the
son who never at any time transgressed his commandments. You see,
Charlotte, that parable is going on all over the world ever since; going
on right here in Seat-Sandal; and I am on the elder brother's side.
Harry has given me a headache to-night; and I dare say he is enjoying
himself precisely as the Jerusalem prodigal did before the swine husks,
when it was the riotous living."

"Have a cup of coffee, Sophy. I'll go down for it. You are just as
trembly and excited as you can be."

"Very well; thank you, Charlotte. You always have such a bright, kind
face. I am afraid I do not deserve such a good sister."

"Yes, you do deserve all I can help or pleasure you in." And then, when
the coffee had been taken, and Sophia lay restless and wide-eyed upon
her bed, Charlotte proposed to read to her from any book she desired; an
offer involving no small degree of self-denial, for Sophia's books were
very rarely interesting, or even intelligible, to her sister. But she
lifted the nearest two, Barret's "Maga," and "The Veiled Prophet," and
rather dismally asked which it was to be?

"Neither of them, Charlotte. The 'Maga' makes me think, and I know you
detest poetry. I got a letter to-night from Agnes Bulteel, and it
appears to be about Professor Sedgwick. I was so annoyed at Harry I
could not feel any interest in it then; but, if you don't object, I
should like to hear you read it now."

"Object? No, indeed. I think a great deal of the old professor. What gay
times father and I have had on the Screes with him, and his hammer and
leather bags! And, as Agnes writes a large, round hand, and does not
fresco her letters, I can read about the professor easily."

RESPECTED MISS SANDAL,--I have such a thing to tell you
about Professor Sedgwick and our Joe; hoping that the squire or
Miss Charlotte may see him, and let him know that Joe meant no harm
at all. One hot forenoon lately, when we were through at home, an
old gentlemanly make of a fellow came into our fold, and said,
quite natural, that he wanted somebody to go with him on to the
fells. We all stopped, and took a good look at him before anybody
spoke; but at last father said, middling sharp-like,--he always
speaks that way, does father, when we're busy,--

"We've something else to do here than go raking over the fells on a
fine day like this with nobody knows who."

He gave father a lile, cheerful bit of a laugh