urge her plea any longer, stole away to her own apartment, where she
found Sylva engaged in feeding her canaries and furnishing them with
fresh water. The little bright creatures were singing sweetly, but Edith
did not heed their songs. She stood apart by a window, and gazed out on
the falling snowflakes. At length she saw Rufus enter the yard, and soon
heard him ascending the stairs. "Where have you been, brother?" she
asked, as he came in, his face reddened by exposure to the cold, biting
atmosphere.

"Down on the river, skating with some of the village boys," answered he,
drawing a chair close to the glowing fire; "and O, such a fine time as we
had! I shall be glad when we go to school, Edith; it will be so much more
lively and pleasant."

"I shall be glad when the snow is gone, so I can run out doors, and sow
my flower-beds," returned Edith, thoughtfully. Then she sat gazing in the
fire a long time, as was always her wont when thinking deeply on any
subject. Sylva had finished her care of the birds, and brought forth Fido
from his little cot-bed in her room. He sprang into Edith's lap, then
into Rufus', kissing their cheeks and evincing his joy at beholding them
in various pleasing, expressive ways. But Edith pushed him away and told
Sylva to put him to bed again. So the brisk little fellow was carried
off, looking very sorry, and wailing piteously, as if he pleaded
permission to remain by the warm fire.

Rufus was younger than his sister, and of an intelligence and refinement
so far below hers, that she seldom evinced much pleasure or enjoyment in
his society, but she looked towards him now with an eager expression of
interest, as he said,

"O, Edith, I saw the funniest man this morning!"

"Where?" she asked quickly.

"Down by the side of the river among a clump of brushwood, gathering
little bundles of sticks. Charlie Seaton and I spoke to him, but he did
not answer us."

"Did he wear a long overcoat with small capes on the shoulders, and a
slouching-brimmed hat?" inquired Edith earnestly.

"Yes," said Rufus. "Have you seen him, then?"

"Passing along in the street," returned she. "Did Charlie know his name?"

"No; but he said it was a man who lived alone in a small hut, far off in
the forest, made of the boughs and branches of cedar trees, curiously
twisted together; and he is thence styled the _Hermit of the Cedars_."

"A hermit!" exclaimed Edith. "I have read of such beings in old books,
but I neve