"Well, I suppose her lover does not wish to be extravagant, it is not her trousseau, you see; some nice collars and cuffs and ties, and perhaps handkerchiefs, and some brown gloves--and, oh! she must have a box to put them in. If she be so very poor, you see, it will not do for her to dress too handsomely," observed the young girl, sententiously. Caleb dashed down his pipe, and very nearly executed a _pas de seul_ on the garden path; his blue eyes danced with glee. "There now, there now; did I not say you had a wise head, Miss Queenie! The very thing of all other! a box!--and Molly and I would never have thought of it--a really good handsome box that would make the luggage porters stare, eh?" enquiring. "Well no; a nice black leather one, like Cathy's, I think," returned Queenie, with quiet relish. During the remainder of the evening, as she sat over some plain sewing she was doing for Emmie, she thought of Caleb's friend a little enviously, and wondered how she would like the nice things. She wished Caleb would tell her a little more about her; but, to her surprise, he did not recur again to the subject. About a fortnight after this conversation, as she returned from her usual evening visit to Mr. Calcott, she paused for a moment at the door of her room, transfixed in surprise. A large leathern trunk blocked up the room; two white letters, Q.M., stared her full in the face; a sudden revelation of the truth drove the flush to her very brow. Could it really be? She lifted the lid gingerly, almost trembling with excitement; her hand came in contact with the folds of a black silk; lower down lay the brown dress and jacket; the little hat with its pheasant plume nestled snugly in one division. Queenie had just a hurried peep at piles of snowy handkerchiefs, and collars, and cuffs, at French gloves, and soft streaks of color in the shape of silken scarfs, and then she rushed breathlessly down into the parlor, where Emmie was reading fairy tales to Caleb. Emmie put down her book and clapped her hands at the sight of Queenie's face. Caleb's eyes twinkled over his pipe, but he said nothing. "Oh, Queen, isn't it lovely! better even than Cinderella's pumpkin coach. Isn't it a dear, dear secret, for Caleb and me to have kept all this time?" "Do you think the young man with the broken leg will be satisfied with my taste," chuckled the old man. Queenie put her arms round his neck, her face was rosy with pleasure. "Oh, Caleb, is it for me! really for me! the box with all those beautiful things? Did you buy it for me, dear, because you knew I was so poor and shabby, and you did not like me to go among those strange people with my old clothes? Oh, Caleb, how could you, how could you, and you so poor yourself?" caressing him gratefully.