rd, the wind gently lifting the thin white
hair from his temples; his cheek flushed, his clear blue eye beaming with
delight. The horseman approached. The old man could not distinguish his
face, yet there was no mistaking his gay and gallant bearing. The spirited
and handsome animal that bore him flew over the gravelled avenue. Only a
few minutes elapsed from the time he was first seen to the moment when the
father laid his head upon his son's shoulder; and while he was clasped to
that youthful and manly heart experienced sensations of joy such as are not
often felt here.

Alice had known, too, that it was he. But when we long to be assured of
happiness, we are often slow to believe. It was not until her eyes could
distinguish every feature that her heart said, "It is Arthur." Then all was
forgotten--all timidity, all reserve--all, save that he was the dearly
loved brother of her childhood; the being with whom her destiny had long
been associated. She passed from the drawing-room to the porch as he
alighted from his horse, and when his father released him from a long
embrace, Arthur's eyes fell upon the dear and unchanged countenance, fixed
upon him with a look of welcome that said more than a thousand words.

* * * * *

"Aunt," said Arthur, a week after his return, as he sat with Mrs. Weston
and Alice in the arbor, "before you came, Alice had been trying to persuade
me that she had been in love with Walter; but I can't believe it."

"I never did believe it for a moment. She thought she was, and she was
seized with such a panic of truth and honor that she made a great
commotion; insisted on writing to you, and making a full confession; wanted
to tell her uncle, and worry him to death; doing all sorts of desperate
things. She actually worked herself into a fever. It was all a fancy."

"I have too good an opinion of myself to believe it," said Arthur.

"I am sorry," said Alice, "for it is true. It is a pity your vanity cannot
be a little diminished."

"Why, the fact is Alice, I remember Uncle Bacchus's story about General
Washington and his servant, when the general's horse fell dead, or rather
the exclamation made by the servant after relating the incident: 'Master,
_he_ thinks of everything.' I do too. When we were children, no matter how
bad Walter was, you took his part. I remember once he gave William such a
blow because he stumbled over a wagon that he had been making, and broke