uld say at discovering her just accepting the
present made two years ago.

"A laugh sounds encouraging; what brings it Olive?" asked Mrs. Dering,
having entered noiselessly.

"Nothing, I was just thinking," answered Olive. "I will go, mama,
because I cannot help but think that I ought to, I was just deciding in
my mind to call him Uncle Ridley, and have the black dress made. How
soon shall I go?"

"I cannot tell yet; there is much that you will need done. I am very
glad that you have decided in this way, Olive dear, though I know it was
a sacrifice; but your art will become none the less precious through
delay, and your decision shows a desire to retract some hasty judgments,
and do justice to a peculiar old man, who, with all his faults and
vagaries, has a heart as true as gold."

"I guess that's it," said Olive, with a little sigh; and then the
supper-bell rang.

At the end of three weeks Olive was ready to go, and it was hard to tell
whether she was any more enthusiastic with the idea or not. After the
fashion of all young girls, she could not help but be pleased to see the
accumulating pile of pretty things; to feel all the time that something,
which might prove very pleasant, was going to happen; and that she was
the cause of all the little bustle of preparation that filled the house,
and engrossed the mind and hands of mother and sisters. There is always
something, more or less exciting in the appearance of a trunk, and when
packing time actually came, Olive found that she was beginning to
indulge in some very pleasing anticipations.

"I expect Jean has grown very tall," said Bea one afternoon, as the
girls were all gathered in Olive's room, and the big trunk stood open in
the middle of the floor.

"Probably wears long dresses, and does her hair in a chignogger," said
Kat, from a perch on the foot-board of the bed, where she rested in idle
moments.

"'Tisn't to be supposed that she can be treated so like a young lady,
and not get stuck up. Just to think of having a maid, and being called
Miss Dering, when you are only twelve. Hollo, Kittie! hand me that pile
of skirts, and I'll fold them."

"Dear me," said Kittie, handing over the snowy starched heap. "You have
six white skirts, Olive, and three of them trimmed. I'd feel terribly
fixed up, and lady-like with so many."

"Pooh! some girls have six dozen, with tucks, and ruffles and puffles on
every blessed one of them," said Kat, making the starched clo