nd we talked resolutely of something else.

All the afternoon Minora has moped. She had found a kindred spirit, and
it has been ruthlessly torn from her arms as kindred spirits so often
are. It is enough to make her mope, and it is not her fault, poor thing,
that she should have preferred the society of a Miss Jones to that of
Irais and myself.

At dinner Irais surveyed her with her head on one side. "You look so
pale," she said; "are you not well?"

Minora raised her eyes heavily, with the patient air of one who likes to
be thought a sufferer. "I have a slight headache," she replied gently.

"I hope you are not going to be ill," said Irais with great concern,
"because there is only a cow-doctor to be had here, and though he means
well, I believe he is rather rough." Minora was plainly startled. "But
what do you do if you are ill?" she asked.

"Oh, we are never ill," said I; "the very knowledge that there would be
no one to cure us seems to keep us healthy."

"And if any one takes to her bed," said Irais, "Elizabeth always calls
in the cow-doctor."

Minora was silent. She feels, I am sure, that she has got into a part
of the world peopled solely by barbarians, and that the only civilised
creature besides herself has departed and left her at our mercy.
Whatever her reflections may be her symptoms are visibly abating.

January 1st.--The service on New Year's Eve is the only one in the whole
year that in the least impresses me in our little church, and then the
very bareness and ugliness of the place and the ceremonial produce an
effect that a snug service in a well-lit church never would. Last night
we took Irais and Minora, and drove the three lonely miles in a sleigh.
It was pitch-dark, and blowing great guns. We sat wrapped up to our eyes
in furs, and as mute as a funeral procession.

"We are going to the burial of our last year's sins," said Irais, as we
started; and there certainly was a funereal sort of feeling in the air.
Up in our gallery pew we tried to decipher our chorales by the light
of the spluttering tallow candles stuck in holes in the woodwork, the
flames wildly blown about by the draughts. The wind banged against the
windows in great gusts, screaming louder than the organ, and threatening
to blow out the agitated lights together. The parson in his gloomy
pulpit, surrounded by a framework of dusty carved angels, took on an
awful appearance of menacing Authority as he raised his voice to make
h