e knew she would like to buy that
bonnet, because Mademoiselle had been so good as to let her assist in
plaiting it." How she came to know that they were for sale nobody could
tell; but our kind governess ordered the bonnet to be put into the
carriage, told her the price--(no extravagant one!)--called her a good
child, and took leave of her till Monday.

Two hours after Betsy and her father re-appeared in the school-room.
"Ma'amselle," said he, bawling as loud as he could, with the view, as we
afterward conjectured, of making her understand him. "Ma'amselle, I've no
great love for the French, whom I take to be our natural enemies. But
you're a good young woman; you've been kind to my Betsy, and have taught
her how to make your fallals; and moreover you're a good daughter: and
so's my Betsy. She says that she thinks you're fretting, because you can't
manage to take your grandfather and grandmother back to France again;--so
as you let her help you in that other handy-work, why you must let her
help you in this." Then throwing a heavy purse into her lap, catching his
little daughter up in his arms, and hugging her to the honest breast where
she hid her tears and her blushes, he departed, leaving poor Mdlle. Rose
too much bewildered to speak or to comprehend the happiness that had
fallen upon her, and the whole school the better for the lesson.

THE DREAM OF THE WEARY HEART.

The Weary Heart lay restlessly on his bed, distracted with the strife of
the day. Wearied indeed was he in heart, and wavering in the simple faith
which had blessed his childhood. The world was no more beautiful to him,
his fellow-man was no more trustworthy, and heaven was no longer regarded
as his distant, though native home. One thing only seemed, to his changed
heart, the same; it was the ever-varying, ever-constant moon, which shed
her broad, fair light as serenely on his aching brow as when he nestled, a
happy child, upon his mother's breast.

Soothed by this pure light, the Weary Heart slept at length; and in his
sleep, his troubled and toil-worn mind went back--back to the early hours
of life--back to the lone old house, so loved in childhood, so seldom
thought of now. In this old home all seemed yet unchanged, and he would
fain have busied himself in tracing out memories of the past; but a low
sweet voice bade him gaze steadfastly on the lozenge panes of the long
lattice window, where the sun of the early spring-tide was shining ga