Christmas day was grey with clouds; on the roofs of the city and in the streets the sun never shone all day. People called it cold. Sarah Staples found it so on her crossing. Inside Mrs. Lloyd's front-door, however, it seemed to Matilda to be nothing but sunshine. She had not leisure to look at the grey sky, and to be sure the temperature was that of summer. Matilda had a great deal to do. Her various parcels were to be neatly tied up in white paper, with the names of the persons they were for nicely written thereon, and then committed to Mrs. Bartholomew for arranging on the Christmas tree....

Down in a little hollow, with the sides grown full of wild thorn, alder bushes, and stunted cedars, ran the stream of a clear spring. It ran over a bed of pebbly stones, showing every one, as if there had been no water there, so clear it was; and it ran with a sweet soft murmur or gurgle over the stones, as if singing to itself and the bushes as it ran.

It is now a good many years ago that an English family came over from the old country and established itself in one of the small villages that are scattered along the shore of Connecticut. Why they came was not clearly understood, neither was it at all to be gathered from their way of life or business. Business properly they had none; and their way of life seemed one of placid contentment and unenterprising domestic pleasure. The head of the family was a retired army officer, now past the prime of his years; tall, thin, grey, and grave; but a gentleman through and through. Everybody liked...

While Miss Cardigan went with her nephew to the door, I remained standing by the fire, which could have witnessed to so much done around it that night. I felt strong, but I remember my cheeks had an odd sensation as if the blood had left them. I did not know Miss Cardigan had come back, till I saw her standing beside me and looking at me anxiously. "Will you go and lie down now, my lamb?" "Oh, no " I said. "Oh, no - I do not want to lie down. I have not done my studying yet, that I came to do." "Studying " said Miss Cardigan. "Yes. I want something out of some of your books. I have not done...

A single cloud on a sunny day When all the rest of heaven is clear, A frown upon the atmosphere, That hath no business to appear, When skies are blue and earth is gay. Byron. Come, dear grandpa -the old mare and the wagon are at the gate-all ready." "Well, dear "-responded a cheerful hearty voice, "they must wait a bit; I haven't got my hat yet." "O I'll get that."

"Girls, there's a Band " "A what?" "A Band-in the Sunday-School." "I am sure there is a careless girl in the house," put in another speaker. "Go and wipe your feet, Maria; look at the snow you have brought in." "But, mamma--" "Go and get rid of that snow before you say another word. And you too, Matilda; see, child, what lumps of snow are sticking to your shoes. Was there no mat at the door?" "There was a cold wind there," muttered Maria, as she went to obey orders. "What harm does a little snow do?"

A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom, she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that rested on the marble there, and looked wistfully out of the open door. So the sunlight came in and looked at her; a little figure in a white frock and blue sash, with the hair cut short all over a little round head, and a face not only just...

'Papa, ' said Primrose, very thoughtfully, 'do you think Hazel will marry Duke?' Dr. Maryland and his daughter were driving homeward after some business which had taken them to the village. 'She will if she knows what is good for her, ' the doctor answered decidedly. 'But she has been away from Chickaree now nearly a year.' 'I don't know what her guardian is thinking of, ' Dr. Maryland said, somewhat discontentedly. 'Duke is her guardian too, ' remarked Primrose. 'You land a fish sometimes best with a long line, my dear.' 'People say she has been very gay at Newport.' 'I am sorry to hear it.'...

Low stirrings in the leaves, before the wind Wakes all the green strings of the forest lyre. LOWELL. The light of an early Spring morning, shining fair on upland and lowland, promised a good day for the farmer's work. And where a film of thin smoke stole up over the tree-tops, into the sunshine which had not yet got so low, there stood the farmer's house. It was a little brown house, built surely when its owner's means were not greater than his wishes, and probably some time before his family had reached the goodly growth it boasted now. All of them were gathered at the breakfast-table.

"We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing." When one has in charge a treasure which one values greatly, and which, if once made known one is pretty sure to lose, I suppose the impulse of most men would be towards a hiding- place. So, at any rate, felt one of the men in this history. Schools had done their secluding work for a time; tutors and governors had come and gone under an almost Carthusian vow of silence, except as to their lessons; and now with seventeen years of inexperience on his hands, Mr. Falkirk's sensations were those of the man...