urned to that young lady,--plain Susan
Halliday, with both cheeks patched, and eyes of different colors,--and
soon discoursed both her and me into repose.

When I waked again, it was to find the child conversing with the
morning star, which still shone through the window, scarcely so lucent
as her eyes, and bidding it go home to its mother, the sun. Another
lapse into dreams, and then a more vivid awakening, and she had my ear
at last, and won story after story, requiting them with legends of her
own youth, "almost a year ago,"--how she was perilously lost, for
instance, in the small front yard, with a little playmate, early in the
afternoon, and how they came and peeped into the window, and thought
all the world had forgotten them. Then the sweet voice, distinct in its
articulation as Laura's, went straying off into wilder fancies,--a
chaos of autobiography and conjecture, like the letters of a war
correspondent. You would have thought her little life had yielded more
pangs and fears than might have sufficed for the discovery of the North
Pole; but breakfast-time drew near at last, and Janet's honest voice
was heard outside the door. I rather envied the good Scotchwoman the
pleasant task of polishing the smooth cheeks and combing the
dishevelled silk; but when, a little later, the small maiden was riding
down stairs in my arms, I envied no one.

At sight of the bread and milk, my cherub was transformed into a hungry
human child, chiefly anxious to reach the bottom of her porringer. I
was with her a great deal that day. She gave no manner of trouble: it
was like having the charge of a floating butterfly, endowed with warm
arms to clasp, and a silvery voice to prattle. I sent Janet out to
sail, with the other servants, by way of frolic, and Marian's perfect
temperament was shown in the way she watched the departing.

"There they go," she said, as she stood and danced at the window. "Now
they are out of sight."

"What!" I said, "are you pleased to have your friends go?"

"Yes," she answered; "but I shall be pleased-er to see them come back."

Life to her was no alternation between joy and grief, but only between
joy and delight.

Twilight brought us to an improvised concert. Climbing the piano-stool,
she went over the notes with her little taper fingers, touching the
keys in a light, knowing way, that proved her a musician's child. Then
I must play for her, and let the dance begin. This was a wondrous
performance