Salome

t everything might be in order and her daily routine gone through in good time. First there was Guy to be washed and dressed; and his breakfast, with his two little sisters, Maude and Hilda,-Edith bre

u. She had gone through deep trials in her young days, and had been the useful sister to Mrs. Wilton's mother. Then when that sister died, and dying said, "You will have a home with Anna; don't give her up, she will want he

erino or alpaca for week-days, made short and full, was her unvarying costume. Aunt Betha was scrupulously neat and clean, and her caps, tied with mauve ribbon under her chin, were always fresh and bright. So w

lf any amount of trouble about one of her husband's patients who she thought belonged to a good family. She would plan and contrive for Louise and Kate's dress and amusement; and her own appearance was singularly youthful and her dress faultless; and all this was not effected without much pain and trouble. But all the daily

he put her head into the dining-room, where Mrs. Wilton and Louise w

Are you going now, dear?" (Mrs. Wilton often calle

etter this morning. Good-by

d. Certainly not more than two pounds a wee

bourhood of St. Luke's Church. Here there was a substratum of small villas and long, narrow streets, which were a long way from the crescents and terraces of the gay town to which so many people resorted for health and pleasure. The college at Roxburgh stood a little apart from crescents and small streets, and a large number of well-built houses clustered around it, where the families of boys

erce went on in the valley, apart from the life of pleasure on the hill above. A cloud of smoke lay in the valley above Harstone, and the river fogs crept up on this side of Roxburgh, laden with the smut and breath of the ch

too much intent on scanning the rows of small houses with "Apart

t Betha rang the bell, and did not fail to notice "that you might see your face in the brass

s to let,-a drawing-ro

edy end of her labours. Everything was so neat. Drawing-room back a

ineas a

Mrs.-" Aunt

is Parsons," sa

, say less if the rooms

, ma'am. I might

er. I will close at once, and send you wo

Mrs. Parsons, "how many

she must keep one servant; she has been used to more

ren, ma'am, never,"

t these are not young children. T

er folk's servants about my place; but I might have g

ildren would not be objected to? I live in a house full of children myself, and I find them,

my peace and comfort. I look to th

hear no more, and trotted

on children." Some rooms were too dear; some too small; and as the sharp-sounding clock of St. Luke's struck twelve, Aunt Betha felt tired out and ready to give up. She was standing ho

red out. I am looking for lodgings for poor Mr.

th in the paper, and thought it must be the docto

six are enough to provide for when there i

n under Miss Cox, and had basely deserted her as soon as she could cook-send up a dinner fit to

ch gentleman. I have heard the young ladies

amily are coming here to live in furnished lodg

silent. At last a light seemed to break over her rosy face. "If they don't mind being next to our shop, I believe I do know the very place

must be back for the children

Stars, and that will get you home

sure about engaging the lodgings. Your mo

y at Whitelands, and the old lady died last fall twelvemonth, and left mother-

ldren," said Miss Cox despai

lived till two years ago, when the mistress died. Then she took this little business for Frank, and the house next. It is quite a private house, and was built by a gentleman. She thought she should be near us and he

ed baker's shop on the lower floor, and two windows above. There was a wing with a bake-house, and then a tall elm tree, left of its br

," Ruth said, nodding; "he wo

o take an hour to deliver the bread. Ah, Ru

agree there. If I am a bit older, Frank is the

door of a small house, built of old-fashioned brick, with

, a thin, pale, respectable-looking woman, but with a sad expression on her face. "Here's a lady, mother, come to

neat and clean; and there's some good furniture in it, left me by my dear blessed mistress." And

ighty-sevens, one can't wish or expect them to live.

Ruth," said Mrs. Pryor reprovingl

ed out. The ground sloped away from the strip of garden, and the hamlet of Elm Fields, consisting of the cottages and small houses where Frank now delivered his own bread, was seen from it. There was nothing offensive to the eye, and beyond was a line of hills.

was a little room for the servant which Mrs. Pryor woul

orning at latest, and you will do your best to make them comfortable. They have h

aid Ruth eagerly. "I can walk it in that time; and y

here?" Mrs. Pryor asked feebly,

nce at Miss Cox, she said in a lower voice, "I will make it right. Now

e Three Stars, and stumbled into

at the same moment as Dr. Wilton, wh

poor people from Maplestone," she said. "I did not absol

ll, and then said, "Come in here a minute, auntie," opening

e Elm Fields. They are kept by a respectable woman, the mother of an old servant of ours-Ruth-and

ry thing; and I have to see a patient in that direction. If I am sat

t better," sa

ars about with her on her errands of love and kindness. "I must

e dining-room in the middle of his hard day's work. Aunt Betha departed with her news, which was received with some satisfaction by Mrs. Wilton. At least, Elm

n at Maplestone, which Salome opened f

o Mrs. Wilton, Mapleston

ngs here for you from the twent