"What do you think of the new member of the family, Cousin Flora?" asked Dr. Landreth.

It was the afternoon of the day succeeding the arrival of Don, and Rupert and his wife. Dr. Landreth had a call to the country, and had invited Flora to drive with him.

They had left the town behind, and were bowling rapidly along a smooth, level road running through woods gorgeous in their autumn robes of crimson and gold, russet, green, and brown.

Flora had been among the listeners to Rupert's story of his and Juanita's captivity and subsequent wanderings, and had, as the doctor noticed at the time, furtively watched Juanita very closely.

"I admire her, of course," was the reply.

"But why of course?" he asked.

"You all do; no one could help it. She is very dark, but extremely handsome in spite of that."

Rupert was at that very time asking his mother that same question, having gone to her room and found her there alone.

"I think her sweet and beautiful in appearance and manners," Mrs. Keith answered, smiling up at her tall son as he stood at her side, and making room for him on the couch where she sat. "There has not been time for me to form any further judgment," she continued as he accepted her invitation, taking her hand fondly into his, "but I assure you I am disposed to the very most favorable opinion, both because you love her and of all she has done for you. Perhaps but for her faithful nursing of my wounded boy I should never have seen his dear face again."

Her voice trembled with emotion as she spoke the last words.

"Very likely not, dear mother," Rupert said, supporting her with his arm. "But setting aside the gratitude, which is certainly her due, from me at least, I am sure you will soon learn to love her for her many very lovable qualities."

"I do not doubt it, my son. And it rejoices my heart to see how great is your mutual love. I trust it may but increase with years, as has your father's and mine."

"I hope so indeed, mother. It has always been very evident to me that you and my father loved each other dearly. I do not remember ever to have heard either one address an unkind word to the other."

"No," she said; "your father has been the best of husbands to me always."

Then after a little pause, "Has your wife any education, Rupert?"

"Not much besides what I have contrived to give her myself in the three years we have been together," he said. "But I have really succeeded in giving her a good deal of general information orally, and have taught her to read English, using my Bible as a text-book, and to write, using a pointed stick and the sand.

"I had thought of placing her in a boarding-school for a time, but she was so distressed at the very suggestion—declaring that it would break her heart to be separated from me—that I have quite given up the idea.

"She is very bright, quick to catch an idea, and more than willing to study under my tuition, to please me, if for no other reason.

"And she has great musical talent. I must get her to sing for you all this evening. You will be delighted with her voice and her execution."

"Well, my boy, I am inclined to think she will make you happy, so far as a wife can. She is very graceful and ladylike, and I think you will succeed in educating her as far as necessary for her happiness and yours. I suppose she knows little or nothing of housewifely accomplishments; but those too she can learn, and you will live with us for the present at least, I trust, if not permanently, and if she will let me I shall gladly teach her all I know of such matters."

"Dear mother, thank you," he said, his eyes shining with pleasure; "she could not have a more competent or kinder instructor, and I know she will be glad to avail herself of your kind offer, if only for my sake.

"She tried to learn as much as possible from good Mrs. Baird while we were there, and succeeded well too, I thought, in everything she attempted."

On leaving his mother Rupert went in search of his wife. He found her alone in the parlor, hovering over the open piano.

"O Rupert," she cried, looking up almost pleadingly into his face, "do you think I may try it? would any one be displeased?"

"Certainly you may try it if you wish," he replied, half laughing at the absurdity of her doubt; "there is no danger of any objection being raised; but can you play on it?"

She answered only with a sportive, delighted arch smile, seated herself at the instrument, and dashed off into a brilliant waltz.

Rupert was in raptures.

"Why, Juanita!" he exclaimed, as she struck the last notes, then turned to look up in his face with dancing eyes, "you never told me you could play the piano."

"No, seÑor; you never asked if I could."

The different members of the family had come flocking in, drawn by the music, and wondering who the player was, for the tune was new to them and the touch different from that of any of themselves.

"Give us a song, love," requested the delighted young husband.

She complied at once, and the effect upon the small audience was fully up to Rupert's expectation. She had a magnificent voice, strong, full, of great compass and flexibility, sweet and clear as the warble of a bird; a voice that would have made her fortune as a prima donna; nor was it entirely uncultivated.

