n.

"Well, it is my niece, Annie Evalyn."

"Ah! she lives with you?"

"Yes; ever since she was born a'most. Her father and mother died when
she was a baby."

"Hillo, Sumpter!" said Hardin, from without, "trying to coax a prettier
sequel to your fortune? Come on!"

Sumpter hurried forth, and the carriage rattled away over the rough road
of Scraggiewood.

CHAPTER II.

"A holy smile was on her lip,
Whenever sleep was there;
She slept as sleep the blossoms hushed
Amid the silent air."

The sun was peeping through the crevices of the rock-built cottage when
old Dame Belcher, the fortune-teller, awoke on the following morning.

"Well, about time for me to be stirring these old bones," she murmured.
"Good fees last night;" and here she drew a leather bag from beneath her
pillow, and chuckled over its contents; "these little siller pieces will
buy plenty of ribbons and gewgaws for hinny, so she can flaunt with the
best of them at Parson Grey's school. She was asleep here last night
when the young city chaps came, and don't know a word about their visit;
I carried her off in my arms to her own little cot, after they were
gone, and I'll creep into her room a moment now to see if she still
sleeps."

Thus saying, the old woman slipped on her clothes, and, crossing a rude
entry, lightly lifted a latch and entered a small, poor, though very
tidy apartment. A broken table, propped against the rough, unplastered
wall, contained a bouquet of wild flowers tastefully arranged, and
placed in a bowl of clear water, some writing materials, and a few books
piled neatly together. A fragrant woodbine formed a beautiful
lattice-work over the rough-cut hole in the wall which answered for a
window. Two chairs covered with faded chintz, and a small cot-bed
dressed in white, completed the furnishing. On this latter, breathing
softly in her quiet sleep, lay a lovely child, on whose fair, open brow
eleven summers might have shed their roses. The old woman approached,
and with her wrinkled palms smoothed away the heavy masses of chestnut
hair that curled around her childish face.

"Bless it, how it sleeps this morning!" she said, in a low whisper; "but
it must not have its little hands up here;" and she parted the tiny
fingers that were locked above the graceful head, and laid them softly
on the sleeper's breast. "I may as well g