by getting a new housekeeper; and as Mrs. Renney, the good woman who held that station, was in everybody's opinion another treasure, Mrs. Rossitur's mind was uncrossed by the shadow of such a dilemma. With Mrs. Renney as with every one else Fleda was held in highest regard; always welcome to her premises and to those mysteries of her trade which were sacred from other intrusion. Fleda's natural inquisitiveness carried her often to the housekeeper's room, and made her there the same curious and careful observer that she had been in the library or at the Louvre.

"Come," said Hugh one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs. Renney's precincts,- come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?"

"My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda,-" you don't understand quelquechoses. How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day."

"By making what?" said Hugh.

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Quelquechoses, anglicé, kickshaws, alias, sweet trifles denominated

merrings.

Pshaw, Fleda!"

"Miss Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh, isn't she?" said the housekeeper.

"I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda laughingly, as she followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth sufficiently near.

Those years in New York were a happy time for little Fleda, a time when mind and body flourished under the sun of prosperity. Luxury did not spoil her; and any one that saw her in the soft furs of her winter wrappings would have said that delicate cheek and frame were never made to know the unkindness of harsher things.

IT

CHAPTER XVI.

Whereunto is money good?

Who has it not wants hardihood,

Who has it has much trouble and care,

Who once has had it has despair.-Longfellow. (From the German).

T was the middle of winter. One day Hugh and Fleda had come home from their walk. They dashed into the parlour, complaining that it was bitterly cold, and began unrobing before the glowing grate, which was a mass of living fire from end to end. Mrs. Rossitur was there in an easy chair, alone and doing nothing. That was not a thing absolutely unheard of, but Fleda had not pulled off her second glove before she bent down towards her and in a changed tone tenderly asked her if she did not feel well?

Mrs. Rossitur looked up in her face a minute, and then drawing her down kissed the blooming cheeks one and the other several times. But as she looked off to the fire again Fleda saw that it was through watery eyes. She dropped on her knees by the side of the easy chair that she might have a better sight of that face, and tried to read it as she asked again what was the matter; and Hugh coming to the other side repeated her question. His mother passed an arm round each, looking wistfully from one to the other and kissing them earnestly, but she said only, with a very heart-felt emphasis, "Poor children!"

Fleda was now afraid to speak, but Hugh pressed his inquiry.

"Why 'poor' mamma? what makes you say so?"

"Because you are poor really, dear Hugh. We have lost everything we have in the world."

"Failed! But, mamma, I thought he wasn't in business?"

"So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur; "I didn't know people could fail that were not in business; but it seems they can. He was a partner ir some concern or other, and it's all broken to pieces, and your father with it, he says.

Mrs. Rossitur's face was distressful. Hugh kissing his mother's wet cheeks.

They were all silent for a little;
Fleda had softly nestled her head

in her bosom. But Mrs. Rossitur soon recovered herself.
"How bad is it, mother?" said Hugh.
"As bad as can possibly be."

Is everything gone?

Everything!"

"You don't mean the house, mamma?" "The house and all that is in it."

The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent again, only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympathy and patience, if ever a kiss did.

"But mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it," do you mean to say that everything, literally everything, is gone! is there nothing left?"

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Nothing in the world—not a sou."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words.

Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her arms round her aunt's neck and laying cheek to cheek, she spoke what comfort she could.

"Don't, dear aunt Lucy! there will be some way, things always turn out better than at first, I dare say we shall find out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we won't. We can be happy anywhere together.'

If there was not much in the reasoning there was something in the tone of the words to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well. Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint of selt-recollection; its sorrow was for her. Mrs. Rossitur felt that she must not shew herself overcome. She again kissed, and blessed, and pressed closer in her arms her little comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh. "I have only heard about it this morning. me just now-a little while before you came in. before him."

Your uncle was here telling
Don't say anything about it

Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably.
"What will be done with the house, mamma?” said Hugh.
"Sold-sold, and everything in it."

"Papa's books, mamma! and all the things in the library!" exclaimed Hugh, looking terrified.

Mrs. Rossitur's face gave the answer; do it in words she could not.