How they crowded round her and poured out their thanks and praises, begging for another and still another till the tea-bell summoned them away to their evening meal!

Juanita's playing and singing were destined henceforth to form one of the greatest enjoyments of the entire family.

Cyril came home for a short visit, and for several weeks they all (except the doctor, whose patients had to be attended to) gave themselves up, for the most of the time, to the enjoyment of each other's society. It was so delightful to be together again after the long separation of Rupert and Don from the others, that they seemed unable to remain apart for any length of time.

They gathered now at one of the three houses, now at another. One day the mother was the hostess, then Mildred, then Zillah; but at whichever dwelling they congregated all were perfectly at home, Juanita very soon as much so as the rest, for they all gave her a daughter's and sister's place, calling her by those names, while the little ones were taught to say, "Aunt Nita."

She was a trifle shy and reserved at first, but her timidity soon melted away under the sunshine of love that constantly shone upon her. She grew sweetly confiding and affectionate, not to her husband only, but to all his relatives.

Influenced by an ardent desire to be and do all he could wish, she silently took note of all the housewifely ways of his mother and sisters, determined to copy them as nearly as possible when she also should become a housekeeper; rather dreading, too, the coming of the time when she must assume the duties of that position, because she felt herself hardly equal to their full performance.

It was several weeks after their arrival in Pleasant Plains that one day, finding himself alone with her, Rupert asked, "Juanita, my love, which would you prefer, going to housekeeping, or just living on here as we have been doing so far, with my father and mother?"

"Ah, Rupert, would they like to have us stay?" she asked, with an eager look up into his face, for he was standing beside the low chair in which she was seated.

"Yes," he said, smiling down on her; "and I see you would like it too."

"Oh no, not unless you please; I mean I should prefer whatever would be most for the pleasure and happiness of my dear husband."

"Thank you, love," he said, bending down to caress her hair and cheek; "then we will stay here at least for the present, for I perceive that will be agreeable to all parties. But whenever you weary of it, and think you would be happier in a home of your own, you must tell me so without reserve. Promise me that you will."

"Yes, seÑor," she returned, gayly, "I promise; but the time will never come till I have learned to do all housewifely duties just as your dear mother does."

Her words gave him great pleasure, and she saw with delight that they did. She sprang up in a pretty, impulsive way she had, threw her arms round his neck, and gazing up into his face with eyes beaming with light and love, "Oh, my dear husband," she cried, "how good, how kind you are to me always, always!"

"I should be a brute if I were anything else to you, my precious little darling!" he said, holding her close, with many a fond caress.

Rupert was again devoting himself to business with all the old energy and faithfulness.

Don, unable to decide what was best suited to his capacity and inclination, waited for some sort of opening, and in the mean time resumed some of his former studies, and spent a good deal of his leisure in the society of his sisters and Dr. Landreth's relative and guest, Miss Flora Weston.

He was pleased with her, and the liking was mutual. Don was a handsome, high-spirited fellow, and could be very entertaining in conversation. And Flora, with improving health and spirits, had become quite an attractive girl.

The friendship at length ripened into love. She remained in Pleasant Plains through the winter, and before spring had fairly opened the two were affianced, with the knowledge and consent of parents and relatives on both sides. But as both were very young, the marriage would not take place for a year or more.

In May Mr. Weston came for his daughter.

His home was in New Jersey, where he was largely engaged in manufactures, and he had not been long in Pleasant Plains before he proposed that Don should take a position in his business establishment, with the prospect of becoming a partner at no very distant day.

Don thanked him heartily, took a few days to consider the matter and consult with parents and friends, then accepted the offer, and again bade farewell to home and kindred; but this time the parting was by no means so sorrowful as on a former occasion.

He was not going so far away or into such dangers, difficulties, and temptations, and might hope to return now and then for a visit to his childhood's home. It was but such a separation as is common between parents and their sons grown to man's estate.

Here we will leave our friends for the present, perhaps taking up the thread of our narrative again at some future day, and telling what befell them in after years.