nd bleeding from
the chest, which frequently prostrated her on a bed of suffering for
weeks. Hannah Doliver had always been her attendant, though Florence, in
the simplicity of her young heart, often wondered that her parents should
retain her in their service; for she was a bold, impudent,
violent-tempered woman, who set up her will for law in the household, and
seemed to exercise an almost tyrannic sway over the weak invalid, who
appeared to stand in awe of her slightest nod. She showed a marked
dislike for Florence, and delighted in tantalizing her, when she was a
little child, and thwarting her wishes. As the fair girl grew older, she
resolved the arbitrary woman should not govern or intimidate her, and met
all her attempts at petty tyranny with a bold, undaunted spirit, which
seemed to increase the woman's hatred. Florence once asked her father why
he did not send Hannah Doliver away.

"Your mother could not do without her, my child," said he.

"I think she could do better without her than with her," returned
Florence, "for she is cross to mamma, and makes her do everything just as
she says."

"O, no, I guess not," said her father.

"But she does," persisted Florence, "and I would not have her in the
house." Major Howard patted his little daughter's cheek and said, "When
you are older, Florence, you will understand a great many things that
seem dark and mysterious to you now."

Florence was not satisfied, but she turned away, and never mentioned the
subject to her father again.

Early the next morning the glad-hearted girl was astir, getting in
readiness for school. She gathered her books together and placed them in
a satchel of crimson broadcloth, which she had just embroidered, with
bright German wools, in wreaths of spotted daisies and wild columbines.
Then donning a blue muslin frock, dotted over with small silver stars,
and tying on a black silk apron with open velvet pockets, from one of
which peeped a snowy lace-edged handkerchief, she took satchel, gloves
and gypsy hat, and descended to the parlor, ensconcing herself in a nook
of the north window, where she stood gazing over the hill-tops toward the
distant forest with eager eyes to behold the fair-haired boy emerge from
its recesses.

At length he appeared, and she watched him till he was descending the
hill which sloped past her father's mansion. Then, hastily tying on her
hat and seizing her satchel, she was hurrying through the hall to gain
the