Isabel Townsend was truly popular, not only with her schoolmates, but with teachers also. A bright, happy girl who went through life with a laugh and a song, and yet had a strong, noble character, quick to detect sham of any sort, and cordially detest it. She had a long journey before her, and was starting off earlier than the other girls; hence her “send-off.” Forty-eight hours later the train deposited her at a small station, about fifteen miles from the city of New York, where her father awaited her. He was a tall, handsome man, who had once enjoyed an independent income, but Wall Street had proved to him, as to many another, anything but “a land of promise.” Still, enough had been saved from the wreck to enable him to live upon the farm which had been his wife’s dower, and even to enjoy some luxuries; but he was a disappointed man, and seemed to have left his faith in his fellow-men behind him in the New York Stock Exchange. He rarely left his farm, where he found occupation in his books and in his live stock, in which he took just pride. It was a pretty place, nestling among the Jersey hills, and as quiet and secluded as though hundreds of miles from the great city pulsating with life and daily drawing innumerable human beings into the maelstrom where hopes and schemes were lost forever. “Well, daughter, how are you? Glad to see you home again,” was Mr. Townsend’s greeting, as he helped Isabel into the cutter and tucked the robes carefully about her. “It’s awfully nice to be home, too; and how is mamma?” she asked, as she nestled close to his side when he had taken his seat beside her. “Mamma is well and very anxious to have you home. I’m glad to see you looking so well, and that you have decided, after all, to wear your Christmas present beforehand,” he said, as a faint smile overspread his fine face, and he picked up one of the tails of the handsome fur collar Isabel wore. “Yes, I just _couldn’t_ wait for the day to come. How good you were to send me such a beauty, and to make it so easy for me to do exactly what I was dying to do all the time, by telling me to wear the furs right off and not to wait for Christmas Day.” While she spoke she stroked her pretty collar and muff, and regarded them with very genuine pride. “Why did you get such expensive ones, daddy?” she continued. “I should have been just as pleased with a simpler style,” and she looked up with her bonny face alive with happiness. “I’ve only one daughter,” was the brief response. “Which horse is this, papa? I think I’ve never seen him before; have I?” “I think not. He is one of Nancy’s colts, and was broken only this fall. He is none too reliable yet; but I use him a great deal and have great expectations of him.”