Mr. Armstrong entered his house, and threw himself into a seat, but he sat only a moment. Something seemed to be wanting. A restless impatience possessed him. He took up the tongs and begun to alter the disposition of the sticks of wood. He could not suit himself, and finally abandoned the fire to itself, after having filled the room with smoke. He went to the bookcase, and took down a book, and commenced reading. But presently his eyes wandered off, and fastened themselves on the rug. He threw down the book, and rung the bell violently. Felix instantly answered the summons. "It seems to me you are very negligent in attending to the bell this morning," said he. "It is unpleasant to be obliged to ring so often." "You ring only once, Mr. Armstrong," said Felix, opening his eyes wide with astonishment. "I in the kitchen at the time, and come immediumtly. The tongue still jingle." "You may well say your tongue jingles," said Mr. Armstrong, sharply. "Let me trouble you not to contradict me. Where is Miss Faith?" "Miss Faith went out an hour ago. I guess she is calling on some ladies." "Go, and find her, and request her to come home." Felix retreated hastily into the kitchen, and seized his cap. But before going out he thought it necessary to speak to Rosa. "O, Rosa!" he said, "take care o' the boss while I'm gone. Something dreadful is happened to him, and I'm 'fraid of the consequence. If you hear the bell, Rosa, run for your life." "How can I leave the dinner? It all spoil, Felix," said Rosa. "I send Katy." "Never mind two dinners," cried Felix. "Better burn the roast beef than make _him_ feel worse. I never know him cross afore." Felix was not obliged to go far. He had hardly got outside of the gate, when he saw his young mistress coming down the street. Walking rapidly, he soon met her, and communicated his errand. Faith quickened her steps, and in a few moments stood by the side of her father. She found him contemplating the sprigs of arbutus he had picked for her. The sight and scent of the lovely flowers had carried him back to the moment when he plucked them, and restored, in a measure, the tone of mind that prevailed then. It was, therefore, with his usual sweetness he addressed her, though there was something in his voice that made the words drop like so many tears upon her heart. "I have brought you some flowers, my darling," he said. "They are the first nurslings of spring. Beautiful things! looking up all night and day, with their starry eyes, to heaven, and drinking the dew of God's grace. Happy things! they know no sin nor sorrow, and are remembered only for their perfume and beauty. Take them, Faith. Sweets to the sweet. Like these flowers, your soul exhales an atmosphere of fragrance, and they belong to you."