y distinguished family indeed, and
holds a high rank, it does.'

'Then I don't see what _is_ a weed, Christopher.'

CHAPTER II.

_AT HOME_.

Upon reaching home Esther sought to place her bloodroot in safety,
giving it a soft and well-dug corner in her little plot of garden
ground. She planted it with all care in the shadow of a rose-bush; and
then went in to put her other flowers in water.

The sitting-room, whither she went, was a large, low, pleasant place;
very simply furnished, yet having a cheerful, cosy look, as places do
where people live who know how to live. The room, and the house, no
doubt, owed its character to the rule and influence of Mrs.
Gainsborough, who was there no longer, and to a family life that had
passed away. The traces abode still. The chintz hangings and the carpet
were of soft colours and in good harmony; chairs and lounges were
comfortable; a great many books lined the walls, so many indeed that
the room might have been styled the library. A portfolio with
engravings was in one place; Mrs. Gainsborough's work-table in another;
some excellent bronzes on the bookcases; one or two family portraits,
by good hands; and an embroidery frame. A fine English mastiff was
sleeping on the rug before the fire; for the weather was still cold
enough within doors to make a fire pleasant, and Colonel Gainsborough
was a chilly man.

He lay on the couch when Esther came in with her flowers; a book in his
hand, but not held before his eyes. He was a handsome man, of a severe,
grave type; though less well-looking at this time because of the
spiritless, weary, depressed air which had become his habit; there was
a want of spring and life and hope in the features and in the manner
also of the occupant of the sofa. He looked at Esther languidly, as she
came in and busied herself with arranging her maple blossoms, her
Hepatica and one or two delicate stems of the bloodroot in a little
vase. Her father looked at the flowers and at her, in silence.

'Papa, aren't those _beautiful?_' she asked with emphasis, bringing the
vase, when she had finished, to his side.

'What have you got there, Esther?'

'Just some anemones, and liverleaf, and bloodroot, and maple blossoms,
papa; but Christopher calls them all sorts of big names.'

'They are very fragile blossoms,' the colonel remarked.

'Are they? They won't do in the garden, Christopher says, but they grow
nicely out there in the wood. Papa, what is th