III.

The Rainy Day.

EEKS flew swiftly by, and the family at Oak Grove seemed more united every day. Next to their father Miriam was their head, and

the younger ones clung to her for support, as Gracie said, "like the tender vines that cling round the old oak on the hill-side;" all their disappointments were whispered in her ear, sure of finding sym pathy. Sophie being next in age was more congenial, and many were their pleasant chats in Minnie's room at night, or at twilight beside the fire in the sitting-room : the last was usually their resort, and loved inleed was that twilight-hour. Sometimes their peals of laughter showed that they were not always grave; at other times they were more

serious, and discussed questions which might be laughed at by older and wiser heads, but which were full of interest to them. They would talk of books that they had read, and analyze the characters of their favorites; and there were many playful quarrellings, which were settled, Minnie said, by "agreeing to differ."

Minnie's west room and the window from which she watched the sunset were pleasant indeed. The room was furnished with taste, and arranged with an eye to comfort. The long book-shelves were well filled with her favorite authors,-choice selections in poetry, history, biography, tales, and travels, from every age; there were a number of French authors there too, for Minnie both spoke and read that language remarkably well. Her mother had been her teacher both in French and music, and with that mother's kind encouragement Miriam had progressed rapidly.

The pencil-sketches, and those in watercolors, betrayed good taste, and some ac

quaintance with the principles of the art. The well-stocked portfolio, with now and then an original piece of "poetry," a short tale, or the reveries of leisure moments, told of a thoughtful mind, and one deeply imbued with a love of the beautiful.

Ah! Minnie loved her room; it was the scene of many a day-dream, for, like all other girls, Minnie built castles in the air. The future was brightly pictured before her; she had often imagined what she would like it to be there she would sit by the window, resting her chin upon the sill, looking up at the deep blue sky, or at night watching the silver stars, and wondering if, when youth were passed, they would beam upon her as brightly as now in her childhood's home.

"Father won't live always," she once mused. "My sisters will marry, and leave the old homestead, and I shall be left alone; no, not alone-blind Laurie will be with me. How wrong I've been planning my future, and not putting his happiness first! and moth

no prospect of its clearing off; dark clouds chased each other over the face of the sky, and the wind sighed drearily, drearily around the old homestead. The wind beat against the window-panes like the pattering of tiny feet. "Oh! will it never stop?" said Gracie, in a tone which, had it been said by any other person, would have been illhumored. "I wanted to go to school so badly to-day; I say its too provoking!" "Why do

you love school so much and so suddenly?" asked Minnie.

Her cloud had passed over.

"Oh! it ain't school; Mary Miller promised to lend me the 'Arabian Nights.' "Don't say 'ain't," said Sophie; "say it

is n't."

"Don't read it, Gracie-it's not a good book for you."

Oh! yes, please-it ain't (is n't, I mean, Sophie) so very bad; the other girls read it."

"Yes, Gracie, but you mustn't. I'll give you 'The Swiss Family Robinson' instead.”