"Well, my dear, what do you think of her?" asked Mr. Dinsmore, addressing his wife.

Mildred had just left the room to don bonnet and shawl preparatory to a shopping expedition. She and her uncle had arrived in Philadelphia late the previous night, and Mrs. Dinsmore and the children having already retired, Mildred's first sight of them had been at the breakfast table this morning;—the meal being partaken of in the private parlor belonging to the suite of apartments the Dinsmores were occupying in one of the best hotels of the city.

"I am agreeably disappointed, I must confess," Mrs. Dinsmore replied to her husband's query. "She is decidedly pretty and extremely ladylike in manner and appearance. Even her dress,—though not quite in the fashion—bespeaks her a person of taste and refinement. In fact I think I shall enjoy playing chaperone to her and introducing her to our friends at the South."

"Ah, I thought you could not fail to be pleased with her," Mr. Dinsmore said, looking much gratified, "and I knew you were when you bade her call you aunt. I imagine she had been a little troubled to decide just how she was to address you."

"Well, since I find she is not the sort one need feel ashamed of, I've no objection to her claiming relationship, though there is none at all in point of fact; but if she had proved the awkward, ungainly, uncouth girl I expected, I should have requested her to call me Mrs. Dinsmore," remarked that lady languidly. "I wonder if she has much shopping to do? I hope not, for I really do not feel equal to the exertion of assisting her."

"Driving about in a carriage and sitting in the stores; I should not think it need be so very fatiguing," remarked her husband.

"Of course not, Mr. Dinsmore; men never do see why anything should fatigue their wives," she retorted with some petulance.

"Then Miss Worth and I will have to manage it between us. You expect her to-day, do you not?"

"She was to come to-day; but of course she won't. People never do as they promise. The fact is she oughtn't to have gone at all, leaving me here alone with servants and children; so selfish and inconsiderate!"

"But, my dear, it would have been very hard for her to go back without having spent a short time with her family."

"And her pleasure is to be considered before my comfort, of course."

"Really, I had hoped your comfort had not been neglected," Mr. Dinsmore said, in a tone of some irritation, as he glanced from the richly attired figure in the easy chair, opposite his own, to the luxurious appointments of the room; "what more can you wish?"

The entrance of Mrs. Dinsmore's maid, bringing her bonnet and shawl, saved the lady the necessity of replying to the somewhat inconvenient query, and her husband turned to the morning paper.

Then Mildred came in.

Mrs. Dinsmore, standing before the pier glass, saw the girl's figure reflected there, and the latter could not help enjoying her start of surprise.

"What an elegant shawl!" she exclaimed, turning hastily about to take a better view, "real India! You needn't be ashamed to show yourself anywhere in that! Though your bonnet is quite out of date, as you warned me," she added by way of preventing too great elation from her praise of the shawl.

"No matter," interposed Mr. Dinsmore, throwing down his paper, "we'll soon set that right. The carriage is waiting. Are any of the children going?"

"Yes, Adelaide, Louise and Lora. Mammy and Fanny have taken the younger ones out."

The three little girls came in at the moment. They were gayly and expensively dressed, in the height of the fashion. They looked curiously at Mildred, then Louise, the second in age, a child of ten, whispered to her mother,

"What a fright of a bonnet, it's not in the style at all, and I don't want her along if she's going to wear that."

"Hush! it's no matter," returned the mother in the same low key, "she won't be seen in the carriage, and we'll drive directly to Mrs. Brown's and get her a handsome one."

"Oh! what a pretty shawl, cousin," exclaimed Adelaide, "real India, isn't it? Come on, mamma, and all of you," she added, hurrying into the hall, "it's time we were off."

"Adelaide always wants to direct the rest of us," complained Louise, "I wish, mamma, you'd make her know her place."

"Tut, tut! remember she's three years older than you. But if you children are going to quarrel, you must stay behind," said Mr. Dinsmore, standing back to let his wife and Mildred pass out first.

"No, no, papa, that won't do, because we're to be fitted with hats and shoes," laughed the youngest of the three, putting her hand into his, "besides, I didn't quarrel."

"That's true enough, Lora," he answered, leading her down the stairs, "and in fact, I believe no one did but Louise, who is apt to be the complainer."

The drive to the milliner's was so short that Mildred thought they might as well have walked. She would have preferred it as giving her a better opportunity to see the city; but no; in that case she would have had to mortify her friends by an exhibition of her unfashionable head-gear.

The next half hour was spent in turning over ribbons, flowers and feathers, discussing styles, and trying on bonnets.

At length one was found which pleased both Mrs. Dinsmore and Mildred, but the price asked seemed to the latter extravagant.

"Do you think I ought to go so high, Aunt?" she asked in an undertone. "Is it worth it?"

"I think the price reasonable, and the hat no finer than you ought to wear," returned Mrs. Dinsmore coldly.

Mildred, blushing, turned to the saleswoman, saying, "I will take it," and began counting out the money.

