"Why, no," said Mary. "I never once thought of them." "I should, for I know he notices every thing," returned Ella; and then leaning on her elbow so as to bring herself in range of the large mirror opposite, she continued, "seems to me my curls are not arranged becomingly this morning." Either for mischief, or because she really thought so, Mary replied "that they did not look as well as usual;" whereupon Ella grew red in the face, saying that "she didn't think she looked so very badly." Just then the first dinner bell rang, and starting up Ella exclaimed, "Why-ee, _I_ forgot that ma expected General H. to dine. I must go and dress this minute." Without ever asking her sister to stay to dinner, she hastily left the room. Upon finding herself so unceremoniously deserted, Mary tied on the despised gingham bonnet and started for home. She had reached the place where Ella the year before met with Mr. Stuart, when she saw a boy, whom she knew was living at the poor-house, coming down the hill as fast as a half blind old horse could bring him. When he got opposite to her he halted, and with eyes projecting like harvest apples, told her to "jump in, for Mrs. Parker was dying, and they had sent for her." "I've been to your house," said he, "and your marm thought mebby I'd meet you." Mary immediately sprang in, and by adroitly questioning Mike, whose intellect was not the brightest in the world, managed to ascertain that Mrs. Parker had been much worse for several days, that Sal Furbush had turned nurse; faithfully attending her night and day, and occasionally sharing "her vigils" with a "sleek, fancy-looking girl, who dressed up in meetin' clothes every day, and who had first proposed sending for Mary." Mary readily guessed that the "sleek, fancy-looking" girl was Jenny, and on reaching the poor house she found her suspicions correct, for Jenny came out to meet her, followed by Sally, who exclaimed, "Weep, oh daughter, and lament, for earth has got one woman less and Heaven one female more!" Passing into the house, Mary followed Jenny to the same room where once her baby sister had lain, and where now upon the same table lay all that was mortal of Mrs. Parker. Miss Grundy, who was standing near the body, bowed with a look of very becoming resignation, and then as if quite overcome, left the room. Just then a neighbor, who seemed to be superintending affairs, came in, and Mary asked what she could do to assist them. "Nothing until to-morrow, when if you please you can help make the shroud," answered the woman, and Jenny catching Mary around the neck, whispered, "You'll stay all night with me; there's no one at home but Rose, and we'll have such a nice time." Mary thought of the little room up stairs where Alice had died, and felt a desire to sleep there once more, but upon inquiry she found that it was now occupied by Sally Furbush.