born to perform those works of in-door life which fall properly upon the sisters, mothers, and wives, for whom they are designed. But Lucy saw all these things, and more; and her heart turned itself homeward, resolutely and cheerfully.

CHAPTER XXII.

SHOWS THE CLOUDS DISPERSING.

Ir was decided, after not a little discussion, that Lucy should not return home until the week of Rebecca's marriage. Lucy had no share in this plan; she would gladly have returned home at once, to help Rebecca as well as to see her before her departure. But her uncle would not listen to a word on the subject. The more sure he felt that, once home, she would not return, the more he was resolved to give her every possible pleasure before parting with her. Hasty preparations were therefore made for a journey, which was to commence in August, as soon as school closed. At Lucy's suggestion, Miss Prigott was invited to make one of the party; and Mrs. Lee, who was welcome every where, no sooner heard what was going on, than she invited herself. Every body was busy; Mrs. Whittier planning for all the rest; Helen and Lucy with the last pressing labors of school; Miss Prigott

flying round and getting into the way of each and all; and Mrs. Lee in conferences with Dr. Thornton, letter-writing abroad, and all manner of final arrangements.

When school closed, and Lucy went to take leave of Mr. Jackson, he expressed both astonishment and displeasure at the idea of her not returning; would not bid her good-bye; said he should write to her father and visit her uncle, and all sorts of extravagant things in her praise, none of which had much effect upon her, except to excite her gratitude.

"And now, Miss Lucy," said her uncle, as she came to the table, quite worn and tired after the leave-takings at school, "suppose you take the trouble to inquire where we are all going."

"I did not know that I had not asked, uncle," she answered. "I have had so much to think of lately, that I have not had room in my head for journeys."

"And I suppose you care not a whit to know which way we are to go; north, east, south, or west?"

"Don't tease her, papa; please, don't!" pleaded Helen. "Let me tell her; mayn't I? Oh, Lucy, you'll be so pleased! We're going to H, to spend all the rest of the summer, and nearly the

whole month of October. Only five miles from where you live! All of us, and Miss Prigott, and Mrs. Lee, and all her children! Papa has engaged rooms for us, or rather he wrote to your father to do so, and he has. Isn't it nice?"

"Now they'll see my mother!" was Lucy's first thought; "and Arthur! and all of them !"

"I knew you would be delighted!" continued Helen. "Papa would not let me tell you a moment And we can all go to Rebecca's wedding! And mamma has such hosts of things for her!"

sooner.

Helen ran on, as fast as a nimble tongue could carry her, unfolding all the plans, and Lucy listened and applauded, while her uncle and aunt sat still and enjoyed her pleasure.

"Papa is to send the carriage, so we shall be able to come to see you very often, and have you to see us. And if he and mamma find H- a pleasant place, perhaps they'll go there every summer!"

These anticipations of pleasure were not, however, to be realized. Mrs. Whittier was suddenly attacked with illness, which, though not severe, rendered travelling unsafe; Helen would not be persuaded to leave her; and none of the party wished to do so. At almost the last moment it was arranged that Lucy should go home alone, and that

the visit to Hshould be postponed to another season. Helen's anxiety about her mother sustained her through the leave-taking; but when Lucy bade farewell to her uncle, aunt, and cousins, Mrs. Lee and Miss Prigott, it seemed to them all, as they parted, that the ties of many years were broken. Not often is it thus in this world; yet there are cases where the affections seize upon a beloved object, and straightway it begins to seem that there never could have been a time when it was less dear, or the heart free from a sense of emptiness without it. Mrs. Whittier's illness proved somewhat obstinate, and all thought of going to the country this year was given up, unless a short trip to a quiet spot near home should be found desirable. She was confined to the sofa, and needed cheerful society, such as Helen usually afforded. But she did not afford it now. She felt as if one half herself at least had gone with Lucy, and her hopeful anticipations of a return in the fall began to cloud

over.

Her mother too gave her little encouragement. Helen saw that, however she desired Lucy's return, she did not really expect it. Indeed, there was but one point on which hope rested; it was that already seized by Helen's imagination: "Mothers are never selfish."