est and the unexpounded
mysteries of salvation.

Now, as she reached the upper landing, she met Betty running to look for
her.

"O, mamma, may I go to fish with Champe and the new boy and Big Abel? And
Virginia wants to go, too, she says."

"Wait a moment, child," said Mrs. Ambler. "You have torn the trimming on
your frock. Stand still and I'll mend it for you," and she got out her
needle and sewed up the rent, while Betty hopped impatiently from foot to
foot.

"I think the new boy's a heap nicer than Champe, mamma," she remarked as
she waited.

"Do you, dear?"

"An' he says I'm nicer than Champe, too. He fought Champe 'cause he said I
didn't have as much sense as he had--an' I have, haven't I, mamma?"

"Women do not need as much sense as men, my dear," replied Mrs. Ambler,
taking a dainty stitch.

"Well, anyway, Dan fought Champe about it," said Betty, with pride. "He'll
fight about 'most anything, he says, if he jest gets roused--an' that
cert'n'y did rouse him. His nose bled a long time, too, and Champe whipped
him, you know. But, when it was over, I asked him if I had as much sense as
he had, and he said, 'Psha! you're just a girl.' Wasn't that funny, mamma?"

"There, there, Betty," was Mrs. Ambler's rejoinder. "I'm afraid he's a
wicked boy, and you mustn't get such foolish thoughts into your head. If
the Lord had wanted you to be clever, He would have made you a man. Now,
run away, and don't get your feet wet; and if you see Aunt Lydia in the
garden, you may tell her that the bonnet has come for her to look at."

Betty bounded away and gave the message to Aunt Lydia over the whitewashed
fence of the garden. "They've sent a bonnet from New York for you to look
at, Aunt Lydia," she cried. "It came all wrapped up in tissue paper, with
mamma's gray silk, and it's got flowers on it--a lot of them!" with which
parting shot, she turned her back upon the startled old lady and dashed off
to join the boys and Big Abel, who, with their fishing-poles, had gathered
in the cattle pasture.

Miss Lydia, who was lovingly bending over a bed of thyme, raised her eyes
and looked after the child, all in a gentle wonder. Then she went slowly up
and down the box-bordered walks, the full skirt of her "old lady's gown"
trailing stiffly over the white gravel, her delicate face rising against
the blossomless shrubs of snowball and bridal-wreath, like a faintly tinted
flower that had been blighted before it fully bloomed. Around