only nine, and I am going for a sail, Aunt Pen."

As Debby spoke, the light flashed full into her face, and a sudden
thought into Mrs. Carroll's mind. She rose up from her pillow, looking
as stately in her night-cap as Maria Theresa is said to have done in
like unassuming head-gear.

"Something has happened, Dora! What have you done? What have you
said? I insist upon knowing immediately," she demanded, with somewhat
startling brevity.

"I have said 'No' to Mr. Leavenworth and 'Yes' to Mr. Evan; and I
should like to go home to-morrow, if you please," was the equally
concise reply.

Mrs. Carroll fell flat in her bed, and lay there stiff and rigid as
Morlena Kenwigs. Debby gently drew the curtains, and stole away
leaving Aunt Pen's wrath to effervesce before morning.

The moon was hanging luminous and large on the horizon's edge, sending
shafts of light before her till the melancholy ocean seemed to smile,
and along that shining pathway happy Debby and her lover floated into
that new world where all things seem divine.

THE BROTHERS.

Doctor Franck came in as I sat sewing up the rents in an old shirt,
that Tom might go tidily to his grave. New shirts were needed for the
living, and there was no wife or mother to "dress him handsome when he
went to meet the Lord," as one woman said, describing the fine funeral
she had pinched herself to give her son.

"Miss Dane, I'm in a quandary," began the Doctor, with that expression
of countenance which says as plainly as words, "I want to ask a favor,
but I wish you'd save me the trouble."

"Can I help you out of it?

"Faith! I don't like to propose it, but you certainly can, if you
please."

"Then give it a name, I beg."

"You see a Reb has just been brought in crazy with typhoid; a bad case
every way; a drunken, rascally little captain somebody took the trouble
to capture, but whom nobody wants to take the trouble to cure. The
wards are full, the ladies worked to death, and willing to be for our
own boys, but rather slow to risk their lives for a Reb. Now you've had
the fever, you like queer patients, your mate will see to your ward for
a while, and I will find you a good attendant. The fellow won't last
long, I fancy; but he can't die without some sort of care, you know.
I've put him in the fourth story of the west wing, away from the rest.
It is airy, quiet, and comfortable there. I'm on that ward, and will do
my best for you in every way. Now, then, w