“See this, cousin Harriet!” she announced proudly, as Martha disappeared round the corner of the house, beaming with the pleasures of adventure and success. “Look! the minister has sent me a book: Sermons on _what_? Sermons—it is so dark that I can’t quite see.” “It must be his ‘Sermons on the Seriousness of Life;’ they are the only ones he has printed, I believe,” said Miss Harriet, with much pleasure. “They are considered very fine discourses. He pays you a great compliment, my dear. I feared that he noticed your girlish levity.” “I behaved beautifully while he stayed,” insisted Helena. “Ministers are only men,” but she blushed with pleasure. It was certainly something to receive a book from its author, and such a tribute made her of more value to the whole reverent household. The minister was not only a man, but a bachelor, and Helena was at the age that best loves conquest; it was at any rate comfortable to be reinstated in cousin Harriet’s good graces. “Do ask the kind gentleman to tea! He needs a little cheering up,” begged the siren in India muslin, as she laid the shiny black volume of sermons on the stone doorstep with an air of approval, but as if they had quite finished their mission. “Perhaps I shall, if Martha improves as much as she has within the last day or two,” Miss Harriet promised hopefully. “It is something I always dread a little when I am all alone, but I think Mr. Crofton likes to come. He converses so elegantly.” II.