he license complacently.

"Did papa give you this, mamma?"

"My sister gave it me--my only sister, Cary. Would that your Aunt
Caroline had lived to see her niece!"

"Have you nothing of papa's--no trinket, no gift of his?"

"I have one thing."

"That you prize?"

"That I prize."

"Valuable and pretty?"

"Invaluable and sweet to me."

"Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?"

"It is talking to me now, leaning on me. Its arms are round me."

"Ah, mamma, you mean your teasing daughter, who will never let you
alone; who, when you go into your room, cannot help running to seek for
you; who follows you upstairs and down, like a dog."

"Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half
fear your fair looks yet, child."

"You don't; you can't. Mamma, I am sorry papa was not good. I do so wish
he had been. Wickedness spoils and poisons all pleasant things. It kills
love. If you and I thought each other wicked, we could not love each
other, could we?"

"And if we could not trust each other, Cary?"

"How miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew you I had an
apprehension that you were not good--that I could not esteem you. That
dread damped my wish to see you. And now my heart is elate because I
find you perfect--almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is that
you are old-fashioned, and of that I shall cure you. Mamma, put your
work down; read to me. I like your southern accent; it is so pure, so
soft. It has no rugged burr, no nasal twang, such as almost every one's
voice here in the north has. My uncle and Mr. Hall say that you are a
fine reader, mamma. Mr. Hall said he never heard any lady read with such
propriety of expression or purity of accent."

"I wish I could reciprocate the compliment, Cary; but, really, the first
time I heard your truly excellent friend read and preach I could not
understand his broad northern tongue."

"Could you understand me, mamma? Did I seem to speak roughly?"

"No. I almost wished you had, as I wished you had looked unpolished.
Your father, Caroline, naturally spoke well, quite otherwise than your
worthy uncle--correctly, gently, smoothly. You inherit the gift."

"Poor papa! When he was so agreeable, why was he not good?"

"Why he was _as_ he was--and happily of that you, child, can form no
conception--I cannot tell. It is a deep mystery. The key is in the hands
of his Maker. There I leave it."

"Mamma, you will keep stitching, stitching