le, and the little
children catching the enthusiasm, and wanting to shout something,
shouted: "Bo Tantibba! Bo Tantibba!" till the place rang. Then they
placed the pet lamb in a little enclosed paddock which had been built
for him during the day, and the children fed him with red clover
blossoms through the paling; and presently, Father Antoine considerately
led his flock away, saying,--"The good Aunt is weary. See you not that
her eyes droop, and she has no words? It is now kind that we go away,
and leave her to rest."

As the gay procession moved away crying, "Good-night, good-night!" Hetty
stood on the porch and watched them. She was on the point of calling
them back. A strange dread of being left alone seized upon her. Never
since she had forsaken her home had she felt such a sense of loneliness,
except when she was crouched under the hemlock-trees by the lake. She
watched till she could no longer see even a fluttering motion in the
distance. Then she went into the house. The silence smote her. She
turned and went out again, and went to the paddock, where the little
lamb was bleating.

"Poor little creature!" she said, "wert thou torn from thy mother?
Dost thou pine for one thou see'st not?" She untied it, led it into the
house, and spread down hay and blankets for it, in one corner of her
kitchen. The little creature seemed cheered by the light and warmth;
cuddled down and went to sleep.

Hetty's heart was full of thoughts. "Oh! what would Eben have said if he
could have seen me to-night?" "How Raby would have delighted in it all!"
"How long am I to live this strange life?" "Can this be really I?" "What
has become of my old life, of my old self?" Like restless waves driven
by a wind too powerful to be resisted, thoughts and emotions surged
through Hetty's breast. She buried her face in her hands and wept;
wept the first unrestrained tears she had wept. Only for a few moments,
however. Like the old Hetty Gunn of the old life, she presently sprang
to her feet, and said to herself, "Oh, what a selfish soul I am to
be spending all my strength this way! I shan't be fit for any thing
to-morrow if I go on so." Then she patted the lamb on its head, and
said with a comforting sense of comradeship in the little creature's
presence, "Good-night, little motherless one! Sleep warm," and then she
went to bed and slept till morning.

I have dwelt on the surface details of Hetty's life at St. Mary's, and
have said little abou