But Elle's friends came early, and she had no time for higher thoughts than filling small mouths with bread and butter--"run-the-thimble," the vexed question of "how many miles to Babylon;" and "Chicken-me-chicken-me-craney-crow;" pastimes, whoso barbarous names cause the refined juveniles of this precocious '54, to join their gloved hands in thanksgiving, that their lot was not cast in those times! As the dignified master of the house deigned to participate in the ceremonies, we trust our heroine will not suffer a very grievous letting-down in the opinion of these formidable critics, for the prominent parts she assumed. A circle was ordered for "Fox and goose." Charley played Reynard, and Ida, goose the first. The children enjoyed, without fully understanding the game, and she had to keep the character longer than the laws prescribed. Round and round they flew--circling and doubling--the spectators screaming their applause--and she ran directly against a gentlemen who was entering. Her impetus was such that she would have fallen, but for his extended arm. A laughing voice said something, unintelligible in her confusion. "Oh! Mr. Lacy!" cried Elle. "I was _so_ afraid you wouldn't come!" "I promised--did I not?" said he, stooping to kiss her. "Yes, sir, but I thought maybe you'd rather go to Miss Anna Talbot's party, like Miss--" "Elle! Elle! no, no!" whispered Ida, in time to suppress the name. "You see I had rather be at yours;" he returned, without noticing the unfinished sentence. "What are you playing?" "'Did you ever see a wild goose Sailing on the ocean?'" sang Charley. "'The wild goose's motion Was a mighty funny notion.'" he added, aside to Ida. No forced spirits now! The innocent fun--the converse of the social circle, after the little ones had gone--the walk home, beneath the tremulous stars--the "good night" and pressure, whose thrill lingered in her fingers 'till sleep sealed her eyes--all were sources of unutterable pleasure--pleasures born from one influence--flowing from one presence.