In one of these nice roomy window seats little Hope would lie, with Jett curled up by her side. But I must not anticipate; I will tell the story just as I heard it from Miss Milly. Hope was motherless; her father's sister had made up to her as well as any one ever can the loss of her mother. Aunt Martha was a charming woman of about forty-five, and she took little Hope into her heart at once. (Dear me! How I wish cats had aunts! I do think they are just the nicest people to care for the unfortunate that can be found.) Hope's father was a literary man, buried in his studies and books. When a man is that way inclined, he might, for all the good he is to his family, be buried in earnest. Then they would have his memory, and one could read on his tombstone how great a man he was, and the papers could praise him and speak of virtues that nothing but his death would ever have brought to light. Aunt Martha was abroad when his wife died, and Hope, who was but three years old, was left to the care of a nurse. Some carelessness caused her to fall, and a curvature of the spine and lameness for life were the consequence. Dear me! These "curvatures" and such big words will kill me; but I must tell this story just as my mistress told it to me, for if ever she reads this little book, I want her to know how well I remember all she said. After Hope met with the accident that crippled her for life, her father wrote to his sister to return and care for his unfortunate child and his helpless self. She willingly accepted the charge, and soon found she had a "white elephant" on her hands. Her brother buried himself in his books, and to her care was left not only his child, but the whole household. He did pay the bills, but it was because he had the money; else he would have left even that to her, for she had a good fortune of her own. Hope repaid her for her care by loving her with all her heart, and they were very happy together. The beautiful garden was a great source of pleasure to them all. Even the father would walk up and down with his hands behind him; and although he did not seem to notice anything, the air, the fragrance of the flowers, and the peace of the scene probably gave him strength. Around the sides of the garden, by the high fence, were currant bushes thick and plenty. The fruit was large, red, and tempting, and the flowers of every kind growing in their native beauty made the spot an earthly paradise. There were tall hollyhocks, double leafed, red and white, bachelors'-buttons, beds of pinks, and roses of every variety, lilies of the valley, modest but bound to be noticed for their rare fragrance, and beds of pansies that would have made the fortune of the florist. But here no thought of money crept in to mar the beauty of God's free gift, the beautiful flowers.