It was such a room as the appearance of the house might lead one to expect. It was, however, furnished more ambitiously; as at least one-half the floor was covered with a rag carpet, and the scanty furniture was arranged with rather more taste than might have been anticipated. By the window sat a girl of twelve, sewing. Between her and the children who were playing outside there was a wide contrast. She was perfectly clean and neat in her attire; and her face, though pale,—as it might well be, shut up as she was in a noisome quarter of a great city, with no chance to breathe the fresh country air, or roam at will through green fields,—was unusually winning and attractive. The man we have referred to threw himself with an air of weariness on a chair near the door, and muttered ungraciously,— “Why haven’t you got dinner ready? I’m hungry.” “Is it time?” asked the child, springing from her seat quickly, as if afraid of having neglected her duty. “Time enough,” returned the man; “for I’ve been at work this morning, and have got an appetite like a wolf. Besides, I want you to be through soon; for I shall send you out shopping this afternoon. Has any one been in to see me this forenoon, Helen?” “No,” said Helen (for that was her name). “Good. I don’t care to have visitors.” Helen quickly brought out, from a closet hard by, a plate of cold meat, some cold vegetables, and a plate of bread and butter. The man drew his chair to the table, and during the next quarter of an hour, in which he was so busily occupied with satisfying his appetite that he had no time for any thing else, said not a word to the child, who, on her part, was too much accustomed to his manner to utter a word. At length, having accomplished his task in a manner so satisfactory that very little remained on the table, he drew his chair away, and motioned the child to take her place at it. “Take your place and eat, Helen,” said he, a little less gruffly than before; “and, while you are eating, I will tell you of a little plan I have formed for you.” “How do you like living here?” he resumed when she had seated herself. She looked into his face, as if to know whether it would do to express her real opinion. His face was not so forbidding as it appeared at times, and she ventured to say,— “I—I think there are some places which I should like better.” “No doubt, no doubt, Helen. I think I have known pleasanter places myself. But where do you think you should like to live best; that is, supposing you could live wherever you chose?” “Oh!” said the child, her eyes brightening, and her whole face glowing with excitement, “I should like, above all things, to live in the country, where I could run about the fields, and hear the birds sing, and—and⸺ Oh! the country is so beautiful! I think I lived there once,—did I not, uncle?” “Yes, Helen; but it is a good while ago. How would you like to live there once more?” “May I? Can I? Will you let me?” asked the child, eagerly.