In the course of her enquiries, she had no greater opponent than old John; he first insisted that he himself was quite indispensable to the arrangements of the family; and when he had gained that point, he was equally obstinate about the carriage and ponies. But Mabel had the advantage in that particular, at least; the old gardener was left in quiet possession--but the coach-house and stable were shut up--and after many a battle with their old friend, everything else that could be dispensed with, was cut off, till the expenditure was reduced to something within their income. John pined and fretted, but his young mistress had such a winning way, he could not keep his ill-humour long. He had declared, during one of his contests, that she never could be happy without the pretty pony which had carried her up and down the hills so often; but he was obliged to give up the point, when he saw the delight with which she carried her infant sister in her arms and danced her in the sunshine, with half a mother's hope and pride, as if she wanted nothing more to make her perfectly happy. Sometimes, when the child grew older, she would take her to gather the yellow cress, or the cowslip, and watch her trembling steps with the most careful attention, or lead her to the church-yard, and there, seated on their father's tomb, give her her first lesson in eternal things. And then they would return together to cheer their mother's solitude, and try to divert her from her never ceasing regrets; and thus years passed by, and if sorrow laid again its heavy hand on Mabel's brow, resignation had followed to smooth away its lines, and leave it soft and gentle as before. On that bright August morning, which we have before described, she was sitting with her little sister, now a beautiful but weak and unhealthy child, of seven or eight, at her lessons in the cheerful little sitting-room. Mabel--with her bright, quick eye, changing color, and speaking countenance over which a thought, perhaps a single shade of mournfulness had been cast, and the little girl by her side looked well together, and they were almost always in company. Amy was at her French lesson, which that morning seemed peculiarly hard to learn, and much as she always tried to please her sister, she could not help turning her wandering eyes rather often to the open window to watch the butterflies flit past in the merry sunshine. "It is so difficult, Mabel dear," said she, at length, "I learnt it perfectly this morning, but I cannot remember the words now." "Well, try once more," replied Mabel; "but you must not look out of the window." "But my head aches so," said Amy, coaxingly, knowing that Mabel could hardly ever resist her plea of illness. "Well, there is mamma's bell, and while I go to dress her, you can take a run round the garden--but do not be long, or I shall have to call you."