woman supposed to be the housekeeper, were the only constant attendants. Thus much of the new family at Appledale. The reader will learn more as we progress in our story. "I would see Mrs. Lindsay and the young ladies," said Henry Boyd, as the servant opened the door. Henry was shown into the same room, where many a time he had sat and talked with old Mr. Croswell, but which now seemed to him like another place. A handsome carpet now covered the white oaken floor, and rich curtains partially concealed the windows once shaded by simple green. Where stood the old "sideboard" was now an elegant piano, and luxurious chairs and lounges had taken the place of Mr. Croswell's high-backed, upright-looking furniture. But Henry was self-possessed; and though there were a number of young ladies in the room, dressed in handsome morning _dishabille_, he neither stammered nor turned red, but bowing easily to Mrs. Lindsay, gave Misses Martha and Emma an invitation to go with him and the young ladies to the plain. Mrs. Lindsay saw that Martha, on glancing from the window at the rustic-looking company, could scarcely suppress a smile, so she courteously thanked Henry, and was about to excuse her daughters, when Emma entered the room. Henry could not accuse either Mrs. Lindsay or Martha of impoliteness, but he felt somehow as though there was a great contrast between this courtesy and that shown him by Emma; for she offered him her hand, and said, "It is very kind of you to call for us, and if mamma pleases, I should like to go." "I have no objection, my love," said Mrs. Lindsay, "provided you return before night." Henry assured her that they should, Martha respectfully declined the invitation, and Emma ran up stairs. "I am going," said she joyfully to the elderly woman with whom she was often seen at church. "I am going, Dora; and that dear little Mary Palmer is there." Dora arose, and pinned a thin shawl upon the neck of the delicate girl, and while she did so, looked affectionately into her white face. "Of what are you thinking, Dora?" asked Emma. "I was thinking," said she, "that my lily could shed her fragrance beyond her own garden to-day." "O, I am no lily," said Emma, half laughing, "only a poor blighted thing going out to steal fragrance from other flowers." "Well, darling," said Dora, "you can have it without theft, for we can make for ourselves a garden of spices anywhere, and then you know who will come in and eat our pleasant fruit." Emma smiled, and nodded a good-by, as she left the room. "What a singular girl is Emma," said one of the young ladies who looked from the keeping-room window, as she entered the wagon. "I was glad that they had the courtesy to offer her a cushioned seat; but she has refused it, and is riding off upon a box. Dear Mrs. Lindsay, Emma is excessively polite."