“Was that a dream?” she asked herself, in amazement. There was the ring on her finger—the fairy’s gift of happiness; and the voice was still calling some one to breakfast. It was a long time before she could collect her scattered senses enough to realize that she had just waked from a strange dream, and the voice was that of her father calling her. When the truth did dawn upon her, she laughed immoderately, and could not help saying repeatedly, that “it was _very_ funny.” It was much past her usual hour of rising, when in her simple morning-dress she appeared at the breakfast-table. “Why, Ally, dear, I thought you never would come down,” said her father. “I have been waiting this—I don’t know how long, and called you—I don’t know how many times. The omelet and coffee are both as cold as Greenland, I’ll be bound.” “It isn’t so very late, papa, is it?” inquired Alice; “besides, I have had such a funny dream—O, it was perfectly delightful.” “Well, never mind, dear, pour out the coffee before it gets later.” She poured out the coffee, still thinking of her strange dream. It was so funny that she could not help thinking of it; but her lips would never have wreathed that happy smile if she could have known the trial that awaited her. “Ally, do you know what day to-morrow will be?” he asked, while his face wore a very doubtful, half merry, half serious expression. It was something like the sun trying to break through a fog, for he tried to look cheerful. Alice paused a moment as if in thought, then suddenly exclaimed, “I declare, it is my birthday, and I had almost forgotten it. It was very good of my dear papa to remind me of such good news, after I had kept him waiting so long for his breakfast,” she added, playfully. “But do you know who I expect to-morrow?” he continued. It was her turn now to look doubtful and perplexed. “Yes, Ally,” he said, “this afternoon Harry Wilson and my old schoolmate, his father, will be here. You must save all your good looks for Harry, for I expect you will fall in love with him at first sight.” It was really with much pain that Old John made this announcement, though he spoke it in as cheerful a manner as possible, for he knew the effect it would have on his daughter. He seemed to make it more from a sense of duty than pleasure, as it were something which must be told sooner or later; and more clouds gathered about his honest face than had been seen there since the death of his wife, when he saw the effect it had upon Alice. The cheerful smiles vanished from her face; the color came and went, and came and went, and at length left her deadly pale. Her hand trembled and her voice quivered, as she attempted in vain to make some cheerful remark. “At least you will try to like him, for my sake, wont you, Ally, dear?” said her father. She uttered a faint “yes”—so faint that it might have been “no,” for all Old John heard; and pleading some excuse, left the room.