Thomas blushed as this deficiency was pointed
out. "Why, Miss," said he, "I meant to
have trained the rose tree over the window,
I thought that would be shady, and sweet in
the summer, and in the winter, why, we
should want all the day-light; but then to be
sure, curtains will be much better."

"Yes, Thomas," replied the young lady,
"and warm in the winter; you could not be
comfortable with a few bare rose stalks before
your window, when the snow was on the
ground." This had not occurred to Thomas,
who now said faintly, "Oh no, Miss," and
felt that curtains were indispensable to
comfort.

Similar deficiencies or short-comings were
discovered everywhere, so that even Fanny,
who would at first be pleased with all she
saw, in spite of the numerous defects that
seemed to exist everywhere, gradually grew
silent and ashamed of her cottage. She did
her utmost to conceal from Thomas how
entirely she agreed with her mistress, and as
this generous young lady finished every
remark, by saying "I will get you one," or,
"I will send you another," she felt that all
would be right before long.

As Thomas closed the door, he wondered
how in his wish to please Fanny he could
have deceived himself so completely as to the
merits of his cottage and furniture; but he
too comforted himself by remembering how
his kind patroness was to remedy all the
defects; "though," thought he, "I should
have liked better to have done it all well
myself."

The lady and the two lovers walked
homewards, almost without speaking till they
overtook John and Sally, who were whispering
and laughing, talking of their cottage, Mrs.
Maythorn's joy at seeing them happy, their
future plans for themselves and her, and all
in so confused a way, that though twenty new
subjects were started and discussed, none came
to any conclusion, but that John and Sally
loved each other and were very, very happy.

"What ails you, Thomas?" said John,
"Has any one robbed your house? I told you
it was not safe to leave it," but seeing Miss
Isabel, he touched his hat and fell back to
where Fanny was talking to her cousin.
Isabel, however, left them that she might
take a short cut through the park, while they
went round by the road.

At the end of the walk, Sally was half
inclined to be dissatisfied with her furniture,
so much had Fanny boasted of the improvements
that were to be made in her own, but
she could not get rid of the first impression it
had made on her, and in a few days she quite
forgot the want of curtains and carpet, and
could only remember the happy time when
she sat in the arm-chair with her foot on the
fender.

As the month drew to a close, the two
sisters made presents to their maids. Laura
gave Sally a merino dress, a large piece of
linen, a cellar full of coals, and a five pound
note. Isabel gave Fanny a silk gown that
cost three guineas, a beautiful white bonnet
ribbon, a small chimney glass (for which she
kindly went into debt), three left-off muslin
dresses, a painting done by her own hand, in
a handsome gilt frame, and a beautiful knitted
purse. Besides all this, she told Fanny it was
still her intention to get the other things she
had promised for the cottage, as soon as she
had paid for the chimney glass. "I am very
sorry," she said, "that just now I am so poor,
for unfortunately, as you know, I have had to
pay for those large music volumes I ordered
when I was in London, and which after all I
never used. It always happens that I am
poor when I want to make presents."

Fanny stopped her mistress with abundant
thanks for the beautiful things she had already
given her. "I am sure, Miss," said she, "I shall
scarcely dare wear these dresses, they look
so lady-like and fine; Sally will seem quite
strange by me. And this purse too, Miss;
I never saw anything so smart."

Isabel was quite satisfied that she had
eclipsed her sister in the number and value
of her gifts, but she still assured Fanny she
had but made a beginning. Large and
generous indeed, were this young lady's
intentions.

On the wedding morning Isabel rose early
and dressed herself without assistance, then
crossing to the room of the two cousins, she
entered without knocking. Sally was gone,
and Fanny lay sleeping alone.

"How pretty she is!" said Isabel to
herself. "She ought to be dressed like a lady to
day. I will see to it;" then glancing proudly
at the silk gown, which was laid out with all
the other articles of dress, ready for the
coming ceremony, her heart swelled with
consciousness of her own generosity. "I have
done nothing yet," continued she; "she has
been with me nearly six years, and always
pleased me entirely, then papa promised her
mother that he should befriend her as long as
we both lived, and he has charged us both to
do our utmost for our brides. Laura has
bought Sally a shawl, I ought to give one too
—what is this common thing? Fanny!
Fanny! wake up. I am come to be your
maid to day, for you shall be mistress on your
wedding morning and have a lady to dress
you. What is this shawl? It will not do
with a silk dress, wait a minute," and off she
darted, leaving Fanny sitting up and rubbing
her eyes trying to remember what her young
mistress had said. Before she was quite
conscious, Isabel returned with a Norfolk
shawl of fine texture and design, but somewhat
soiled. "There," said she, throwing it
across the silk gown, "those go much better
together. I will give it you, Fanny."

"Thank you, Miss," said Fanny, in a tone
of hesitation; "but—but suppose, Miss, I was
to wear Thomas' shawl just to-day, as he
gave it me for the wedding, and John got