towards home with her, she would go half a mile out of the way rather than to have them see her enter her uncle's house.

One day, as she was coming from school with two of her schoolmates, a sudden shower came up, and one of the girls proposed that they should take an omnibus.

"An omnibus!" exclaimed Harriet Ann. "I am horrified! I should be ashamed to be seen in an omnibus, they are so shocking vulgar. What would folks think of us!"

“I do n't care what they think," said the girl who had made the proposal. "Here comes one. Let's jump in." And they were soon in the coach, Harriet Ann not being willing to be left alone in the rain.

The coach was somewhat crowded.

"Can't

you move, woman?" said Harriet Ann to a most respectable looking person.

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Perhaps I could, if you were to request it more politely," she replied.

"Who expects politeness in an omnibus!" demanded Harrriet Ann, in an exceedingly imperti

nent manner.

"Every lady," was the laconic reply.

When they were not far from Mr. Prium's

door, Harriet Ann said to her companions, "I have got to get out on an errand at a house just above, and there I can borrow an umbrella to go home. Boy, stop at Mr. Prium's."

"Mr. Prium, the baker?" said the boy.

"Yes; I believe he is a baker, or some such sort of a thing," she muttered.

The coach stopped, and out came Mr. Prium with an umbrella. "Harriet Ann," said the good man, as he stepped to the coach to help her out, "I was just going for thee, I am glad thee has got home without a wetting."

"Is n't that too bad!" exclaimed one of her companions. "That was her uncle. How kindly he spoke to her, and what a fine-looking man he is. How can she despise him!"

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"He is one of the most benevolent men in the world, and universally respected," said the lady to whom Harriet Ann had so rudely spoken; " and that I suppose is the orphan whom he received into his house out of charity. Mistaken girl! She may disgrace her uncle, but his relationship would be an honor to any one."

Thus the foolish stratagem and the wicked falsehood were perfectly understood, and met with the contempt that they merited.

Mr. Prium's mother lived in his family, a venerable woman of eighty, to whom the whole household, with one exception, paid the most deferential respect. "Come, get up, granny, you are on my work," said Harriet Ann, who had taken the large chair especially appropriated to the aged grandmother, and had left her own work in it when the good old lady happened to be out of the room. "Come, get up quick, I wish you would not always be poking yourself in every body's way."

แ "My eyesight is failing, child, and I did not see your work," replied she, mildly.

"Well, people that are so old are always in the way. They might at least stay in their own .room," said the rude girl.

Those aged eyes, from which no tears had fallen for many a year, now filled, and the large drops rolled over the withered cheeks. "Merciful God! I thank thee, that thou hast given thy servant good and dutiful children," fervently ejaculated the venerable woman.

Mr. Prium had just entered the door and heard this conversation. “Harriet Ann Gunn," said he, "how durst thee speak thus to my respected mother! Thee calls thyself a lady; is this the

proof? Gray hairs are a crown of glory when found, like my blessed mother's, in the way of righteousness. Contempt for the aged is a meanness as well as a sin."

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"I forgive her, and so must thee, Thomas; in giddy girlhood there is much thoughtlessness," said the saintlike woman.

"Yet youth, my good mother, is the season for gentleness and affection," replied Mr. Prium, "and she who lacks these amiable qualities in the spring-time of life, will be cold hearted before its summer, and frozen into very ice long before its autumn."

"That is quite a poetical speech for a Quaker," said the incorrigible girl, upon whom it seemed impossible to make one favorable impression.

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Thy heart is already ice, Harriet Ann," he replied, with more severity than he was ever known to use in his whole life before; "and the mistaken man, who should take thee to his bosom for a wife, would find thee a viper there."

CHAPTER XXI.

AN AWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.

As Mrs. Whately and her young friend were going to church one Sunday, the latter suddenly exclaimed, "There comes Dr. Weasenby! Shall I try the Boston fashion of cutting an acquaintance?

"By no means, Beulah; I am sure you would not do such a foolish thing," replied Mrs. Whately.

"Not unless you wish it, I certainly should not," was the reply.

Sure enough, there "the doctor's young

was

man," more starched and stiff-necked than ever, dressed in a complete suit of glossy black. He bowed in the most formal manner, and then came to a full stand, extending his hand to Beulah in a new yellow glove, so unpliable that he could not bend his fingers.