I sang to--to--my papa," said Cicely--tears springing to her eyes. "I
used to sing, 'Blue eyed Mary,' for the gentlemen who dined with papa."

Then the gentleman (pretending to look out the window) wiped his eyes,
and turning to the teacher, they whispered a long while together, now
and then looking at Cicely.

That evening, when Cicely and her mother were warming their fingers
over a fire of shavings, somebody knocked at the door.

Cicely blushed, when she saw the same gentleman she had seen at the
school coming in, and looked anxiously about the room.

But Mr. Raymond was not looking at the room. I doubt if he saw
anything, his eyes were so full of tears; but he held Cicely's mother
by the hand several minutes, without speaking, and led her back to the
chair with as much deference as if she had been a Duchess; and then
Cicely found out, as they talked, that he was one of her father's old
friends, and that, as sometimes happens, even between friends, they had
a quarrel, and that then they were both mistaken enough to think that
the most gentlemanly way to settle it, was to fight a duel; and that
Mr. Raymond wounded her father, and had to go away as fast as possible,
because there was so much noise about it, and that he had been very
unhappy ever since, and would have given all he had to have brought him
to life again, and that when he returned to his native city he had
searched everywhere for Mrs. Hunt and Cicely, without finding them.

Well, now he wanted to support Cicely and her mother, but Mrs. Hunt did
not like that. She forgave him the sorrow he had brought upon her
because he had suffered so much; but she did not wish to be supported
by him. However, she allowed him to find her a better place to live in,
and get her some scholars to teach, who paid her high prices, and by
and by Cicely helped her, and so they supported _themselves_; which is
a far pleasanter way of living than to be dependent.

Cicely was never entirely cured of her lameness; but a physician made
her much more comfortable; so she could walk by herself, with the help
of a crutch; and Mrs. Hunt's last days, after all, were her best days;
for, we should never know, my dear little pets, how brightly the sun
shines, if it _were never clouded_.

THE LITTLE TAMBOURINE PLAYER.

I was sitting at my window one fine morning, at a farm house in the
country, enjoying the sweet air, the soft blue clouds, and far-off
hills, and watching the hay