"Stay," said her aunt, "you will want a hat for travelling in."

A plainer and less expensive one was selected for that purpose, the handsome bonnet put on, the bill paid, and they returned to their carriage, Mildred feeling pleasantly conscious of her improved appearance, yet a trifle uneasy at the thought of how fast her money was melting away.

Their next visit was to a fashionable shoe store. Mrs. Dinsmore had the children and herself fitted with several pairs each, and by her advice, Mildred, too, bought slippers for the house, and heavy walking shoes.

"You must have, besides, a pair of gaiters to match each handsome dress you buy," Mrs. Dinsmore said to her as they re-entered the carriage.

That announcement filled Mildred with dismay. At this rate her purse would be emptied before the demands upon it were nearly satisfied. What was she to do? She had been eager to select her dresses, but now was thankful for the respite afforded her by Mrs. Dinsmore's declaration that she was too much fatigued for any more shopping, and that therefore they would return to their hotel.

"I'm going to lie down till it is time to dress for dinner, and would advise you to do the same," she said to Mildred as they re-entered their parlor, and our heroine retreated at once to her own room, glad of the opportunity to think over her perplexity in solitude, and ask guidance and help of her best Friend, who, as she rejoiced in knowing, was abundantly able and willing to help her in every time of need.

She cast her burden on Him, then threw herself on the bed, and being very weary with her long journey, soon fell asleep.

Two hours later she was roused by a knock at her door. She sprang up and opened it to find a porter there with an armful of brown paper parcels and a note for her.

"Is there not some mistake?" she asked in surprise.

"No, Miss: No. 95, and here's the name on the note and the bundles."

"Why yes, it is my name, sure enough!" she exclaimed. "Well, you may bring them in."

The man laid the packages down and departed, while Mildred, only waiting to close the door after him, tore open the note.

"My dear niece," so it ran, "you must please excuse the liberty I have taken in selecting your dresses for you. Your Aunt Wealthy put some money into my hands to be laid out for you. The letter containing her remittance and also one from Roselands which hurries us home, came to hand a few minutes after you and Mrs. Dinsmore had left the hotel. Miss Worth arrived while I was in the act of reading them, and with her assistance I ventured to do your shopping for you. The contents of the parcels sent with this are the result.

"Hoping they may suit your taste, I am your affectionate uncle, A. D."

For some minutes after the note had been hastily read and laid aside, Mildred's fingers were very busy with twine and wrapping paper, bringing to light beautiful and costly things, while her cheeks burned with excitement and her eyes danced with delight, or filled with tears of mingled pleasure and pain.

She could not fail to rejoice in such wealth of lovely things, yet it hurt her pride of independence that she must take them as gifts; and that from one who was scarcely related to her, for well she knew that Mr. Dinsmore must have paid a large proportion of the price from his own purse. There were materials for three beautiful evening dresses, a sage colored merino, fine and soft, an all wool delaine—royal purple with an embroidered sprig; also three silks—a black, a dark brown, and a silver grey; each rich and heavy enough to almost stand alone, and there was a box of kid gloves; one or two pairs to match each dress, the rest white for evening wear. Nor had suitable trimmings for the dresses been forgotten: they were there in beautiful variety—ribbons, buttons, heavy silk fringes; nothing had been overlooked.

Mildred seemed to herself to be in a dream; she could hardly believe that such riches were really hers.

But there came a rap at the door and opening she found Mr. Dinsmore standing there.

"May I come in?" he asked with grave cheerfulness.

She stepped back silently, her heart too full for speech, and passing in he closed the door.

"My dear child, you will excuse me?" he began, but throwing her arms round his neck she burst into tears.

"O, uncle, you are so kind! but it is too much," she sobbed, hiding her face on his shoulder.

"Nonsense! the merest trifle!" he said, stroking her hair. "But if you don't like them—"

"Like them!" she cried. "They're just lovely! every one of them, but—"

"No, no! no buts," he said gayly; "if they suit your taste it's all right. The gaiters that Mrs. Dinsmore says are necessary to match the dresses, can be made nearer home and we'll have two days, Friday and Saturday for sight seeing. This is Thursday, and early Monday morning we leave for Roselands."

"But O, uncle, you shouldn't have spent so much money on me," began Mildred.

"I, child? your Aunt Wealthy you mean. Didn't you read my note?"

"Yes sir; and I know I must thank her for a part, but only a part of these beautiful things."

"Dear me, how very wise we are," he said jocosely and chucking her playfully under the chin; "yet perhaps not quite so wise as we think. Now if you want to do me a favor, just call to mind our talk in the cars the other day, and say no more about this.

"Mrs. Dinsmore and Miss Worth know nothing but that I had money of yours in my hands and have used it in doing your shopping for you; and it is decidedly my wish that they neither know nor suspect anything further. Will you oblige me by being quiet about it?"

"I would do anything I possibly could to oblige you, Uncle Dinsmore," she answered, looking into his eyes with hers full of grateful tears.

