sity of something purer than themselves, on which to lean; and
this they find in woman, with the nutriment I have spoken of--the
piety of this child. It did not make her grave, but cheerful; and
nothing could be imagined more delightful, than her smiles and
laughter. Sometimes, it is true, you might perceive upon her brow
what resembled the shadow of a cloud floating over the bright autumn
fields--and in her eyes a thoughtful dew, which made them swim,
veiling their light from you; but this was seldom. As I have spoken of
her, such she was--a bright spirit, who seemed to scatter around her
joy and laughter, gilding all the world she lived in with the kindness
of her smiles.

"Such, _amigo mio_, was little Redbud when I knew her; and I have
spoken of her as well as I could. No one can be more conscious of the
insufficiency of my outline than myself. My only excuse is, a want of
that faculty of the brain which--uniting memory, that is to say, the
heart, with criticism, which is the intellect--is able to embody with
the lips, or the pen, such figures as have appeared upon the horizon
of life. I can only say that I never went near the child, but I was
made better by her sincere voice. I never took her hand in my own, but
a nameless influence seemed to enter into my heart, and purify it. And
now, _amigo_, I have written it all, and you may laugh at me for my
pains; but that is not a matter of very great importance. Farewell!"

It is rather an anti-climax, after this somewhat practical account of
our little heroine, to inform the reader that Redbud was sitting down,
crying. Such was, however, the fact; and as conscientious historians
we cannot conceal it. Overwhelmed by Miss Lavinia's fatal logic, she
had no choice, no course but one to pursue--to avoid Verty, and thus
ward off that prospective "suffering;" and so, with a swelling heart
and a heated brain, our little heroine could find no better resource
than tears, and sobs, and sighs.

CHAPTER XX.

HOW MISS FANNY SLAMMED THE DOOR IN VERTY'S FACE.

As Redbud sat thus disconsolate, a footstep in the apartment attracted
her attention, and raising her tearful eyes, she saw her friend Fanny,
who had run in, laughing, as was her wont. Fanny was a handsome little
brunette, about Redbud's age, and full of merriment and glee--perhaps
_sparkle_ would be the better word, inasmuch as this young lady always
seemed to be upon the verge of laughter--brim full with it, and rea