After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother’s face; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, “Mamma!” Mrs. Wharton’s attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to the mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor. The revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, “Agnes, my love, your little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover.” “Oh, aunty!” exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, “and when may I see him?” “You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and you could not see Lewie if you were at home.” And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on at Brook Farm for Christmas. III. Christmas Time. “In the sounding hall they wake The rural gambol.”—THOMSON. And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularly desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, when some member of the family who “was not to see” entered the room. “Aunty,” said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, “I should like to make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can do it. Do you think mamma would like it?” “Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made for her.” “But, aunty,” said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and acknowledged fact, “you know mamma doesn’t love me much, and perhaps it would trouble her.”