anticipation that my last wish would soon be accomplished.

But though Susan was as industrious as a girl could be, and just now
wished to work harder than ever, she was not doomed to 'all work and no
play;' for her father took care that his children should enjoy
themselves at proper times. In summer evenings, after he came home from
his work, they used often to go out all together for a walk in the
nearest park, when he and his wife would rest under the trees, and read
over Robert's last letter, while the children amused themselves. Very
much we all enjoyed it, for even I was seldom left behind. Susan would
please the baby by dressing me in my best clothes for the walk; and the
good-natured father would laugh merrily at us, and remark how much good
the fresh air did me. We were all very happy; and when my thoughts
travelled to other scenes and times, I sometimes wondered whether my
former friends enjoyed themselves as much in their southern gardens, as
this honest family in their English fields.

Our needlework was finished and sent to Sarah's care to await Margaret's
arrival, for which we were very anxious.

On returning home one evening after our walk, we passed, as we often
did, through the street in which I had formerly lived. Susan was leading
her little sister, who, on her part, clutched me in a way very unlike
the gentleness which Susan bestowed upon her. On arriving at the
well-known house, we saw Sarah standing at the area-gate. We stopped to
speak to her.

'When are they expected?' asked Susan's mother.

'They may be here any minute,' answered Sarah; 'Mr. Edward has just
brought the news.'

The street-door now opened, and two gentlemen came out and stood on the
steps. One was a tall fine-looking boy, grown almost into a young man;
but I could not mistake the open good-humored countenance of my old
friend Edward. The other was older, and I recognised him as the
traveller who used to describe Madeira to Willy.

They did not notice us, for we stood back so as not to intrude, and
their minds were evidently fully occupied with the expected meeting.

We all gazed intently down the street, every voice hushed in eager
interest. Even my own little mistress, usually the noisiest of her
tribe, was silent as myself. It was a quiet street and a quiet time, and
the roll of the distant carriages would scarcely have seemed to break
the silence, had it not been for our intense watching, and hoping that
the sound of