OF EUNICE.

Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly folded
in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her release, she came to me, eager for news
of her father's health. When I had communicated all that I thought
it right to tell her of the doctor's last report, she noticed Mrs.
Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger seemed to embarrass her. I left
Miss Jillgall to introduce them to each other.

"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure?
Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters to you."

"I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other a little
better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but I am sorry to
see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want Mamma Tenbruggen to
cheer you. What a charming old house!"

She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house door. Her
enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the pillars of the
porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting. When the farmer's wife
presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was so irresistibly amiable, and took
such flattering notice of the children, that the harmless British matron
actually blushed with pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have children
of your own," she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and
sighed with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all cruelly
swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, it did most
assuredly mean that.

"What wonderful self-possession!" somebody whispered in my ear. The
children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little creatures--but
the name of the innocent one among them was Selina.

Before dinner we were shown over the farm.

The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and I
accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still keeping
possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some distance behind.
I looked back, after no very long interval, and saw that a separation
had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me, not looking so pleasantly as
usual, joined the children, and walked with two of them, hand in hand, a
pattern of maternal amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice
an opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her own
opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part.

"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only an acquaintance.
What do you think of her?"

"I thought I should