"Well, you shall go, Maddy, and then your cousins may visit you at Christmas." "What kind of a looking person is Aunt Clara, papa?" "She used to be a pleasant looking woman when she was young, not very handsome, Maddy; but since she has lost her children she has also lost all her bloom, and lives entirely secluded from the world." Maddy was full of anticipated pleasure; but there was one drawback--she did not like to leave her friends at the cottage. "I came to bid you good-bye, Mrs. Bruce," said the child. "I am going to Boston to spend the holidays; but I shall not find such good friends there, I am sure." "There is one request I have to make, Madeline." "What is that, Mrs. Bruce?" "That you will bring me back your likeness." "That I will, if you want it." Roland, Effie and Maddy started to pay their last visit for some time to the sea-shore. "Shan't I miss the old ocean, Roland? I do so love to hear the music of its waves." "We shall miss you, Maddy," said Effie. "Only think, you will be gone three whole months, and when you get to Boston, you may forget your country friends." "That's what I never do, Effie," replied the child, with a glowing cheek. "I do not fancy very many people, but I never grow cold to those I once love. I hate warmly, and I love with all my heart." Roland sat very still, for secluded as their lives were, there was but one source of pleasure to them outside the cottage walls, and that was the society of our impulsive little Madeline. "Papa told me to say to you, Roland, that you may come up to Woodcliff every Saturday, and get any book you want to read." "Thank you, Madeline; that is very kind. It will help to pass my leisure time until you return." Madeline mounted the highest rock, and, standing by the flag-staff, she spread out her arms towards the sea, saying, "Good-bye, old ocean, until I come back. I shall find nothing so grand as this, go where I may." They parted at the cottage door, and next morning, Aunt Matilda was busily employed in packing up all the finery that she could gather for her little niece. Handsome dresses, and pretty tasty waists, several new bonnets, and every variety of adornment that she could devise, were heaped upon the child. "Now, Madeline, I do hope that you will not be such a wild little thing in Boston. If you want to be like a young lady, you must not race about so--it tumbles your curls, and disarranges your dress. No young lady is ever noisy or boisterous. When you are invited out, you must always wear gloves, and make a courtesy when you come in and when you go out." "I am afraid, Aunty, that I shall often forget these rules; I shall never stop to think of half of them." "I hope, Madeline, that you will not mortify me by any breach of etiquette." "A fig for etiquette, Aunt Matilda; I am only a little girl, and I am sure that Aunt Clara don't want me to be a little woman." In due time, Maddy, accompanied by her father, started on her trip.