water glistening through
the trees; and then the reflection of that weeping willow in the lake
is so perfect."

Bertie drove quickly to the front door, and lifting Winnie from her
seat, ran into the house to announce the visitors.

It was a pleasant call, though a short one, the only seats being the
stairs. Then Bertie persuaded his sister to stay with Nancy, who was
washing windows; and he took mamma in his donkey carriage and
accompanied their new friends over the nicely gravelled road to the
lake.

There were a pair of swans, now, which had grown so tame that they
would sail up close to the shore and pick up the crumbs the children
threw to them.

CHAPTER V.

THE SORROWING FATHER.

In another volume of this series, I have told you about Mr. Cahart
who brought the stone steps from the granite quarry. He had a son who
gave him great trouble, and whom he promised that that he would send to
Oxford for Bertie to take to his mamma, hoping she would do him good.

Every day for a long time the little fellow expected the boy would
come up the avenue at Woodlawn. But nothing had ever been seen or
heard from him; and now more than a month had passed.

One lovely afternoon during the pleasant season called the Indian
summer, Mr. Curtis invited his wife, Bertie and Winnie to ride with
him to the quarry where he wished to pay the balance of his bill, part
of which Bertie had paid Mr. Cahart.

The lady gladly consented and told Nancy to dress the children as
soon as possible.

The country never had looked so delightful to Mrs. Curtis as now that
the fields were dressed in their gay, autumn attire. Their road lay
through rich woods of maple, birch and oak, brilliant in their red and
yellow hues.

Mrs. Curtis could scarcely express her delight.

"Oh, there is a branch so perfect! I must have that!" or, "Lawrence,
it's too bad to trouble you again; but it does seem wicked to pass so
many beauties. They would look so lovely in our new house."

And Lawrence, the most indulgent of husbands, would check up his gay
horses, and spring from the carriage and break off branch after branch
as she directed.

Herbert had inherited all his mother's love for the beauties of
nature, as well as her enthusiasm. His cheeks glowed and his blue eyes
sparkled as she piled her treasures in his lap, charging him to guard
them with care.

At length they reached the town and drove at once to the hotel, where
Mr. Curtis left them,