tle negroes in the yard were playing with the
cracked bellows, calling them a "blubber," and filling them with
water to see it run out!

Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen 'Lena,
and now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna
said, "Mother, mother, this is 'Lena. Look at her."

Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which
she was prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for 'Lena was
not a child to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was
her dress, there was something in her fine, open face, which at once
interested and commanded respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father
had felt it; and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a
feeling of bitterness as she thought how the fair young girl before
her might in time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw that
'Lena was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of
intellect as of feature and form.

"Yes," thought she, "husband was right when he said that, with the
same advantages, she'd soon outstrip her cousins--but it shall never
be--_never_," and the white teeth shut firmly together, as the cold,
proud woman bowed a welcome.

At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the example of
'Lena, she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine,
white muslin cap, and shining silk apron, she presented so
respectable an appearance that her son's face instantly brightened.

"Come, mother, we are waiting for you," said he, as she stopped on
her way to ask Vine, the _fly girl_, "how she did, and if it wasn't
hard work to swing them feathers."

Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, "Dun know, miss."

Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a
plate of soup, "I don't often eat broth, besides that, I ain't much
hungry, as I've just been takin' a bite with _Miss Atherton_?"

"With whom?" asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in
the same breath.

"With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the
kitchen," said Mrs. Nichols.

The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone's face darkened visibly, while her
husband, thinking it time to speak, said, "It is my wish, mother,
that you keep away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to
be meddled with, and besides that, when you are hungry the servants
will take you something."

"Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably," muttered Carrie, with
all