parlour, and wheeled up an easy chair, and begged him to sit down and make himself at home."

But, first, he made her recline upon the lounge and rest, while he drew the chair up and sat by her side.

And there she lay, with her sweet, spiritual face, white as her drapery, except where all the colour had concentrated in a circumscribed fiery spot in either cheek. She was breathing short, yet smiling gaily at her own difficulty.

He sat watching her, and trying to feel and to look happy, yet thinking that after all she was not so well as when he had left her-perceiving that he had mistaken fever heat for healthful bloom. He sat, trying to smile and talk cheerfully, yet with a dull, aching prophecy in his heart. It was in vain to stifle the rising anxiety. It found some vent in these words:

"My love, you work too hard; that school is hurting your health ?"

"No, dear Mark, believe me, it is not-it keeps me up."

"It exhausts, it prostrates you, my love—indeed, it must be closed-that school must be closed !"

By way of nimbly proving how strong she was, she arose to a sitting posture, arranged her hair by running her slender fingers through the ringlets, adjusted her dress, and sat straight up, while she answered

"Not for the world would I close that school, dear Mark. I have no children, and that school is my field of almost unbounded usefulness. Those girls are my children; and not only must I cultivate their intellects, but in every young, receptive heart I must

sow good seed, that will bring forth fruit long after I am in"

She paused suddenly, in embarrassment.

“What do you mean, Rosalie ?" he asked, in dis

tress.

"Dearest Mark," she said, slightly evading a direct reply, "dearest Mark, a faithful teacher, called to the work, may not abandon her post, indeed; for oh! see how mighty the influence of a teacher may be, and how long it may last-the good principles instilled into a little girl's tender heart do not conclude their work with her alone, but influence her children, and her children's children, and all who come within her sphere and in theirs. Consider how mighty an instrument of good is set in motion by teaching aright one little child, and I faithfully try to teach forty. So, dearest Mark, hinder me not; but while I live, let me sow the good seed, that it may bring forth good fruit when I am I mean when all this generation shall have passed away."

There was a pause, during which he held her hand fondly, and seemed buried in thought.

"Dearest Mark, you look so careworn-have you had much trouble in settling our business?"

He raised his head, and looked at her sweet, wan face. He could not, for his life, tell anything to distress her then; so he answered that Mr. Clement Sutherland was not yet prepared to give an account of his trust, but that all would be arranged before the close of the month.

Rosalie arose, and putting her hands upon his shoulders, pressed a kiss upon his forehead, and was sliding away.

"Where are you going?" asked Mark, detaining

her.

"To order tea, of course," she answered.

Suddenly Mr. Sutherland remembered Uncle Billy. "Stop, Rosalie," he said, "I have got something to tell you."

And Rosalie sat down again; and Mark, in some painful and ludicrous embarrassment, related his meeting with Mr. Bolling, and the manner in which that impartial, disinterested gentleman had thrust himself upon him for life.

"And where have you left him now?" asked Rosalie.

"At Col. Garner's, enjoying himself. Really, my dearest Rose, I feel very much annoyed that you should be troubled with this old man," said Mark Sutherland, in a tone of vexation.

"Bless your kind heart, dear Mark, he will be no trouble to me. I have not the shadow of an objection to his coming; I think I shall rather like to have him. Uncle Billy always was rather a cheerful object to me-such a neat, clean, fresh, dainty, self-satisfied, delightful old gentleman! We can put him in the other front room up stairs, you know!"

"But to be burdened with him for ever, Rose! Just think of it! And the most provoking part of it is, he thinks he is doing us a mighty benefit!"

"Well! poor, homeless old gentleman! let him think so, if it makes him happy. Never let him feel a sense of obligation, or fancy that we are not delighted to have him! I can speak truly for

myself I shall be very glad to make the old man contented !"

"Oh, yes; he says you're very fond of him, and begged me not to break his arrival to you too abruptly, lest the sudden joy should be too much for you!"

Rosalie laughed outright. Her silvery laughter was very sweet, from its rarity, and Mark found it charming. He caught her gaily, and kissed her cheek. Oh, that burning cheek! it sobered him. directly. He took his hat, and went to fetch Uncle Billy.

CHAPTER XXX.

AN ORIGINAL.

"He seeth only what is fair,

He sippeth only what is sweet;

He will laugh at fate and care,

Leave the chaff and take the wheat."-Emerson.

AND Rosalie passed into a large, square, well ordered kitchen, over which presided another Billy -Mrs. Attridge's ex-servant, and now Rosalie's maid-of-all-work. And the short history of the transfer of his services was this: Mr. and Mrs. Attridge, having no family, grew lonely, and tired of housekeeping in the country. So they broke up, sold their furniture, rented out their place, and came to Shelton, and took rooms at Garner's Hotel.

So Billy was out of a place. A great many house

keepers would have been glad to hire him. But Billy, like all invaluable geniuses, had a great many eccentricities and difficulties to be got over. He wouldn't live in a row of houses, or in any sort of a house that wasn't a handsome house, in a large space, with trees round it. He wouldn't live in a family that had babies, or hadn't cows and a garden. Poultry was also indispensable, and pigs totally inadmissible. And lastly, he wouldn't live -no, not in town or country, neither for love nor money, with anybody who was not good-looking. There-to use Billy's own words-he set his foot down, and no one could move him from that position. And so it fell out that Billy would accept no place in Shelton, but continued hanging on to the skirts of his old master and mistress, at Garner's Hotel.

But one day, it happened that Rosalie, after she had dismissed her afternoon school, stood at her nice white kitchen table kneading bread for supper, when a shadow darkened the door, and the sound of something dumped suddenly down upon the floor, caused her to turn round. There stood Billy, in his pale blue cotton jacket and trousers, and clean linen apron and straw hat, with a great bundle at his back, and a heavy trunk at his feet. Down he dropped the bundle upon the trunk, and heaving a deep sigh of relief, said—

"I'm been looking for you to send arter me to come and live 'long o' you. Why ain't you sent afore this? Don't like to be a-losing so much time."

"Why, Billy, I had no idea you wished to come and live with us," returned Rose, in surprise.