ng, some
fine shirts for Mr. Robert Ercildoune. I asked after him, and you'll be
glad to know that he's recovering. He didn't have to lose his leg, as
they feared; and his arm is healing; and the wound in his breast getting
well. Mrs. Lee says she's very sorry the stump isn't longer, so that he
could wear a Palmer arm,--but she's got no complaints to make; they're
only too glad and thankful to have him living at all, after such a
dreadful time.

While I was talking with her, Frankie called me from the next room, and
began to cry. You wouldn't have known him,--he cried at everything, and
was so fretful and cross I could scarcely get along at all. When I got
him quiet, and came back, Mrs. Lee says, "What's the matter with Frank?"
so I told her I didn't know,--but would she see him? Well, she saw him,
and shook her head in a bad sort of way that scared me awfully, and I
suppose she saw I was frightened, for she said, "All he wants is plenty
of fresh air, and good, wholesome country food and exercise." I can
tell you, spite of that, she went away, leaving me with heavy enough a
heart.

The next day Mr. Ercildoune came in. How he is changed! I haven't seen
him before since Mrs. Surrey died, and that of itself was enough to kill
him, without this dreadful time about Mr. Robert.

"Good morning, Miss Sallie," says he, "how are you? and I'm glad to see
you looking so well." So I told him I was well, and then he asked for
Frankie. "Mrs. Lee tells me," he said, "that your little brother is
quite ill, and that he needs country air and exercise. He can have them
both at The Oaks; so if you'll get him ready, the carriage will come for
you at whatever time you appoint. Mrs. Lee can find you plenty of work
as long as you care to stay." He looked as if he wanted to say something
more, but didn't; and I was just as sure as sure could be that it was
something about Miss Francesca, probably about her having me out there
so much; for his face looked so sad, and his lips trembled so, I knew
that must be in his mind. And when I thought of it, and of such an awful
fate as it was for her, so young, and handsome, and happy, like the
great baby I am, I just threw my apron over my head, and burst out
crying.

"Don't!" he said,--"don't!" in O, such a voice! It was like a knife
going through me; and he went quick out of the room, and downstairs,
without even saying good by.

Well, we came out the next day,--and I have plenty to do, and Frankie