is the twentieth," said my friend, Helen Perkins, as we lingered
in the Academy yard, after school hours. "The trees have thinned so
we can see up and down the streets. Isn't that Mr. Morgeson who
is tearing round the corner of Gold Street? Do you think he is
strange-looking? I do. His hair, and eyes, and complexion are exactly
the same hue; what color is it? A pale brown, or a greenish gray?"

"Is he driving this way?"

"Yes; the fore-legs of his horse have nearly arrived."

I moved on in advance of Helen, toward the gate; he beckoned when he
saw me, and presently reined Nell close to us. "You can decide now
what color he is," I whispered to her.

"Will you ride home?" he asked. "And shall I take you down to
Bancroft's, Miss Helen?"

She would have declined, but I took her arm, pushed her into the
chaise, and then sprang in after her; she seized the hand-loop, in
view of an upset.

"You are afraid of my horse, Miss Helen," he said, without having
looked at her.

"I am afraid of your driving," she answered, leaning back and looking
behind him at me. She shook her head and put her finger on her eyelid
to make me understand that she did not like the color of his eyes.

"Cassandra is afraid of neither," he said.

"Why should I be?" I replied coldly.

We were soon at the Bancrofts', where Helen lived, which was a mile
from the Academy, and half a mile from our house. When we were going
home, he asked:

"Is she your intimate friend?"

"The most in school."

"Is there the usual nonsense about her?"

"What do you mean by nonsense?"

"When a girl talks about her lover or proposes one to her friend."

"I think she is not gifted that way."

"Then I like her."

"Why