And now, when Mrs Huntingdon had been a few days established in the cottage, by her own earnest request, and with the hearty concurrence of her children, their aunt came over to spend a little time with them. This she could the more easily do as her brother was fully occupied with his endeavours to secure the return of the candidate whose politics he agreed with. Surely there can be few, who have a large circle of relations of different degrees of nearness, who have not among these some pre-eminently special ones who draw to themselves a more than ordinary share of affection from all their kindred--a special sister, or brother, or cousin, who does not however, make others less loved, while being the privileged object of a peculiarly tender regard. Such a special aunt was Miss Huntingdon to all her nephews and nieces. A visit from her was everywhere hailed with rejoicing. And so now every heart was glad when she joined the little party at the sea-side cottage. To Mrs Huntingdon the coming of her sister-in-law was eminently beneficial; for her tender love, her wise and judicious counsels, her earnest prayers, all helped to establish the restored mother in a healthful and happy tone of mind, and were the means of guiding her to that perfect peace which dwells nowhere but in the hearts of those who have sought and found in their Saviour the friend who loves above all others. When Miss Huntingdon had been at the cottage two or three days, and was walking with Amos and Walter by the ebbing waves, Julia having remained behind with her mother, Walter suddenly stopped, and said, "Auntie, I have something very sad to tell you, and I want your advice." Both his aunt and Amos looked at him with surprise and anxiety, and then the former said, "Well, dear boy, I am sorry that there should be anything troubling you; but if I can be of any use or comfort to you in the matter. I shall be only too glad." "Sit down here then, Aunt Kate, if you please, on this bank; and if you are not both of you heartily ashamed of me and disgusted with me when I have told you all, well, you ought to be." When all three were seated, Walter fully related his adventure at the watering-place, concluding with the attack upon the preacher, laying a full share of blame on himself, and ending with the words, "Now, dear auntie, what do you say to that?" Both his hearers looked very grave, and were silent for some time. At last Miss Huntingdon, laying her hand lovingly on Walter's shoulder, said, "Dear boy, it is certainly a sad story, but you were led into what you did from want of watchfulness; and as you are now aware of your fault, and are sorry for it, I should not, if I were you; needlessly distress myself, but just make, if you can, some amends."