nd his
uncle, who did not like to be kept waiting, was already in a temper and
blowing like a northeaster.

The Colonel, who was suffering from an attack of rheumatic gout, was
more irritable than usual. He had not liked having his horses and
carriage go out in the rain, and had sat up waiting for the return of
his nephew, and when Sam came in, telling what had happened to the
carriage and horses, and that he must go back with a lantern to the park
gates and see if the new school mistress was alive, he went into a
terrible passion, swearing at the weather, and the late train, and the
school mistress who he seemed to think was the cause of the accident.

"What business had she in the carriage? Why did she come in such a
storm? Why didn't she take the 'bus, and if the 'bus wasn't there, why
didn't she--?" He didn't know what, and it took all the tact of Peter,
who was still in the family and old like his master, to quiet him.

Then next morning his gout was so bad that he was wheeled into the
dining-room, where he was fast growing angry at the delay of breakfast,
and beginning to swear again when Peter, who knew how to manage him,
went for Amy. Nothing quieted the Colonel like a sight of Amy, with her
sweet face and gentle ways.

"Please come. It's beginning to sizzle," Peter frequently said to her
when a storm was brewing, and Amy always went, and was like oil on the
troubled waters.

"What is it?" she now asked, and the Colonel replied, "What is it! I
should say, what is it! There's the very old Harry to pay. Brutus has a
big hole in his breast, the carriage is smashed, silk cushions all
stained with a girl's blue gown, and that girl the school-teacher I
didn't want; and she's broken her leg or something when they tipped
over, and Howard and his friend carried her to Widow Biggs's, and the
Lord knows what didn't happen!"

Amy had a way of seeming to listen very attentively when the Colonel
talked to her, and always smiled her appreciation and approbation of
what he said. Just how much she really heard or understood was doubtful.
Her mind seemed to run in two channels,--one the present, the other the
past,--and both were blurred and indistinct,--especially the past. She
understood about the young girl, however, and at once expressed her
sympathy, and said, "We must do something for her."

To do something for any one in sickness or trouble was her first
thought, and many a home had been made glad because of her si