beside her, and wiping her eyes. "You shall
go home again very soon, and then, perhaps,
the journey will make you such a strong girl,
that you will be able to do a hundred things
for your father that you can't do now; and he
will be so glad to see you looking better, that he
will thank God that he had resolution enough
to let you go. And, after all, you know, it is
to please him that you came; and if you had
objected to it, he would have been vexed
with you."

"Don't cry, Annie," said William Chester,
standing at the other side of her chair, and
also rubbing her eyes with the little chequered
pocket-handkerchief fastened to his belt at the
waist by Mrs. Frampton, in order that he might
not lose it. " We all like you, and you'll soon
get used to this place. You can't tell what a
nice place it is by daylight. We have a
garden at the back larger than yours, only it
has no bee-hives."

"Get her something to eat," said the
barge-master; " she must be hungry; I am, myself."

Mrs. Frampton quickly spread a clean
cloth upon the table, and set some bread
and cheese, with a jug of ale, upon it; then,
turning to a row of jars upon a shelf near
the window, she selected one, unfastened the
skin stretched over the mouth to keep it
air-tight, and disclosed its treasure of jam,
which had not seen the light since the summer
of the year before. Some of this she dug
out with a wooden spoon, and set it with
some bread before the children. The girl ate
of it; and, soon feeling assured by the kind
manner of all about her, dried her tears,
and talked to them of her journey on the
river till bedtime.

The visits of John Chester at Eton were
never of long duration. Two days afterwards,
the barge was again laden, and he was gone.
This time he expected to be absent more than
a fortnight; for he had to load again at
London, and proceed further down the river;
and he left them, promising to take his
nephew with him on his next voyage, if his
school holidays had begun. The girl also
was to accompany them as far as the island.
Her young companion looked forward to this
time, and talked of it; but he did not count
the days between, as he had done before. He
saw before him, now, only the day when he
should part with his little friend, his "dear
sister Annie," as he had already learned to
call her,—perhaps to see her no more for
another long year. He rose early in the
morning, and called her, that he might be
long with her before the time of school. In
the evening—for he did not come home at
midday, the school being at some distance—
he hurried home across the fields, to be again
at her side. He sat with her at the threshold
of the door, where he had been on the evening
when she first came there, bidding her
watch the sky with him; and when the
half-holiday came—the sunny spot in the middle
of the schoolboy's week—the blessed half-way
between Sunday and Sunday—she was again
the companion of his rambles. It was in that
sweet season of the year when the roads are
lined with blossoming lilacs and laburnums—
"golden rains," as they call them in some
parts, standing in every garden, and drooping
over every wall and fence. The limes, too,
were in full bloom; the horse-chestnuts were
covered with their white spires; and meadows,
golden and red-brown with buttercups and
sorrel, were bordered by white hawthorn
hedges. The days were very sultry, till one
night there fell some rain, that refreshed the
earth. In the afternoon of the next day,
being a holiday, the boy asked the permission
of his guardian to go with his young friend, to
show her the Castle and the Park. She,
knowing him to be a bold and trustworthy
boy, did not hesitate to let them go, and they
went away, hand in hand together, talking as
they went. They walked round the Castle,
and down the "Long Walk," and afterwards
turned off from the highway into the Park.
It was a warm still afternoon; and they sut
down, after awhile, upon the short turf, in
the shade of a great oak, watching a herd of
deer between the trees, quietly browsing in
the sun.

"Are you tired, Annie?" said the boy.

"A very little," she replied. "After resting
awhile, I shall be ready to walk as far
again. Oh, how I love this place! I never
saw so many great trees; and, look yonder,
at the shadow of a cloud, moving along the
grass. Hush!"

"What do you hear?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it seems so
quiet, and then, suddenly, I fancy that the air
is full of dull sounds, like the noise of a great
many people very far away. Do you not
hear?"

"No, Annie, dear. It never seemed to me
so still; except when I have lain awake at
night. I hear some insect buzzing past me,
now and then. See how the air seems to
swim with the warmth,—it looks like a thin
steam rising from the grass."

"I see it; but where are all the birds
flown to? I don't hear one."

"I suppose they are asleep," said her
companion; " and the grasshoppers too; though I
saw numbers of them spring out of the dry
grass, as I beat it with my footsteps."

"Listen again."

"I do not hear anything, Annie. What a
strange girl you are!"

"Put your ear close to the ground. Now,
do you not hear murmurs?"

The boy did as she told him; but hearing
nothing, looked in her face to see if she was
laughing; but she looked so thoughtfully at
him out of her clear black eyes, that he was
puzzled. "I don't know what it is," said he;
"I can't hear anything. You have such
curious ways—though I like you for them.
You are a dear, good girl," he added, stroking
her face with his hand, and playing with the