The children were a long time silent, trying hard to swallow this bitter pill; and still Hugh's hand was in his mother's and Fleda's head lay on her bosom. Thought was busy, going up and down, and breaking the companionship they had so long held with the pleasant drawing-room and the

tasteful arrangements among which Fleda was so much at home; the easy chairs in whose comfortable arms she had had so many an hour of nice reading; the soft rug where, in the very wantonness of frolic, she had stretched herself to play with King; that very luxurious bright grateful fire, which had given her so often the same warm welcome home, an apt introduction to the other stores of comfort which awaited her above and below stairs; the rich-coloured curtains and carpet, the beauty of which had been such a constant gratification to Fleda's eye; and the exquisite French table and lamps they had brought out with them, in which her uncle and aunt had so much pride, and which could nowhere be matched for elegance; they must all be said "good-bye" to; and as yet fancy had nothing to furnish the future with; it looked very bare.

King had come in and wagged himself up close to his mistress, but even he could obtain nothing but the touch of most abstracted finger-ends. Yet, though keenly recognised, these thoughts were only passing compared with the anxious and sorrowful ones that went to her aunt and uncle; for Hugh and her, she judged, it was less matter. And Mrs. Rossitur's care was most for her husband; and Hugh's was for them all. His associations were less quick and his tastes less keen than Fleda's and less a part of himself. Hugh lived in his affections; with a salvo to them, he could bear to lose anything and go anywhere.

"Mamma," said he after a long time, "will anything be done with Fleda's books?"

A question that had been in Fleda's mind before, but which she had patiently forborne just then to ask.

"No indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, pressing Fleda more closely and kissing in a kind of rapture the sweet thoughtful face; "not yours, my darling; they can't touch anything that belongs to you—I wish it was more -and I don't suppose they will take anything of mine either."

"Ah, well!" said Fleda raising her head, " 'you have got quite a parcel of books, Aunt Lucy, and I have a good many-how well it is I have had so many given me since I have been here! That will make quite a nice little library, both together, and Hugh has some; I thought perhaps we shouldn't have one at all left, and that would have been rather bad."

"Rather bad"! Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and was dumb.

"Only don't you wear a sad face for anything!" Fleda went on earnestly; we shall be perfectly happy if you and Uncle Rolf only will be."

"My dear children!" said Mrs. Rossitur wiping her eyes, "it is for you I am unhappy-you and your uncle; I do not think of myself."

"And we do not think of ourselves, mamma," said Hugh.

"I know it--but having good children don't make one care less about them," said Mrs. Rossitur, the tears fairly raining over her fingers. Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the efficacy of his lips. "And you know papa thinks most of you, mamma.

"Ah, your father!" said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head,-"I am afraid it will go hard with him! But I will be happy as long as I have you two, or else I should be a very wicked woman. It only grieves me to think of your education and prospects

"Fleda's piano, mamma!" said Hugh with sudden dismay.

Mrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, while Fleda, stretching across to Hugh, gave him by look and touch an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. And then with a sweetness and gentleness like nothing but the breath of the south wind, she wooed her aunt to hope and resignation. Hugh held back, feeling, or thinking, that Fleda could do it

better than he, and watching her progress, as Mrs. Rossitur took her hand from her face, and smiled, at first mournfully and then really mirthfully in Fleda's face, at some sally that nobody but a nice observer would have seen was got up for the occasion. And it was hardly that, so completely had the child forgotten her own sorrow in ministering to that of another. "Blessed are the peacemakers"! It is always so.

"You are a witch or a fairy," said Mrs. Rossitur, catching her again in her arms, "nothing else! You must try your powers of charming upon your uncle."

Fleda laughed, without any effort; but as to trying her slight wand upon Mr. Rossitur she had serious doubts. And the doubts became certainty when they met at dinner; he looked so grave that she dared not attack him. It was a gloomy meal, for the face that should have lighted the whole table cast a shadow there.

Without at all comprehending the whole of her husband's character, the sure magnetism of affection had enabled Mrs. Rossitur to divine his thoughts. Pride was his ruling passion; not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was 1ather like exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscriminate in its choice of objects. It was pride in his family name; pride in his own talents, which were considerable; pride in his family, wife and children and all of which he thought did him honour,-if they had not his love for them assuredly would have known some diminishing; pride in his wealth, and in the attractions with which it surrounded him; and, lastly, pride in the skill, taste and connoisseurship which enabled him to bring those attractions together. Furthermore, his love for both literature and art was true and strong; and for many years he had accustomed himself to lead a life of great luxuriousness; catering for body and mind in every taste that could be elegantly enjoyed; and again proud of the elegance of every enjoyment. The change of circumstances which touched his pride wounded him at every point where he was vulnerable at all.

