know which is hers, the thin paper and the writing that runs along."

"And the other is from Uncle John."

"To me?" she queried.

"No, this is mine, but I will read it to you. First I want to tell you
about Aunt Prue's home."

"Is it like this? near the sea? and can I play on the beach and see the
lions?"

"It is near the sea, but it is not like this; her home is in a city by
the sea. The house is a large house. It was painted dark brown, years
ago, with red about the window frames, and the yard in front was full of
flowers that Aunt Prue had the care of, and the yard at the back was deep
and wide with maples in it and a swing that she used to love to swing in;
she was almost like a little girl then herself."

"She isn't like a little girl now, is she?"

"No, she is grown up like that lady on the beach with the children; but
she describes herself to you and promises to send her picture!"

"Oh, good!" exclaimed the child, dancing around the chair, and coming
back to stand quietly at her father's side.

"What is the house like inside? Like this house?"

"No, not at all. There is a wide, old-fashioned hall, with a dark carpet
in it and a table and several chairs, and engravings on the walls, and
a broad staircase that leads to large, pleasant rooms above; and there is
a small room on the top of the house where you can go up and see vessels
entering the harbor. Down-stairs the long parlor is the room that I know
best; that had a dark carpet and dark paper on the walls and many
windows, windows in front and back and two on the side, there were
portraits over the mantel of her father and mother, and other pictures
around everywhere, and a piano that she loved to play for her father on,
and books in book cases, and, in winter, plants; it was not like any one
else's parlor, for her father liked to sit there and she brought in
everything that would please him. Her father was old like me, and sick,
and she was a dear daughter like you."

"Did he die?" she asked.

"Yes, he died. He died sooner than he would have died because some one he
thought a great deal of did something very wicked and almost killed his
daughter with grief. How would I feel if some one should make you so
unhappy and I could not defend you and had to die and leave you alone."

"Would you want to kill him--the man that hurt me?"

But his eyes were on the water and not on her face; his countenance
became ashy, he gasped and hurried his handkerchie