s hurrying to and fro!"

But one hour later saw Barton Common, an enclosed acre of ground,
covered with every sort of garment that could by any possibility be
useful in a hospital. Besides the incredible numbers of sheets and
pillow-cases, wrappers and stockings, which every housekeeper drew forth
from her stores, notwithstanding her previous belief and assertion that
she "really had nothing more fit to give to the soldiers," there were
countless boxes of jellies, preserves, and dried fruit. Everything
palatable and transportable was brought, with streaming eyes and
throbbing hearts, to the general contribution. From house to house the
electric current of sympathy flowed, and by twelve o'clock Barton Common
was a sight to behold. Seventeen boxes full of all imaginable comforts
and alleviatives set off in four wagons for the railroad station, and
Colonel Lunt himself went on with them to Washington to see that they
were properly and safely delivered. That was a Sunday service for us!

I had been sitting in my little keeping-room, knitting at soldiers'
stockings, (what would Deacon Hall's wife and my mother have thought of
my doing this on a Sunday!) and with the tea ready for drawing, when
Percy came to make her promised visit. She too brought her basket of
gray yarn and knitting-needles. We were not afraid of becoming atheists,
if we did work on a Sunday. Our sheep had all fallen into ditches on the
Sabbath-day, and we should have been worse than Jews not to have laid
hold to get them out. So Percy kept on knitting until after our tea was
ready, and then helped me with the teacups. When we were seated at the
west window on the wide seat together, she put her arm round my neck and
kissed me.

"You will forgive me all, Aunt?"

"O, you know that beforehand!"

"But I shall not tell you very much, and what I do tell is so unpleasant
and mortifying to reveal, that it was only when I told papa my great
reason he was willing I should tell you."

"Tell me just as much, and just as little, as you like, my dear; I am
willing to believe in you without a word," I said. And so it was; and
philosophers may tell, if they can, why it was.

"You remember my governess, Madame Guyot?"

"O, yes, of course, perfectly. Her dreadfully pale face and great black
eyes."

"She was so good to me! I loved her dearly. But after she died, you
remember, they sent me to Paris to a school which she recommended, and
which was really a very good