ank you," said Julia, "I am just taking lessons," so Mrs. Carrington
sat down to the instrument, and as Julia saw how skillfully her white,
jewelled fingers touched the keys, she resolved to spare no pains to
become as fine a player as Mrs. Carrington, particularly as she saw that
Dr. Lacey was very fond of music and kept calling for piece after piece
till the evening was somewhat advanced.

"You ought to play, golden locks," said he to Fanny, at the same time
taking one of her long yellow curls in his hand.

"I am taking lessons," said Fanny, "but I make awkward work, for my
fingers are all thumbs, as you might know by my dropping that four-tined
pitchfork this morning!"

Dr. Lacey laughed heartily at this and called her an "original little
piece," at the same time saying, "You remind me of my sister Anna."

"Where does she live?" asked Fanny.

Dr. Lacey sighed as he answered, "For three years she has lived in heaven;
three long years to us, who loved her so dearly."

Fanny observed that he seemed agitated while speaking of his sister, so
she dared not ask him more about her, although she wished very much to do
so. Perhaps he read her wishes in her face, for he went on to tell her
more of his sister, who, he said, drooped day by day, and they took her to
Cuba, but she daily grew worse, and often spoke of dying and heaven, and
then one bright summer morning she passed away from them, and they buried
her under a group of dark orange trees. That night Fanny dreamed of sweet
Anna Lacey, sleeping so quietly in her lone grave, far off 'neath the
orange trees of Cuba. Julia had dreams, too, but of a different nature. In
her fancy she beheld Dr. Lacey at her feet, with his handsome person,
princely fortune, and magnificent home near New Orleans, while off in the
dim distance loomed up a dark coffin, in which was the cold, pale form of
one whom she knew too well. Was her dream an omen of the coming future? We
shall see.

Next morning just as the town clock rang out the hour of eight, a
strange-looking vehicle, to which was attached a remarkably poor-looking
horse, was seen picking its way slowly through the upper part of Main
street, Frankfort. The driver of this establishment was a negro boy, whom
we readily recognize as our friend Ike. He was taking it leisurely through
the town, stopping before every large "smart" looking house to
reconnoiter, and see if it resembled the one his master had described.

At last he was