ill
the same sweet, simple-minded innocent girl, but her mirth was subdued
by thoughtfulness, though the calm tranquillity of her life was
unruffled by the new feeling that had found a place in her heart. She
pursued her studies with constant assiduity, and at the close of our
third year at school, was the first scholar in the institution. She
was advanced beyond others of her age when she entered, and had
improved every opportunity to the best of her abilities after becoming
a member of the school. Three years was the period assigned for our
school-days, and we were to return to Willowdale at the close of that
time. Though we loved our schoolmates dearly, we were happy to think
of meeting once more with the friends from whom we had so long been
separated. Anna Lincoln had left the year before, and Lizzie had taken
her place as Presidentess of "the Sisterhood." Fan Selby had left off
her wild pranks and become quite sedate. Mary Lee was less boisterous
in her mirth than formerly, and the younger members of the school
seemed ready to take the places of those who were about to leave. It
was sad for us when we bade farewell to the companions of years,
though we were pleased with the thought of seeing more of the world
than a school-girl's life would allow. I will not attempt to describe
our joy when we were once more at our homes, nor the warm reception of
those around our own firesides. Never was there a happier man than old
Deacon Lee, as he led Clara to the window, that he might better see
the rich bloom on her cheek, and the light of her eye. "Thank God!"
was his fervent ejaculation, "that you have come to us in health. I
was afraid that so much poring over books would make you look pale and
delicate, as your poor mother did before she died. How much you are
like what she was at your age." Then with a feeling of childish
delight he opened the door of their rustic parlor, and showed her a
small collection of new books, a present from the rector, and a neat
piano, which he had purchased himself in Boston to surprise her on her
return.

"You are still the same dear, kind uncle," said Clara, as she run her
fingers over the keys, and found its tone excellent; "you are always
thinking of something to make me happy. How shall I ever repay your
kindness?"

"By enjoying it," was his reply. "The old man has a right to indulge
his darling, and nothing else in this world can make him so happy as
to see your rosy cheeks and brig