duty in the light in which we see it. May I call her,
and just read the letter to her before you?"

"Yes, dear boy, if you like." So Amos repaired to the dining-room,
where his sister and Walter were engaged in a brisk conversation.

"What's amiss with you now?" asked Walter, noticing the serious look on
his brother's face. "You ought to be very bright this beautiful
morning. Julia and I have been planning a nice little scheme for this
afternoon. I am hoping, with the gamekeeper's help, to bag two or three
brace of partridges before dinner-time. I can drive Julia to the
gamekeeper's hut, and she can take a sketch or two while I am shooting.
The woods are looking beautiful now with their autumnal tints, and will
give lovely little bits for a sketch. Won't you join us?"

"Well," replied Amos gravely, "it would be very nice; but just now I
have a rather important matter I want to talk to Julia about, if she
will just spare me a few minutes, and come with me to my aunt's room."

"Dear me! what can you want with _me_?" asked his sister, turning deep
red and then very pale. "I'm sure I don't want to talk about anything
dismal this delicious morning. Oh! don't look so serious, Amos; you are
always in the dolefuls now. Why can't you be cheerful and jolly, like
Walter?"

"I am sorry to trouble you," replied her brother, "but there is a cause
just now. I shall not keep you long, and then you can return to your
jollity if you will." These last words he uttered in a tone of reproach
which touched her spite of herself.

She rose and followed him in silence to her aunt's room. When all were
seated, Amos produced the Scripture reader's letter, and, expressing his
deep sorrow to have to wound his sister, read it slowly out in a subdued
voice. Julia sprang from her seat, and having snatched the letter from
her brother's hand, read it through several times, her bosom heaving and
her eyes flashing, and a few tears bursting forth now and then. "It's a
hoax," she cried at last; "one of _his_ hoaxes. It can't be true."

"I fear it _is_ true," said Amos calmly. "To me the letter bears all
the marks of truth.--Don't you think so, Aunt Kate?"

"Yes, surely," replied Miss Huntingdon sadly; "I cannot doubt its
genuineness."

Julia then tossed the letter to her brother and sat down. "And what is
it, then," she asked bitterly, and with knitted brows, "that you want me
to do?"

"I think, dear Julia," said her aunt, "the