; after many days it will return unto you--perhaps in an hour,
and at a time, dear uncle, when it will be much needed."

"Fudge, fudge!" he said, testily; "_I--I_ cast bread on the waters, do
I? Well, I am doing what is equally as foolish--it _is_ truly like
throwing bread into a _fish-pond_; but where's what's her name?"

"She slept poorly last night, and I would not awaken her this morning,"
said May, diverted in spite of herself.

"How do you know she didn't sleep, pray? did she tell you so?"

"No, sir; I heard her weeping all night, and, indeed, sir, I hope
you'll speak kindly to Helen when you come in this evening, because she
feels so very sorrowful on account of her recent losses, and--and--"

"And what, Miss Pert?"

"Her dependence, sir!" said May, bravely.

"She's no more dependent than you are."

"No, sir; but--but then I am happy somehow. It is the state of life
Almighty God has chosen for me, and I should be very ungrateful to him
and you if I repined and grumbled," said May, cheerfully.

"If He chose it for you, I suppose he chose it for her too; for _I
didn't_. At any rate, don't waste any more candles or coal sitting up
to watch people crying, and tell what's-her-name to rise when you do;
she's no better than you are; and let her take her share of the duties
of the house to-morrow," said Mr. Stillinghast, surlily.

"Helen will soon feel at home, sir, no doubt; only do--do, dear uncle,
try and speak kindly to her for a few days, on account of her lonely
situation."

"Fudge! eat your breakfast. Hold your plate here for some of this
broiled beef, and eat it to prevent its being wasted."

"Thank you, sir," said May, laughing, as he laid a large slice on her
plate, which, however she did not touch, but put it aside for Helen;
then observing that Mr. Stillinghast had finished his breakfast, she
wheeled his chair nearer the fire, handed him his pipe, and the
newspaper, and ran upstairs, to see if Helen was awake. But she still
slept, and looked so innocently beautiful, that May paused a few
moments by her pillow, to gaze at her. "She is like the descriptions
which the old writers give us of the Blessed Virgin," thought May;
"that high, beautifully chiseled nose; those waves of golden hair;
those calm finely cut lips, that high, snowy brow, and those long,
shadowy eyelashes, lying so softly on her fair cheeks, oh, how
beautiful! It seems almost like a vision, only--only I _know_ that
this is