eir grandmother's door, made "fairy-like music;"
all the day long, and at last, as if soothed by the sound of that
far-off falling water, Rose forgot her trouble, and sank into a sweet,
refreshing slumber, in which she dreamed that the joyous summer-time
had come, and that she, well and strong as Jenny had predicted, was
the happy bride of George Moreland, who led her to a grass-grown
grave,--the grave of Mary Howard, who had died of consumption and been
buried in Glenwood!

While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down the stairs, and
throwing on her shawl and bonnet, went across the street, to confide
her troubles with Mary Howard; who, while she sympathized deeply with
her young friend, was not surprised, for, from her slight
acquaintance with Mrs Lincoln, she could readily believe that one so
ambitious and haughty, would seek for her daughter a wealthier
alliance than a poor lawyer. All that she could say to comfort Jenny
she did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the best.

"You are blue and dispirited," said she, "and a little fresh air will
do you good. Suppose we walk round a square or two; for see, the rain
is over now."

Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the length of a street
when William himself joined them. Rightly guessing that her absence
would not be noticed, Mary turned suddenly into a side street, leaving
William and Jenny to themselves. From that walk Jenny returned to her
home much happier than she left it. She had seen William,--had talked
with him of the past, present, and future,--had caught from his
hopeful spirit the belief that all would be well in time, and in a far
more cheerful frame of mind, she re-entered her sister's room; and
when Rose, who was awake, and noticed the change in her appearance,
asked what had happened, she could not forbear telling her.

Rose heard her through, and then very kindly informed her that "she
was a fool to care for such a rough-scuff."

In a few days, preparations were commenced for moving Rose to
Glenwood, and in the excitement of getting ready, she in a measure
forgot the tallow candles and patchwork bedquilt, the thoughts of
which had so much shocked her at first.

"Put in my embroidered merino morning gown," said she to Jenny, who
was packing her trunk, "and the blue cashmere one faced with white
satin; and don't forget my best cambric skirt, the one with so much
work on it, for when George Moreland comes to Glenwood I shall