herself. It pleased him extremely, and
settled him in his determination.

"Sylvie has a touch of radicalism," he mused to himself; "but it is a
disease of youth, and thrives by association. Take her quite away, and
she will soon recover her normal tone."

He found his mother still up on his return, and rather restless. She lay
on her sofa, and dozed so much through the day, that night had but
little slumber to bring her.

"I am so glad you did not go to Long Branch," she remarked, as she toyed
with her son's silken, perfumed hair. "I get so lonesome when your
father is away; and he seems to think of nothing but business"--in a
complaining tone. "I do not know what I should do but for Sylvie. She is
such a charming little body! Fred, do you think there is any truth in
Gertrude's gossip about her and that--one of your father's mill-hands,
is it not? How can Miss Barry allow it?"

"There is no truth in it," with a light, scornful laugh. "The families
are neighbors, you know; and I suppose the boor takes a look for
encouragement. I shall not go away this summer. I can find pleasanter
employment."

She pressed his hand, and smiled, as their eyes met. Sons-in-law were
very little to one, except in the way of respectability, but a daughter
like Sylvie would be such a comfort! Fred had no need to marry a
fortune, but Sylvie would not be poor.

CHAPTER V.

NOW that Fred Lawrence had come home, there was no need of going so
often to Hope Terrace, Sylvie thought. Time never hung heavy on her
hands; for she was not indolent, and there were friends and pleasures.
Miss Barry had a conscientious misgiving that Sylvie ought to be taken
about like other young ladies; but she shrank from fashionable life
herself, and could not resolve to trust her darling with any other
person. Beside, Sylvie always seemed contented.

She was content indeed; at least, with her home and her aunt. Up-stairs,
just out of her sleeping-chamber, she had a studio, chosen because this
room, of all in the house, had the finest view in summer, when the tall
old trees shut out so much. From here there were two exquisite
perspectives. The trees and houses were so arranged that a long, arrowy
ray of light penetrated through a narrow space over to a small rise of
ground called Berry Hill on account of its harvest of blueberries. Two
old, scraggy, immense oak-trees still remained; and she used to watch
them from their first faint green to the blood-r