their younger days,--depending upon her, participating in all her
pleasures, or rather giving her favourite occupations double zest,
by their being for him, for his amusement. She rode and walked in the
beautiful open spring country with grandpapa, to whom she was a most
valuable companion; and on her return she had two to visit, both of whom
looked forward with keen interest and delight to hearing her histories
of down and wood, of field and valley, of farm-house, cottage, or
school; had a laugh for the least amusing circumstance, admiration
for the spring flower or leaf, and power to follow her descriptions of
budding woods, soft rising hills, and gorgeous sunsets. How her mamma
enjoyed comparing notes with her about those same woods and dells, and
would describe the adventures of her own youth! And now it might be
noticed that she did not avoid speaking of those in which Henrietta's
father had been engaged; nay, she dwelt on them by preference, and
without the suppressed sigh which had formerly followed anything like
a reference to him. Sometimes she would smile to identify the bold open
down with the same where she had run races with him, and even laugh to
think of the droll adventures. Sometimes the shady woodland walk would
make her describe their nutting parties, or it would bring her thoughts
to some fit of childish mischief and concealment, and to the confession
to which his bolder and more upright counsel had at length led her.
Or she would tell of the long walks they had taken together when older
grown, when each had become prime counsellor and confidante of the
other; and the interests and troubles of home and of school were poured
out to willing ears, and sympathy and advice exchanged. How Fred and
Mary had been companions from the very first, how their love had grown
up unconsciously, in the sports in the sunny fields, shady coombs, and
green woods of their home: how it had strengthened and ripened with
advancing years, and how bright and unclouded their sunshine had been
to dwell on: this was her delight, while the sadness which once spoke of
crushed hopes, and lost happiness, had gone from her smile. It was as if
she still felt herself walking in the light of his love, and at the same
time, as if she wished to show him to his daughter as he was, and to
tell Henrietta of those words and those ways of his which were most
characteristic, and which used to be laid up so fast in her heart,
that she could never