The tea-hour drew near and the young folks came trooping in and joined their elders on the veranda. All had presently found seats and were chatting gayly with their elders or among themselves. Marian alone, occupying a chair close by Mr. Lilburn’s side, was a silent though interested listener, until Captain Raymond, turning to her, asked in his pleasant tones how she liked Ion.

“O sir!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm, “it is lovely! lovely! but not any more beautiful than Woodburn.”

“Ah! I am glad you like Woodburn also, because I want it to be one of your homes, and its school-room one of the places where you may get such an education as I know you want. Do you think you could content yourself with me for a tutor?”

“O sir! how kind you are to me!” she exclaimed with tears of joy in her eyes. “If you will accept me as a pupil I shall strive most earnestly to do credit to your teaching. But ah! I fear you will find me but a dull scholar, and teaching me much too heavy a tax upon your time and patience.”

“Never fear,” he returned pleasantly. “I incline to the opinion that I shall enjoy having one or more pupils. I think it will add interest to my work and take scarcely more of my time.”

While this little conversation was being carried on, Cousin Ronald had caught a very wishful, entreating look from Walter, to which he had nodded a smiling assent, and now the loud warble of a bird, seemingly right in their midst, caught every eye and ear and all eyes turned toward the spot from which the sound seemed to come.

“Why, where is the birdie? I don’t see it,” exclaimed little Elsie as the sounds suddenly ceased.

“I ’spect it flewed away,” cried little Ned, sending quick glances from side to side and overhead.

Walter’s face was full of suppressed delight, but he dodged suddenly, putting up his hand to drive away a bee that seemed to be circling about his head, buzzing now at one ear, now at the other; then recalling the probable cause, he laughed aloud, others of the company joining in with him.

Marian, too, had heard the buzzing and was looking up and around for a bee, when a “Peep, peep, peep!” close at hand made her look down and around upon the floor at her feet.

Her countenance expressed surprise and bewilderment that no chick was in sight.

“Peep, peep, peep!” came again, seemingly from her pocket or among the folds of her dress-skirt. She rose hastily to her feet, shook her skirts, then thrust her hand into her pocket.

“Why, where is it?” she asked, looking somewhat alarmed.

“Why, it seems to have come to me!” Grace Raymond exclaimed as the “Peep, peep, peep!” was heard again apparently from among her skirts, and she too sprang to her feet and shook herself with a downward glance at them and a little nervous laugh. She was near her father, and he drew her to his knee, saying softly, “Don’t be alarmed, darling, for you know there is really nothing there.”

“Walter, can’t you hunt up that chick?” asked Edward, looking gravely at his little brother. “Think how bad it would be for the poor little thing if somebody should accidentally tramp upon it.”

“Why, I shan’t need to hunt it!” exclaimed Walter. As the “Peep, peep, peep!” seemed to come from his pocket, he thrust his hand into it and sprang to his feet as he spoke; but at that instant a loud and furious barking just around the corner of the veranda attracted every one’s attention.

“Down, sir, down!” cried a rough voice. “I’m neither thief nor tramp.”

Another furious bark, then a low growl came in response, and baby Ned ran to his father with a frightened cry, “O papa, I’s ’fraid doggie bite!”

“No, no, Neddie boy, papa won’t let him harm his baby,” the captain said, taking the little trembler in his arms, while Grace still kept close at his side.

The barking suddenly ceased, nor was the rough voice heard again, and Walter, running to the corner whence the sounds had proceeded, announced with a merry laugh that neither man nor dog was in sight.

“The chicken and the bee seem to have gone too,” he added as he came running back, “and there’s the tea-bell.”

With that all rose and repaired to the dining-room. There Marian was seated beside Lulu, the captain next, Grace on his other side, and Violet and her two little ones opposite them.

A blessing was asked and the plates were filled; then a lull in the conversation was broken by a rough voice saying in a sarcastic tone, “Now ef you folks was as perlite and hospitable as we are out West, you’d invite this stranger to take a seat among ye and have a cup o’ coffee and something to eat.”

Almost every one looked startled and all eyes turned in the direction of the sounds, which seemed to come from behind Edward’s chair.

“An invisible speaker, as might have been expected,” laughed Violet.

“Show yourself, sir, take a seat at the table, and you shall be helped to all you wish of anything and everything upon it,” said Edward, glancing about as if in search of the unexpected intruder.

“Show myself? Humph! keen-eyed you must be if you can’t see a man o’ my size,” returned the voice.

“Perhaps so, sir,” replied Edward, turning a knowing and amused look upon Cousin Ronald, “and I think I do see you very well. But have you been neglected? Your plate and cup look to me to be well filled.”

“My plate and cup, sir?” exclaimed the voice in tones of indignant surprise. “Pray where are they?”

“Directly in front of Mr. Lilburn—or Cousin Ronald, as we, his relatives, are accustomed to call him.”

“Why, laddie, I had thought you a hospitable host! and now would you rob me o’ my supper which you have just bestowed upon me, and give it to an unknown beggar-man?” exclaimed Mr. Lilburn in well-feigned astonishment and indignation.

