her company when they are over? What would not I
have given for a sister to make my tea at college? She will be his
comfort and his stay; his light and his hope; his joy and his pride.
Let them go, my friend; we shall see a dance at Trevethlan yet."

Griffith, a quiet and thoughtful man, was entirely carried away by the
increasing animation of the chaplain. In silence he assented to
Polydore's conclusion. "Come," said the latter, "let us seek them in
their garden;" and he took the steward's arm and led him thither. On
their way prudential considerations again beset the man of business,
and he stopped the man of letters to speak of their wards'
inexperience.

"Inexperience!" echoed the divine; "and how shall they gain
experience? Staying here, they will always be inexperienced. No fear,
my friend; give them a good introduction to Winter, and they'll do.
Winter's the very personification of prudence."

Randolph and his sister were watching the bees on a bed of
mignionette, one of the pleasantest pastimes afforded by a garden in
autumn. The eye is gratified by the unceasing flutter of the busy
insects; the ear rejoices in the perpetual murmur accompanying their
industry; a delicious fragrance arises from the gently agitated
florets; and some observers may, perhaps, remember a moral they were
taught to lisp in childhood, and cast a fond retrospect over their
early years.

"Joy for you, Randolph Morton," cried the chaplain; "and for you,
Helen Morton; joy for your old master, and for the towers of
Trevethlan. You shall go forth like Fortunio, without needing his
seven servants; like Fortunatus, without requiring his purse."

In his glee Polydore had quitted Mr. Griffith, and preceded him. The
brother and sister turned at the sound of his voice, ran rather than
walked to meet him, and each seizing a hand, as they used of old,
looked into his face with sparkling eyes.

"Be still," he said, "be still, or Mr. Griffith will declare you must
not be trusted alone."

"And may we go?" Randolph asked. "May I try to be useful upon earth?"

"Stay away, Mr. Griffith," cried the chaplain to the steward, who was
now approaching; "stay away, or you will say that even I am a child.
Yes," he continued, turning to Randolph, "yes, you shall have your
wish, and we doubt not that with the blessing of God, you will prosper
to your heart's content."

Warm and sincere were the acknowledgments paid by the orphans to their
guardians for th