ewing, Rosalind reading aloud, and
Adelaide, with her drawing materials before her, was earnestly engaged
in colouring a sketch of a fishing-boat at anchor, beautifully reflected
in the calm water, and tinted with the glowing rays of the declining
sun. As she put in the last touches, she hoped, before the summer was
over, that she should improve so much in her drawing as to be enabled to
attempt a view of the bay with its green shores; its island fortresses;
and its numerous ships, some going out on a voyage to distant regions,
others coming home with the merchandise and the news of Europe.

"Now," exclaimed Adelaide, "I see the smoke of the steamboat, just
behind Castle Williams. My father and Josephine will soon be here. I am
glad my drawing is so nearly completed. In a few minutes it will be
finished."

"And in a few minutes," said Rosalind, "I shall conclude the story that
I am reading."

"Do you not now think," asked Mrs. Mortlake, "I was right in proposing
that we should protract our usual afternoon occupations an hour beyond
the usual time, as we are expecting the arrival of your father and your
cousin? This last hour would have seemed twice its real length, if we
had done nothing, all the while, but strain our eyes in gazing up the
bay for the steamboat, saying every few minutes, 'Oh, I wish they were
come!'"

In a short time, Adelaide exclaimed, "Here is the steamboat. I see they
are depositing several trunks in the little boat at the side. And now it
is let down to the water. And now a gentleman and a young lady descend
the steps, and take their seats in it. How fast it cuts its way through
the foam that is raised by the tow-line. In a moment it will touch the
wharf. Here they come. There is my father; and it _must_ be Josephine
that is with him!"

The sisters then ran down the steps of the portico, and in a moment were
at the landing-place, where Mr. Edington, as soon as he had assisted
her to step on shore, introduced them to Josephine Sherborough, a fat,
fair, pale young lady, about fourteen, with a remarkably placid
countenance which immediately won the regard of Rosalind: who determined
in her own mind that Josephine was a very sweet girl, and that they
should, ever hereafter, be intimate and most particular friends.
Adelaide, who was two years older than Rosalind, and who had more
penetration, was not so violently prepossessed in favour of her cousin,
whose face she thought deficient in animation,