pets, the walls, the pictures, the hangings in the
windows, the furniture, the ornaments,--everything, in fact, impressed
me with such a delight that I did not wish to move or go away.

"Into my young soul there came a longing. 'Oh!' I said to myself, 'that
my parents had belonged to the same social grade as that worthy couple
reposing in that bed; and oh! that I, in my infancy, had been as
beautiful and as likely to be so carefully nurtured and cultured as that
sweet babe in the next room.' I almost heaved a sigh as I thought of the
difference between these surroundings and my own, but I checked myself;
it would not do to made a noise and spoil my father's joke.

"There were a great many things in that luxurious apartment which it
would have delighted me to look upon and examine, but I forbore."

"I wish I'd been there," said the stout man; "there wouldn't have been
any forbearin'."

The speaker turned sharply upon him.

"Don't you interrupt me again," he said angrily. Then, instantly
resuming his deferential tone, he continued the story.

"But I had come there by the command of my parent, and this command must
be obeyed without trifling or loss of time. My father did not approve of
trifling or loss of time. I moved quietly toward the table in the
corner, on which stood my father's box. I was just about to put my hand
upon it when I heard a slight movement behind me. I gave a start and
glanced backward. It was Mr. Williamson Green turning over in his bed;
what if he should awake? His back was now toward me, and my impulse was
to fly and leave everything behind me; but my father had ordered me to
bring the box, and he expected his orders to be obeyed. I had often been
convinced of that.

"I stood perfectly motionless for a minute or so, and when the gentleman
recommenced his regular and very audible breathing I felt it safe to
proceed with my task. Taking hold of the box I found it was much heavier
than I expected it to be; but I moved gently away with it and passed
into the back room.

"There I could not refrain from stopping a moment by the side of the
sleeping babe, upon whose cherub-like face the light of the night lamp
dimly shone. The little child was still sleeping sweetly, and my impulse
was to stop and kiss it; but I knew that this would be wrong. The infant
might awake and utter a cry and my father's joke be spoiled. I moved to
the open window, and with some trouble, and, I think, without any noise,
I