gone, there were still plenty of nuts and apples for Zephina.

After the visit of Mrs. Whately, Mrs. Fanshaw was quite reconciled to Zephina's intimacy with Beulah, and gave her every facility for cultivating it, though she never repealed the law that forbade her daughter to go into the farm-house. She was herself occupied continually with her worsted-work, and silk patchwork. Day after day she bent over the embroidery-frame, bringing out, by slow degrees, "Sir Walter Scott and his Family," as a mate to "The Interior of a Dutch Inn," for a pair of ottomans.

Winter passed rapidly away, and spring once more smiled upon the reviving earth. The bower had been nicely cleared out and put in order, and warning given to Zephina that the postoffice was again opened. Zephina appeared there soon after, at a very early hour in the morning. She sat down upon the rude bench, and, leaning an elbow on her knees covered her face with one hand; in the other was the little basket that had so often been filled with gifts from her beloved friend.

The large tears trickled through her fingers and fell upon it. After a short time spent thus,

she rose, and, placing it upon the bench, said, "Dear little basket! shall I never see you again ? Would that I could fill you with gold, but that would be a poor return for my sweet Beulah's kindness." Then, giving one more longing, lingering look at the bower, and at the dear old oak, she walked rapidly away.

Beulah soon arrived there, and, seeing Zephina in the distance, called her, but she was beyond the reach of her voice. She took up the basket; it was full. A letter was upon the top of it; it was as follows:

"I cannot but hope that I shall meet my dearest friend to-morrow morning,—yet I may not; how shall I write it? and then,

and then,
we may never meet again.

"Mamma has decided to go immediately to the city, to finish my education.' Poor, dear mamma, she is not very well, and I have not said a word in opposition to it, though I am sure it is not in my nature to be such a lady as she wishes me to be. 'I go for comfort,' as the dear, dear Squire says. In the basket you will find a worsted comforter that I have knitted for him; when he wears it, next winter, may it remind him of the

little girl to whom he was so kind. The workbag is for your mother; give it to her, with my sincere regards. The pen-wiper is for Mr. Azariah; I am not certain, however, that he writes much. The watch-case is for Mr. Medad. The flower upon it is a forget-me-not; - do not tell him, however, for I do n't believe he would know but what it is a turnip-blossom, for I embroidered it without any pattern. For you, my sweet Beulah, I have nothing but a heart full of love, and that poor little book-mark, done with my own hair; if you could see to the bottom of that heart, you would find 'Gratitude' as plainly there as it is upon the mark. Put it in your Bible, that very Bible I have so often seen you carry to Sunday School, that you may be in the most solemn manner reminded of the enduring affection of

"ZEPHINA."

CHAPTER X.

A GENTLE REPROOF.

BEULAH was sad and lonely for some time after the departure of her friend. But she was a busy little body, and constant occupation soon brought back her cheerfulness. She received a box of books and a new bonnet and dress from Mrs. Whately, which the Squire said he was mightily afraid would turn her head. But she kept it as steadily when at church as ever, and every Sunday went for a poor blind woman, as usual, whom she led carefully to her seat near the pulpit, and, as soon as church was over, led her home again. She soon wrote to her kind friend the following letter.

"MY DEAR MRS. WHATELY:

"I thank you a thousand times for your kind

letter and acceptable presents. The books I am reading with pleasure. I like Miss Edgeworth's stories very much indeed. The last that I read was Mademoiselle Panache. I suppose Lady Caroline was of the kind of fine ladies that my dear Zephina dislikes so much. They have gone from Baxter, Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter,—and I do not even know where they are now living. I suppose it was forbidden to Zephina to tell me the place of their residence. Instead of her pleasant society I am sometimes troubled with the visits of a young man who is studying medicine in our village. He is known by every person here as 'the Doctor's young man.'

"Now this Dr. Weasenby has taken it into his head to pay us a weekly visit. He is queer looking, very. His hair is light and long, and

in front it stands up straight and stiff; — he must use quantities of pomatum. His large, lightgrey eyes seem to stare at you, and yet he never looks directly in the face of any one. Then he holds his head so stiffly on his long neck, which collars and cravats can't cover.

the whole, this awkward gawky

But, to crown

thinks himself

so handsome and so polite, — he is such a conceited fellow,

- that I am tronbled to know how to