"Yes; to the land of the Hoosiers, wild Indians and wolves," she said gayly. "Don't you envy me?" "I envy those that go with you," he answered, sighing. "You won't forget old friends, Miss Mildred?" "No; no, indeed, Frank," she said, heartily. "But good-bye. I must hurry home," and with a nod and smile she tripped away; to the satisfaction of Hall who had jealously watched the whole interview. He was glad it had been no longer, though he could not avoid the unpleasant consciousness that more favor had been shown to "that pauper" than to himself, the prospective heir to a comfortable fortune. [Illustration] [Illustration] Chapter Third. "Lessons so dear, so fraught with holy truth As those her mother's faith shed on her youth." "NOW," said Mildred, taking up her sewing again, "I must work fast to make up for lost time, for I've set my heart on finishing this dress of Ada's to-day." The words had scarcely left her lips when there came a loud crash and scream from the hall, followed by a sound of tumbling and rolling. Up sprang mother, aunt and sister, scattering scissors, thimbles and work, and rushed toward the scene of commotion. They found the stairs, and Fan, who sat weeping half way up, drenched with water; while at the foot were scattered fragments of a large pitcher, Cyril lying among them half stunned and with the blood streaming from a cut in his head; Don gazing down upon him from the landing and adding his mite to the confusion by screaming, "Oh! oh! oh! he's deaded! he's deaded!" "No, he ain't," said Cyril, slowly getting on his feet. "Mother, I didn't mean to. Please don't let Milly scold us young ones. Oh, stop this quick!" putting his hand to his head. "Yes, sonny, as soon as possible," said Mrs. Keith, taking his head in her hands and holding the lips of the wound together. "A basin of cold water, Milly, quick! and aunt, there is sticking plaster in the work-table drawer. Hush Don; don't cry any more, Fan; Cyril isn't much hurt and mother will soon make it all right." Her orders were promptly obeyed, the wound skillfully dressed, Fan's wet clothes changed, and then inquiry was made as to how it had all happened. "Why--why," said Cyril, "you see Fan wanted to wash her hands; 'cause she'd been diggin' in her garden and dey was all dirty, and dere wasn't any water in the pitcher and we brung it down and got it full and I was carryin' it up and my foot tripped and I fell down with it and knocked Fan over cause she was behind me. And I couldn't help it. Could I, Don?" "No, you touldna help it," assented Don. "And Fan touldn't too." "And he's dot a bad hurt on his head," put in Fan pityingly. "Yes, he's punished enough, I think," said the mother, caressing him; "his intentions seem to have been good; but next time you want water, dears, come and tell mother or sister Milly."