nd green umbrellas all night, at a fearful rate.

"I would'nt be angry, Cousin," said little Sam, when the porpoise gave
token that he was hardbound in slumber. "He don't mean to hurt your
feelings, I don't believe."

"Pr'aps he don't," Peabody Junior rejoined. "What could I tell him, if I
wanted to; all I know is, mother has worn the shade ever since I can
recollect anything. I think sometimes I can remember she used to have it
on as far back as when I was at the breast, a very little child, and
that I used to try and snatch it away--which always made her very sad."

"Don't she ever take it away?" asked little Sam.

"I never saw it off in all my life; nor can I tell you whether my dear
mother has one eye or two. I know she never likes to have any one look
at it. It makes her melancholy at once; nurse used to tell me there was
a mystery about it--but she would never tell me any more. It always
scares father when she turns that side of her face on him, that I've
noticed; and he always at home sits on the other side of the table from
it."

"I wouldn't think any more about it to-night, Cousin," said little Sam.
"I know it makes you unhappy from your voice. Don't you miss some one
to-night that used to keep us awake with telling pleasant stories?"

"I do," answered Peabody Junior. "I'm thinking of him now. I wish Cousin
Elbridge was back again."

"You know why he isn't?"

"Father says it's because he's a bad young man."

"And do you believe it, William?"

"I'm afraid he is--for father always says so."

A gentle figure had quietly opened the chamber-door, and stood listening
with breathless attention to the discourse of the two children.

"You wait and see," continued little Sam firmly, "I'm sure he'll come
back--and before long."

"What makes you think so?" William asked. "I'm sure I hope he will."

"Because the red rooster," answered little Sam, "crowed yesterday
morning for the first time since he went away, and the red rooster knows
more than anybody about this farm except old grandfather."

Thinking how that could be, Peabody Junior fell asleep; and little Sam,
sure to dream of his absent brother, shortly followed after. The gentle
figure of Miriam Haven glided into the chamber, to the bed-side of
little Sam, and watching his calm, innocent features--which were held to
greatly resemble those of the absent Elbridge--with tears in her eyes,
she breathed a blessing from her very heart on the dear child who