Ida stretched herself upon a lounge, and set seriously about reasoning herself out of her despondency. She thought of Carry, and Lynn and Charley; but they came reluctantly, with selfishly happy faces; with their schemes and amusements and dearer friends. Mr. and Mrs. Dana pitied her;--this was the spring of their kindness! and her haughty soul winced at the idea. Hope and Fancy crept, with trailing wings, into hiding-places until the sun should shine out--she sullenly hugged her misery. What visionary who reads this, but has suffered from these morbose fits? "Well?" said she, tartly, as Rachel tiptoed across the floor. "I thought you was asleep;" replied the sable damsel. "I am awake--do you want anything?" Rachel rubbed her chin, gave her turban a twitch, and fumbled in her pocket "Law! I _ain't_ lost it, I _know_! It must be in my bosom!" Ida, awakened by her movements, watched her as she produced a tiny packet from the last-mentioned receptacle. With an odd compound of awkwardness and affection, she slipped a ring upon her mistress' finger. "Thar! it fits! don't it?" intensely complacent. "But where did you get it, Rachel? is it for me?" "For you, and nobody else, Miss Ida. I was determined your nose should not be made a bridge of by everybody; so I've been a savin' my spare coppers--(and no servant of yours wants for 'em,) and when you was admirin' that ar ring of Miss Josephine's, I says to myself--'She shall have one!' and when I'd cleaned up your room, I took off down town to the jewellerers--and thar 'tis--wishin' you a Merry Christmas, and an ever-lastin' Happy New Year, ma'am!" stepping back with a flourishing courtesy. Ida tried to smile at her peroration, and failing, burst into tears. Rachel was transfixed. She was not used to hysterics, and had never seen her mistress weep before. Her consternation was a speedy restorative; and Ida finally made her sensible that she was not grieved or displeased, but overjoyed at her gift. Then the voluble Abigail recollected "somethin' else" she had to communicate. "Ain't that tall gentleman, with black whiskers, that visits here so constant, named Mr. Lacy?" "Yes." "I thought so. When I went into the jewellerer's he was a standin' at the counter, buyin' a pair of gold spectacles--for his mother--I reckon. I heard him say they was for a lady. I asked for the rings, and the shop-boy gave me a string of brassy, ugly things--and says I--'I want a handsome one, sir, for my mistis.' "'Your mistis!' says he. 'Them's plenty good for her!' "'Are these the best you have?' says Mr. Lacy, sort o' frownin' and talkin' like he was his master fifty times over. "'No, sir--would you like to see some?' says the boy, turnin' white.