“It does look very inhospitable, Ned; something to make me blush for my grandson,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore, with a slight smile.

“Well, well,” cried the rough voice, “it shall never be said of me that I set a family together by the ears. So I’ll leave. Good-by.”

A shuffling sound followed as of some one moving across the room in the direction of a door opening upon the veranda, then all was quiet. Every head turned in the direction of the sound, and as they ceased there was a general laugh; but the expression of Marian’s countenance was perplexed and slightly alarmed.

“Who—what was it?” she asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

“Nothing alarming, my dear,” replied Grandma Elsie in her sweet gentle tones; “we have a ventriloquist with us, that is all; and he not infrequently kindly amuses us with an exhibition of his skill.”

“Ah! and it is Cousin Ronald?” Marian returned inquiringly and with a half-smiling glance into Mr. Lilburn’s genial face.

Returning her smile, “Ah, little cousin, you seem to be as good at guessing as if you were a born Yankee,” he said pleasantly.

“But it can hardly be that you are the only one,” she said, as with sudden recollection. “Captain Raymond,” turning to him, “I think I understand now about some puzzling things that occurred while you were at our house year before last. You too are a ventriloquist, are you not?”

“No, my dear girl, by no means,” he replied.

“Then I have not, as I believed, found a solution of the mystery,” she remarked reflectively; “but I think some one else who was there must have been a ventriloquist; for I know not how else to account for some things that occurred at Minersville when you were there: the beggar-boy and dog heard by four of us, but not seen; the voice speaking from the tree and the porch roof, that made Mr. Riggs so angry, and all that occurred on the evening of the Fourth, as you Americans call it.”

“And that was doubtless the work of a ventriloquist,” acknowledged the captain in a pleasant tone, “but I cannot claim any talent in that line.”

“Then who could it have been?” she said with a puzzled look. “Ah! perhaps the English gentleman or his son. I remember they were often there conversing with you and Master Max.”

Captain Raymond did not think it necessary to reply to that remark, and other subjects of conversation were presently introduced. At the conclusion of the meal all repaired to the veranda or the grounds, and Cousin Ronald drew Marian aside for a little private chat.

“Tell me about your brother, lass,” he said. “Is he happy? suited with his employment, think you?”

Marian hesitated for an instant, and then said frankly: “Poor Sandy longs for a good education, sir, but is willing to work hard and long for the means to pay his way in school and college.”

“He is a good, industrious lad?”

“Never a better one, sir; he did all in his power to make himself useful and helpful to our dear mother and to me. He is as industrious and painstaking a lad as ever was seen. I am proud indeed of my brother—the only one of my mother’s children, besides myself, that is left.”

“Ah, he should have, must have help,” said Cousin Ronald, leaning meditatively on his gold-headed cane. “Marian, lass,” turning inquiringly to her, “he wouldna refuse it frae his own auld kinsman?”

“O Cousin Ronald, could you—have you it in your kind heart to help him to it? Bless you for it, sir! It would be the making of the dear lad. And should it please the Lord to spare his life I am very sure you may trust him to repay every cent of your outlay for him!” Marian cried with starting tears, and clasping her hands in an ecstasy of joy.

“Indeed could I and will I, lass,” said the old gentleman, taking note-book and pencil from his pocket. “Give me his address and I will write to him to-night.”

He wrote it down at Marian’s dictation, then, restoring book and pencil to his pocket, “Now tell me of the dear mother, lassie,” he said in low, feeling tones. “She loved the Lord, served him, and died trusting in his atoning blood?”

“She did, she did, sir!” sobbed the bereaved girl. “It was an awful sorrowful life she led from the time that cruel Mormon missionary deceived and cajoled my father into belief in the wicked doctrines and practices of that faith—so contrary to the teachings of God’s own holy word—but she trusted in Jesus and at the last was full of joy that she was about to leave this world to dwell forever with him in that blessed land where sin and sorrow never enter. It was a terrible loss to me, but not for worlds would I bring her back, hard, hard though it be to live without her dear love and companionship.”

“Yes, dear lass, but life is short, and if you trust in the Lord and his righteousness, you and she will spend a blessed eternity together at his right hand. But I will leave for the present,” he added, “for evidently Cousin Elsie is watching for an opportunity to have a bit of private chat with you also.”

With that the old gentleman rose and moved away and their lovely lady hostess took his place by Marian’s side. She talked to the young girl in the kindliest manner, saying that she must let her be as a mother to her now while she was so young as to need a mother’s loving care. “And you must let us, your own relatives, provide all needful things for you until you are educated and fitted to take care of yourself; which we will endeavor to do, remembering that all we have is the Lord’s, intrusted to us to be used in his service, a part of which is helping others to fit themselves for usefulness.”

“O cousin, how kind, how kind you and all these new-found relatives are!” exclaimed the young girl with emotion. “I cannot deny that I am too proud to—to enjoy, as perhaps I ought-being under such obligations; but I will and do accept it, hoping that my heavenly Father will some day enable me to repay—not the kindness, that could never be done—but the moneyed part of the obligation.”