Fleda had never felt so afraid of him. She was glad to see Dr. Gregory come in to tea. Mr. Rossitur was not there. The Doctor did not touch upon affairs, if he had heard of their misfortune; he went on as usual in a rambling cheerful way all tea-time, talking mostly to Fleda and Hugh. But after tea he talked no more, but sat still and waited till the master of the house came in.

Fleda thought Mr. Rossitur did not look glad to see him. But how could he look glad about anything? He did not sit down, and for a few minutes there was a kind of meaning silence. Fleda sat in the corner with the heartache, to see her uncle's gloomy tramp up and down the rich apartment, and her aunt Lucy's gaze at him.

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Humph! well! So," said the doctor at last, "you've all gone overboard with a smash, I understand?"

The walker gave him no regard.

"True, is it?" said the doctor.

Mr. Rossitur made no answer, unless a smothered grunt might be taken for one.

"How came it about?"

"Folly and devilty."

"Humph! Bad capital to work upon. I hope the principal is gone with the interest. What's the amount of your loss?

"Ruin."

"Humph! French ruin, or American ruin? because there's a difference. What do you mean?"

"I am not so happy as to understand you, sir, but we shall not pay seventy cents on the dollar."

The old gentleman got up and stood before the fire with his back to Mr. Rossitur, saying "that was rather bad."

"What are you going to do."

Mr. Rossitur hesitated a few moments for an answer and then said— "Pay the seventy cents and begin the world anew with nothing.' "Of course!" said the doctor. "I understand that; but where and how? What end of the world will you take up first?"

Mr. Rossitur writhed in impatience or disgust, and after again hesitating answered dryly, that he had not determined.

"Have you thought of anything in particular?"

"Zounds! no, sir, except my misfortune. That's enough for one day." "And too much," said the old doctor, "unless you can mix some other thought with it. That's what I came for. Will you go into business?" Fleda was startled by the vehemence with which her uncle said, "No, never!" and he presently added, "I'll do nothing here.

"Well, well," said the doctor to himself; "will you go into the country?"

"Yes! anywhere! the further the better."

Mrs. Rossitur startled, but her husband's face did not encourage her to open her lips.

"Ay, but on a farm, I mean?"

"On anything that will give me a standing."

'I thought that too," said Dr. Gregory, now whirling about.

"I have

a fine piece of land that wants a tenant. You may take it at an easy rate, and pay me when the crops come in. I shouldn't expect so young a farmer, you know, to keep any closer terms."

"How far is it?"

"Far enough-up in Wyandot County." "How large?"

"A matter of two or three hundred acres or so, It is very fine, they say. It came into a fellow's hands that owed me what I thought was a bad debt; so, for fear he would never pay me, I thought best to take it and pay him. Whether the place will ever fill my pockets again remains to be seen; doubtful, I think."

"I'll take it, Dr. Gregory, and see if I cannot bring that about." "Pooh, pooh! fill your own. I am not careful about it. The less money one has the more it jingles, unless it gets too low indeed."

"I will take it, Dr. Gregory, and feel myself under obligation to you." "No, I told you, not till the crops come in. No obligation is binding till the term is up. Well, I'll see you further about it."

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But, Rolf!" said Mrs. Rossitur ; stop a minute, uncle, don't go yet; Rolf don't know anything in the world about the management of a farm, neither do I."

"The 'faire Una' can enlighten you," said the doctor, waving his hand towards his little favourite in the corner; "but I forgot. Well, if you don't know, the crops won't come in; that's all the difference." But Mrs. Rossitur looked anxiously at her husband.

exactly what you are undertaking, Rolf?" she said. "If I do not, I presume I shall discover in time."

"Do you know

"But it may be too late," said Mrs. Rossitur, in the tone of sad remonstrance that had gone all the length it dared.

"It cannot be too late," said her husband impatiently.

"If I do not