parents to make the announcement with an air of
gentle melancholy, as if marriage were (as indeed
it exceptionally has been) rather a calamity. With
an air of softened resignation and pity, therefore,
Miss Pupford went on with her preparations;
and meanwhile no pupil ever went up-stairs, or
came down, without peeping in at the door of
Miss Pupford's bedroom (when Miss Pupford
wasn't there), and bringing back some surprising
intelligence concerning the bonnet.

The extensive preparations being completed on
the day before the holidays, an unanimous
entreaty was preferred to Miss Pupford by the
pupil-mind—finding expression through Miss
Pupford's assistant—that she would deign to
appear in all her splendour. Miss Pupford
consenting, presented a lovely spectacle. And
although, the oldest pupil was barely thirteen,
every one of the six became in two minutes
perfect in the shape, cut, colour, price, and quality,
of every article Miss Pupford wore.

Thus delightfully ushered in, the holidays
began. Five of the six pupils kissed little Kitty
Kimmeens twenty times over (round total, one
hundred times, for she was very popular), and so
went home. Miss Kitty Kimmeens remained
behind, for her relations and friends were all in
India, far away. A self-helpful steady little child
is Miss Kitty Kimmeens: a dimpled child too, and
a loving.

So, the great marriage-day came, and Miss
Pupford, quite as much fluttered as any bride
could be (G! thought Miss Kitty Kimmeens),
went away, splendid to behold, in the carriage
that was sent for her. But, not Miss Pupford
only went away; for Miss Pupford's assistant
went away with her, on a dutiful visit to an aged
uncle—though surely the venerable gentleman
couldn't live in the gallery of the church where
the marriage was to be, thought Miss Kitty
Kimmeens—and yet Miss Pupford's assistant had let
out that she was going there. Where the cook
was going, didn't appear, but she generally
conveyed to Miss Kimmeens that she was bound,
rather against her will, on a pilgrimage to
perform some pious office that rendered new ribbons
necessary to her best bonnet, and also sandals to
her shoes.

"So you see," said the housemaid, when they
were all gone, "there's nobody left in the house
but you and me, Miss Kimmeens."

"Nobody else," said Miss Kitty Kimmeens,
shaking her curls a little sadly. "Nobody!"

"And you wouldn't like your Bella to go too;
would you Miss Kimmeens?" said the housemaid.
(She being Bella.)

" N—no," answered little Miss Kimmeens.

" Your poor Bella is forced to stay with you,
whether she likes it or not; ain't she, Miss
Kimmeens?"

"Don't you like it?" inquired Kitty.

"Why, you're such a darling, Miss, that it would
be unkind of your Bella to make objections. Yet
my brother-in-law has been took unexpected bad
by this morning's post. And your poor Bella is
much attached to him, letting alone her favourite
sister, Miss Kimmeens."

"Is he very ill?" asked little Kitty.

"Your poor Bella has her fears so, Miss
Kimmeens," returned the housemaid, with her apron
at her eyes. "It was but his inside, it is true,
but it might mount, and the doctor said that if it
mounted he wouldn't answer." Here the housemaid
was so overcome that Kitty administered
the only comfort she had ready: which was a kiss.

" If it hadn't been for disappointing Cook, dear
Miss Kimmeens," said the housemaid, "your
Bella would have asked her to stay with you. For
Cook is sweet company, Miss Kimmeens; much
more so than your own poor Bella."

"But you are very nice, Bella."

"Your Bella could wish to be so, Miss
Kimmeens," returned the housemaid, "but she knows
full well that it do not lay in her power this
day."

With which despondent conviction, the housemaid
drew a heavy sigh, and shook her head, and
dropped it on one side.

"If it had been anyways right to disappoint
Cook," she pursued, in a contemplative and
abstracted manner, " it might have been so easy
done! I could have got to my brother-in-law's,
and had the best part of the day there, and got
back, long before our ladies come home at night,
and neither the one nor the other of them need
never have known it. Not that Miss Pupford
would at all object, but that it might put her out,
being tender-hearted. Hows'ever, your own poor
Bella, Miss Kimmeens," said the housemaid,
rousing herself, "is forced to stay with you, and
you're a precious love, if not a liberty."

"Bella," said little Kitty, after a short silence.

"Call your own poor Bella, your Bella, dear,"
the housemaid besought her.

"My Bella, then."

"Bless your considerate heart!" said the
housemaid.

"If you would not mind leaving me, I should
not mind being left. I am not afraid to stay in
the house alone. And you need not be uneasy on
my account, for I would be very careful to do no
harm."

"Oh! As to harm, you more than sweetest,
if not a liberty," exclaimed the housemaid, in a
rapture, "your Bella could trust you anywhere,
being so steady, and so answerable. The oldest
head in this house (me and Cook says), but for
its bright hair, is Miss Kimmeens. But no, I
will not leave you; for you would think your
Bella unkind."

"But if you are my Bella, you must go,"
returned the child.

"Must I?" said the housemaid, rising, on the
whole with alacrity. "What must be, must be,
Miss Kimmeens. Your own poor Bella acts
according, though unwilling. But go or stay,
your own poor Bella loves you, Miss Kimmeens."

It was certainly go, and not stay, for within
five minutes Miss Kimmeens's own poor Bella—so
much improved in point of spirits as to have