“That is right, dear girl,” Elsie said, pressing tenderly the hand she had taken into hers, “and to begin with, I want to see that you are provided with clothing as good and abundant as have the other young members of our family connection. To-morrow Cousin Ronald and I, and one or more of my daughters, expect to go to the city and make purchases for you, and you shall accompany us and let your own taste and judgment be used in the selection of dresses and other needed articles, or stay behind and trust to our taste, as you may prefer. However, you need not decide that question to-night. The captain and Violet insist that you shall go back to Woodburn with them, and we will call at an early hour in the morning to hear what your decision is and take you with us, if you care to go.”

“Dear Cousin Elsie, I don’t know how to thank you!” Marian exclaimed with emotion; “you, and indeed all these new-found relatives, are so wonderfully kind to me; one who has not the shadow of a claim upon them.”

“No, that is a mistake of yours, dear girl,” Elsie returned. “The Bible bids us—those to whom God has given more or less of this world’s goods—‘that they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate; laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.’ But I will not detain you longer, for I would have you enjoy the company of our dear young folks to the full.”

“I enjoy it greatly, but not more than your own, dear, sweet cousin,” returned the young girl, gazing into Grandma Elsie’s beautiful eyes with her own full of grateful, happy tears.

“You have enjoyed yourself to-day?” Grandma Elsie asked in tones of tender solicitude.

“Oh, very, very much!” was the quick, earnest rejoinder. “I never before had just such a day in all my life; though my mother used to tell me of similar ones in hers, for her near kith and kin were richer and of higher station than my father’s—and were ill-pleased that she married him,” she ended with a sigh.

“She married for love, I suppose?” Elsie said inquiringly.

“Yes,” sighed Marian, “for love; but, as time proved, far more than half the love was on her side—unless it may be that love may turn to that which is little better than hatred.”

“Ah, was it so bad as that?” Elsie asked with a grieved look into the sad eyes of her young relative. “If so, one cannot blame you if you have well-nigh ceased to love one so heartless as he has shown himself to be.”

“Jesus said, ‘By their fruits ye shall know them,’ and such are the fruits of Mormonism,” returned Marian; “the fruits brought forth in the lives of those who follow its hellish teachings. Is that too hard a word, cousin? It teaches lying, polygamy, assassination—their unscriptural, horrible blood-atonement doctrine—not one of which is to be found anywhere in God’s own holy word. Oh, I thank the Lord that I have escaped out of their hands!”

“You well may, and I am very thankful for you, my poor, dear cousin,” Elsie returned in tones of heartfelt sympathy.

But just then Rosie came and asked if Marian could not be spared to take part in some games the young people were about to begin.

An hour later the Woodburn carriage was in waiting at the veranda steps, and the captain and his party entered it and were driven home.

On their arrival there Gracie and the little ones went directly to bed, and while Violet was engaged in attendance upon them, the captain, Lulu, and Marian had the veranda to themselves.

“Here, Marian, take this big rocking-chair,” said Lulu, drawing one forward, “and give me your hat. I’m going to hang mine on the rack in the hall, and may just as well take yours too; and papa’s,” holding out her hand for his, which he gave her with an approving smile as he seated himself upon a settee near the chair she had given Marian.

The next minute she was with them again, nestling close to his side, her arm around his neck, his about her waist, her eyes gazing up with ardent affection into his while her pretty little white hand stroked his face lovingly and toyed with his beard.

He was talking to Marian and hardly showed consciousness of Lulu’s caresses except that he stroked her hair, patted her cheek, and pressed his lips absently once or twice to it or her forehead.

Marian’s eyes filled at the sight, and she had much ado to keep her voice steady while answering his queries in regard to the growth and prosperity of Minersville, its schools, churches, and public works.

“Ah, what bliss to have such a father—so dear and kind!” was the thought in her heart. She expressed that thought to Lulu when they bade good-night after going upstairs.

“Indeed it is!” was Lulu’s earnest rejoinder, “and I wish yours and all fathers were like mine. He isn’t foolishly indulgent; all his children know they must yield ready and cheerful obedience whenever he gives an order, but it is always so evidently for our good, and so pleasantly spoken, unless we are showing ourselves wilful and stubborn, that it is not at all hard for any but a very bad, contrary child—such I have sometimes been, I’m ashamed to own—to obey.”

“How blessed you are, Lulu!” sighed Marian. “But,” she added with a look of surprise, “you did not bid him good-night, and I could not help wondering at the omission.”

“Ah, that was because he will come presently to my room for just a few minutes’ chat and a good-night kiss,” Lulu said with a joyous smile. “Mamma, my own mother, used to do it, but she is gone now, and to our great joy papa takes her place in that. I would not miss it for anything; so good-night and pleasant dreams, for I must go.”

“Good-night, you dear, sweet girl,” Marian said, folding her arms about Lulu for an instant, and kissing her with warmth of affection. “I love you, and my now sainted mother loved you too. But oh, what would I not give for such a father as yours!”