LITMIR.BIZ

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the blind Miss Rose came down-stairs already dressed, and has been out in the garden ever since. Betsy Ann says she was weeding the flowers most of the time."

      "She's a little thing, isn't she?" said Miss Jo; "and so delicate-looking! I don't believe she'll ever be able to manage them big rough girls in the school. What's her other name besides Miss Rose?"

      "I don't know. She looks as if she had seen trouble," said Mrs. Marsh, pensively.

      "Who is she in mourning for?"

      "I don't know. I didn't like to ask, and she doesn't talk much herself."

      "Where did she come from? Montreal, wasn't it?"

      "I forget. Natty knows. Natty was here last night before she went up to McGregor's. She said she would come back this morning, and go with Miss Rose to the school. Here's Charley at last." Miss Jo faced round, and confronted that young gentleman sauntering in.

      "Well, Sleeping Beauty, you've got up now, have you?" was her salute. "How do you feel after all you danced last night?"

      "Never better. You're out betimes this morning, Miss Jo."

      "Yes," said Miss Jo; "the sun don't catch me simmering in bed like it does some folks. Did it take you from half-past three till six to get home this morning, Mr. Charles?"

      "Who says it was six?" said Charley.

      "Betsy Ann does," replied his mother. "Where were you all the time?"

      "Betsy Ann's eyes were a couple of hours too fast. I say, mother, is the breakfast ready? It's nearly time I was off."

      "It's been ready this half-hour. Betsy Ann!"

      That maiden appeared.

      "Go and ask Miss Rose to please come in to breakfast, and then fetch the coffee."

      Betsy Ann fled off, and Charley glanced out of the window.

      "Miss Rose is taking a constitutional, is she? What is she like, mother – pretty? I didn't see her last night, you know."

      "What odds is it to you?" demanded Miss Jo; "she's not as pretty as Cherrie Nettleby, anyhow."

      Charley turned scarlet, and Miss Jo's eyes twinkled at the success of her random shaft. The door opened at that instant, and the small, slender black figure glided in. Glided was the word for that swift, light motion, so noiseless and fleet.

      "Good morning," said Mrs. Marsh, rising smiling to shake hands; "you are an early bird, I find. Miss Blake, Miss Rose – Miss Rose, my son Charles."

      My son Charles and Miss Blake both shook hands with the new teacher, and welcomed her to Speckport. A faint smile, a shy fluttering color coming and going in her delicate cheeks, and a few low-murmured words, and then Miss Rose sat down on the chair Charley had placed for her, her pretty eyes fixed on the coals, her small childlike hands fluttering still one over the other. Betsy Ann came in with the coffee-pot and rolls and eggs, and Mrs. Marsh invited Miss Jo to sit over and have some breakfast.

      "I don't care if I do," said Miss Jo, untying her bonnet promptly. "I didn't feel like taking anything when Val had his this morning, and your coffee smells good. Are you fond of coffee, Miss Rose?"

      Miss Rose smiled a little as they all took their places.

      "Yes, I like it very well."

      "Some folks like tea best," said Miss Jo, pensively, stirring in a third teaspoonful of sugar in her cup, "but I don't. What sort of a journey had you, Miss Rose?"

      "Very pleasant, indeed."

      "You arrived yesterday?"

      Miss Rose assented.

      "Was it from Halifax you came?"

      "No, ma'am; from Montreal."

      "Oh, from Montreal! You were born in Montreal, I suppose?"

      "No, I was born in New York."

      "Law!" cried Mrs. Marsh, "then, you're a Yankee, Miss Rose?"

      "Do your folks live in Montreal, Miss Rose?" recommenced the persevering Miss Jo.

      The faint, rosy light flickered and faded again in the face of Miss Rose.

      "I have no relatives," she said, without lifting her eyes.

      "None at all! Father, nor mother, nor brothers, nor sisters, nor nothing."

      "I have none at all."

      "Dear me, that's a pity! Who are you in black for?"

      There was a pause – then Miss Rose answered, still without looking up:

      "For my father."

      "Oh, for your father! Has he been long dead? Another cup, if you please. Betsy Ann knows how to make nice coffee."

      "He has been dead ten months," said Miss Rose, a flash of intolerable pain dyeing her pale cheeks at this questioning.

      "How do you think you'll like Speckport?" went on the dauntless Miss Jo. "It's not equal to Montreal or New York, they tell me, but the Bluenoses think there's no place like it. Poor things! if they once saw Dublin, it's little they'd think of such a place as this is."

      "Halte là!" cried Charley; "please to remember, Miss Jo, I am a native, to the manner born, an out-and-out Bluenose, and will stand no nonsense about Speckport! There's no place like it. See Speckport and die! Mother, I'll trouble you for some of that toast."

      "Won't you have some, Miss Rose?" said Mrs. Marsh. "You ain't eating anything."

      "Not any more, thank you. I like Speckport very much, Miss Blake; all I have seen of it."

      "That's right, Miss Rose!" exclaimed Charley; "say you like fog and all. Are you going to commence teaching to-day?"

      "I should prefer commencing at once. Miss Marsh said she was coming this morning, did she not?" Miss Rose asked, lifting her shy brown eyes to Mrs. Marsh.

      "Yes, dear. Charley, what time did Natty go home last night?"

      "She didn't go home last night; it was half-past two this morning."

      "Did she walk?"

      "No; the old lady sent that wheelbarrow of hers after her."

      "Wheelbarrow!" cried his mother, aghast. "Why, Charley, what do you mean?"

      "It's the same thing," said Charley. "I'd as soon go in a wheelbarrow as that carryall. Such a shabby old rattle-trap! It's like nothing but the old dame herself."

      "Charley, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Did you go with her?"

      "Not I! I was better engaged. Another gentleman offered his services, but she declined."

      "Who was it? Captain Locksley?"

      "No, another captain – Captain Cavendish."

      "Did he want to go home with Natty?" asked Miss Jo, with interest. "I thought he was more attentive to her than to Jane McGregor! Why wouldn't she have him?"

      "She would look fine having him – an utter stranger! If it had been Locksley, it would have been different. See here, Miss Rose," Charley cried, springing up in alarm, "what is the matter?"

      "She is going to faint!" exclaimed Miss Jo, in consternation. "Charley, run for a glass of water."

      Miss Rose had fallen suddenly back in her seat, her face growing so dreadfully white that they might well be startled. It was nothing for Miss Rose to look pale, only this was like the pallor of death. Charley made a rush for the water, and was back in a twinkling, holding it to her lips. She drank a portion, pushed it away, and sat up, trying to smile.

      "I am afraid I have startled you," she said, as if necessary to apologize, "but I am not very strong, and – "

      Her voice, faltering throughout, died entirely away; and, leaning her elbows on the table, she bowed her forehead on her hands. Miss Jo looked at her with compressed lips and prophetic eye.

      "You'll never stand that school, Miss Rose, and I thought so from the first. Them girls would try a constitution of iron, let alone yours."

      Miss Rose lifted her white face, and

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