er heart beat more rapidly. She
could not speak a word of thanks; and Mr. Carlyle took up the roll, and
walked on into the presence of Mrs. Hare.

Barbara followed in a few minutes. Her mother was standing up, watching
with pleased expectation the movements of Mr. Carlyle. No candles were
in the room, but it was bright with firelight.

"Now, don't laugh at me," quoth he, untying the string of the parcel.
"It is not a roll of velvet for a dress, and it is not a roll of
parchment, conferring twenty thousand pounds a year. But it is--an air
cushion!"

It was what poor Mrs. Hare, so worn with sitting and lying, had often
longed for. She had heard such a luxury was to be bought in London,
but never remembered to have seen one. She took it almost with a greedy
hand, casting a grateful look at Mr. Carlyle.

"How am I to thank you for it?" she murmured through her tears.

"If you thank me at all, I will never bring you anything again," cried
he, gaily. "I have been telling Barbara that a visit to London entails
bringing gifts for friends," he continued. "Do you see how smart I have
made her?"

Barbara hastily took off the chain, and laid it before her mother.

"What a beautiful chain!" muttered Mrs. Hare, in surprise. "Archibald,
you are too good, too generous! This must have cost a great deal; this
is beyond a trifle."

"Nonsense!" laughed Mr. Carlyle. "I'll tell you both how I happened to
buy it. I went into a jeweller's about my watch, which has taken to lose
lately in a most unceremonious fashion, and there I saw a whole display
of chains hanging up; some ponderous enough for a sheriff, some light
and elegant enough for Barbara. I dislike to see a thick chain on a
lady's neck. They put me in mind of the chain she lost, the day she and
Cornelia went with me to Lynchborough, which loss Barbara persisted in
declaring was my fault, for dragging her through the town sight-seeing,
while Cornelia did her shopping--for it was then the chain was lost."

"But I was only joking when I said so," was the interruption of Barbara.
"Of course it would have happened had you not been with me; the links
were always snapping."

"Well, these chains in the shop in London put me in mind of Barbara's
misfortune, and I chose one. Then the shopman brought forth some
lockets, and enlarged upon their convenience for holding deceased
relatives' hair, not to speak of sweethearts', until I told him he
might attach one. I thought it might hold