dly associations.

Miss Eliza pleaded the exigencies of the case in vain; and even Adele,
attracted by the novelty of the proposed situation, urged her claim in
the cheeriest little manner conceivable.

"Only for the winter, New Papa; please say 'Yes'!"

And the tender hands patted the grave face, as she seated herself with a
childish coquetry upon the elbow of his chair.

"Impossible, quite impossible," says the Doctor. "You are too dear to
me, Adaly."

"Oh, now, New Papa, you don't mean that,--not _positively_?"--and the
winning fingers tap his cheek again.

But for this time, at least, Adele is to lose her claim; the Doctor well
knows that to suffer such endearments were to yield; so he rises
brusquely,--

"I must be just, my child, to the charge your father has imposed upon
me. It cannot be."

It will not be counted strange, if a little ill-disguised petulance
appeared in the face of Adele that day and the next.

The winter of 1836-7 was a very severe one throughout New England.
Perhaps it was in view of its severity, that, on or about New Year's
Day, there came to the parsonage a gift from Reuben for Adele, in the
shape of a fur tippet, very much to the gratification of Miss Eliza and
to the pleasant surprise of the Doctor.

Rose and Phil, sitting by the fire next day, Rose says, in a timid
voice, with less than her usual sprightliness,--

"Do you know who has sent a beautiful fur tippet to Adele, Phil?"

"No," says Phil, briskly. "Who?"

"Reuben," says Rose,--in a tone as if a blush ran over her face at the
utterance.

If there was one, however, Phil could not have seen it; he was looking
steadfastly into the fire, and said only,--

"I don't care."

A little after, (nothing having been said, meantime,) he has occasion to
rearrange the wood upon the hearth, and does it with such preposterous
violence that the timid little voice beside him says,--

"Don't, Phil, be angry with the fire!"

It was a winter, as we have said, for fur tippets and for glowing
cheeks; and Adele had now been long enough under a Northern sky to
partake of that exhilaration of spirits which belongs to every true-born
New-Englander in presence of one of those old-fashioned snowstorms,
which, all through the day and through the night, sifts out from the
gray sky its fleecy crystals,--covering the frosted high-roads, covering
the withered grasses, covering the whole summer's wreck in one glorious
white burial; and after it