f one, were
placed beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy permitted to remain.

"I'm mighty feared they'll find me out," she said, stroking, and
patting, and coaxing the beds to lie down, taking great pains in the
making, and succeeding so well that when her task was done there was no
perceptible difference between Helen's bed and hers, except that the
latter was a few inches higher than the former, and more nearly
resembled a pincushion in shape.

Carefully shutting the door, Aunt Betsy hurried away, feeling glad that
her nieces were too much engaged in training a vine over a frame to
afford them time for discovering what she had done. Katy, she knew, was
going to Linwood by and by, after various little things which Mrs.
Lennox thought indispensable to the entertaining of so great a man as
Wilford Cameron, and which the farmhouse did not possess, and as Helen
too would be busy, there was not much danger of detection.

It was late when the last thing was accomplished, and the sun was quite
low ere Katy was free to start on her errand, carrying the market basket
in which she was to put the articles borrowed of Morris.

He was sitting out on his piazza enjoying the fine prospect he had of
the sun shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding
the top of the little church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he
arose and greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with
him, for since we last looked upon Morris Grant he had fought a fierce
battle with his selfishness, coming off conqueror, and learning to
listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she often did, of
Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how anxious she was
for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he thought Mr. Cameron
would ever write to her. It was hard at first for Morris to listen, and
harder still to hold back the passionate words of love trembling on his
lips, to keep himself from telling her how improbable it was that one
like Mr. Cameron should cherish thoughts of her after mingling again
with the high-born city belles, and to beg of her to take him in
Cameron's stead--him who had loved her so long, ever since he first knew
what it was to love, and who would cherish her so tenderly, loving her
the more because of the childishness which some men might despise. But
Morris had kept silence, and, as weeks went by, there came insensibly
into his heart a hope, or rather conviction, that Cam