"Ah, that's my good girl," he said, "Now dry your eyes and we'll go down to dinner. It is to be served for the family in our own parlor, and is probably on the table now."

Dinner was on the table, and as they entered the family were in the act of taking their places about it.

Miss Worth the governess was with them. She was an intelligent looking, but rather plain featured woman of perhaps thirty-five. Her manners were unobtrusive, she was very quiet and reserved, seemingly self-absorbed.

Mildred's first impressions were not too favorable. The thought in the girl's mind was, "she's a disagreeable old maid, and I'm sure I shall never like her."

Yet the face, though slightly sad and careworn when at rest, would by many have been preferred to Mrs. Dinsmore's in its faded beauty, and listless or fretful and annoyed expression.

The bright, fresh young faces of the children pleased Mildred better than either. There were six of them in all; Arthur, Walter, and Enna were all younger than the three little girls whose acquaintance she had made in the morning—the last named a mere baby. They were pretty children and not ill-behaved considering that they had been used to an almost unlimited amount of petting and indulgence.

"Miss Worth has been telling me about your dresses, Mildred," remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, "I hope you will like them; I should think from her description, they must be very handsome."

"They are, very," Mildred answered, with a vivid blush. "I don't think I could possibly have been better suited." And turning to Miss Worth, she thanked her warmly for the trouble she had taken in her behalf.

"It was no trouble, and you are heartily welcome, Miss Keith," returned the governess, a smile lighting up her features into positive comeliness.

Mr. Dinsmore changed the subject, by a proposal to take his wife and Mildred to some place of amusement for the evening.

"How thoughtless you are, my dear," said Mrs. Dinsmore, "I am sure Mildred must be too much fatigued by her journey to think of going out."

"I doubt it," he returned, laughing. "What do you say, Milly?"

"That I don't think I am," she answered brightly, "a two hours' nap this afternoon having refreshed me wonderfully."

"Then we'll go," he said, "there's an opportunity to hear some fine music, and I don't want to miss it. You will go with us, Mrs. Dinsmore?"

"No," she said coldly, "I do not feel equal to the exertion."

She was not an invalid, but had barely escaped becoming such through extreme aversion to exercise of body or mind.

Mr. Dinsmore then extended his invitation to Miss Worth, overruled her objection, that she feared the children would require her attention, by saying that the servants would give them all the care they needed, and insisted upon her acceptance, unless she, too, must plead fatigue as an excuse for declining.

Before the governess had time to open her lips in reply, Mrs. Dinsmore suddenly announced that she had changed her mind; she would go, and really she could not feel easy about the children, unless Miss Worth were there to see that they were properly attended to.

It was a disappointment to the latter, who seldom enjoyed such a treat, but she quietly acquiesced, sighing inwardly, but giving no outward sign.

"Shall we walk or ride?" queried Mr. Dinsmore, looking at Mildred. "The distance is about four squares."

"Oh, let us walk," she was about to exclaim, feeling an eager desire for the exercise, and to look at the buildings and brightly lighted windows; but Mrs. Dinsmore decided this question also with an emphatic,

"We will take a carriage of course. What can you be thinking of, Mr. Dinsmore?"

They had left the table and Mildred was considering how she should excuse herself, that she might retire to her own room and finish a letter to her mother, when Mrs. Dinsmore said, "You must show me your pretty things now, Mildred. There'll be plenty of time before we have to dress for the concert."

"Dress!" echoed Mildred in dismay, "really Aunt, I have nothing more suitable to wear than this I have on," glancing down at the blue black silk she had been wearing all that day.

"What matter? that's neat fitting and handsome enough for any occasion," interrupted Mr. Dinsmore.

"It will do very well, if you don't throw back your shawl," remarked his wife, glancing askance at the really neat, ladylike and pretty dress.

"The place will be crowded and warm," said Mr. Dinsmore, "and if you find your shawl burdensome, Mildred, you are to throw it back and be comfortable." His wife gave him an indignant glance.

"She can take a fan," she said shortly, "I'll lend her one that I'll not be ashamed to see her carry."

Mildred was glad she could say she had a pretty fan of her own, and would not need to borrow, and with it said she would doubtless be able to refrain from throwing back her shawl in a way to exhibit the unfashionable make of her dress.

Mrs. Dinsmore graciously condescended to approve of the purchases made by her husband and the governess, saying she really thought she hardly could have done better herself, and it was an immense relief to know that the thing was done without any worry or responsibility coming upon her, she was so ill able to bear such things.

On hearing which, our heroine felt unspeakably thankful that her assistance had not been asked.

Mildred enjoyed the concert extremely; also the sight-seeing, which with a little more shopping fully occupied the next two days, and the church-going of the day following. She found time before breakfast Saturday morning, for doing her packing and finishing the letter to her mother. On Monday morning there was little time for anything but breakfast before they must go on board the steamer which was to carry them to a seaport town within a few miles of Roselands.