her position at Miss Dillon's and hurry
home. "I reached Lexington," said she, "about nine o'clock in the evening,
and as I thought my baggage might incommode me, I purposely left it there,
but hired a boy to bring me home. When we reached the gate at the entrance
of the woods I told him he could return, as I preferred going the
remainder of the way alone. He seemed surprised, but complied with my
request. I had never heard of the new house, and as I drew near I was
puzzled, and fancied I was wrong; but Tiger bounded forward, at first
angrily, then joyfully, and I knew I was right. All about the house was so
dark, so still, that a dreadful foreboding filled my heart--a fear that
mother might be dead. I remembered the little graveyard and instantly bent
my steps thither. I saw the costly marble and the carefully kept grave,
and a thrill of joy ran through my veins, for they told me I was kindly
remembered in the home I had so darkened. But another object riveted my
attention. It was a fresh mound, and I knew full well who rested there.
Never have I shed such tears of anguish as fell upon the sod which covers
my sainted mother. In the intensity of my grief I was not conscious of
Fanny's approach until she stood near me. The rest you know; and now,
father, will you receive to your home and affection one who has so widely
strayed?"

"Willin'ly, most willin'ly," said Uncle Joshua, as he folded her to his
bosom, "and if I had done as I or'to, a heap of this wouldn't have
happened. Oh, I didn't or'to do so, I didn't; and I ain't goin' to any
more. You shall live with me when Sunshine's gone; and we would be so
happy, if your poor mother could only see us and know it all."

From that time nothing could exceed Uncle Joshua's kindness to his
daughter. He seemed indeed trying to make up for the past, and frequently
he would whisper to himself, "No, I didn't or'to do so. I see more and
more that I didn't." Still his fondness for Fanny was undiminished, and
occasionally, after looking earnestly at both his children, he would
exclaim, "Hang me, if I don't b'lieve Sunshine is a heap the handsomest";
but if these words caused Julia any emotion, 'twas never betrayed.

From Julia's story there could be no doubt that the maniac girl was laid
in the grave which Uncle Joshua had thought belonged to his daughter. No
tidings of her had been heard, although one gentleman thought that he once
had met with a girl answering to her description in