if the house was on fire. What brought up the subject I do not now
remember, but that evening Mrs. Morton persisted in talking about Clara
Hague. She spoke of their childhood, of the old homestead, of the
nutting, the apple-picking, the cider-making, and the hundred other
occupations and amusements of their young life.

She had a vivid power of description, and a charming simplicity in her
choice of words, that entertained even me; but I could see Mr. Redfield
was troubled. He moved restlessly on the lounge, and once drew a shawl
over his face. At last she touched on the shoestore, its doleful decay
and downfall, and the years the unhappy woman had struggled on. At this
he started to go; but there was something in her manner that detained
him. Her tone had been light and chatty before; and, though she spoke
with proper gravity, it was sprightly rather than earnest. I did not
notice any striking change; and yet it seemed suddenly to assume the
gentle impressiveness one sometimes fancies we should hear from the
pulpit.

"Whatever be her troubles, Clara has been a good sister to you. You were
the youngest; and a puny little fellow you were then, with all your
greatness. Many and many a time, in your quarrels with other boys, have
I seen her get into no end of disgrace for defending you. Do you
_remember_ that old log school-house, John? and our dinners under the
trees? What baskets of berries and bags of nuts we gathered in those
woods! Do you remember the little run we used to cross, and the fish you
caught in the pool?

"And oh, John! do you remember that day we started home when it rained?
You had been sick, and commenced to cry. We got under a big tree; but it
was November; the leaves had all blown down, and the rain beat through
the branches. What disconsolate little people we were! And when you sat
down on a flat stone, and declared you'd stay there and die, don't you
remember how Clara went out in the bushes, and, taking off her little
flannel petticoat, put it around your shoulders for a cloak?"

The strong man quivered; his face convulsed, and the hot tears started
into his eyes.

"YES! _I'll be hanged if I don't!_"

He clutched up his hat, and was gone in an instant, and the two women,
woman-like, stood sobbing in each other's arms.

The Air.

The thousand-and-one young gentlemen in blue neck-ties, who for a
twelvemonth, in frantic strains, varying from _basso profundo_ to piping
tenor, had proclaimed