ought away the memory of Mercutio; she had read Scott, and enshrined in
her pious heart the bold Rob Roy. "Men are very wicked, I fear," she would
gently offer, "but they are very a--a--engaging, too."

To-day, when Betty came with the message, she lingered a moment to convince
herself that the bonnet was not in her thoughts, and then swept her
trailing bombazine into the house. "I have come to tell you that you may as
well send the bonnet back, Julia," she began at once. "Flowers are much too
fine for me, my dear. I need only a plain black poke."

"Come up and try it on," was Mrs. Ambler's cheerful response. "You have no
idea how lovely it will look on you."

Miss Lydia went up and took the bonnet out of its wrapping of tissue paper.
"No, you must send it back, my love," she said in a resigned voice. "It
does not become me to dress as a married woman. It may as well go back,
Julia."

"But do look in the glass, Aunt Lydia--there, let me put it straight for
you. Why, it suits you perfectly. It makes you look at least ten years
younger."

"A plain black poke, my dear," insisted Aunt Lydia, as she carefully
swathed the flowers in the tissue paper. "And, besides, I have my old one,
which is quite good enough for me, my love. It was very sweet of you to
think of it, but it may as well go back." She pensively gazed at the mirror
for a moment, and then went to her chamber and took out her Bible to read
Saint Paul on Woman.

When she came down a few hours later, her face wore an angelic meekness. "I
have been thinking of that poor Mrs. Brown who was here last week," she
said softly, "and I remember her telling me that she had no bonnet to wear
to church. What a loss it must be to her not to attend divine service."

Mrs. Ambler quickly looked up from her needlework. "Why, Aunt Lydia, it
would be really a charity to give her your old one!" she exclaimed. "It
does seem a shame that she should be kept away from church because of a
bonnet. And, then, you might as well keep the new one, you know, since it
is in the house; I hate the trouble of sending it back."

"It would be a charity," murmured Miss Lydia, and the bonnet was brought
down and tried on again. They were still looking at it when Betty rushed in
and threw herself upon her mother. "O, mamma, I can't help it!" she cried
in tears, "an' I wish I hadn't done it! Oh, I wish I hadn't; but I set fire
to the Major's woodpile, and he's whippin' Dan!"

"Betty!" exclaimed M