On the veranda of a lordly mansion over-looking a velvety lawn of emerald green, spangled with flowers and dotted here and there with giant oaks, magnolias and orange trees, between which might be caught the silvery gleam of the bright waters of a lakelet beyond, a young child, a lovely little girl of four, was sporting with her nurse: tossing to and fro a many-colored ball with many a sweet baby laugh and shout.

Presently it flew over the railing and rolled away among the flowers in the grass.

"Let's go get it, mammy," said the little one, hurrying down the steps; "let' stoss it on the lawn."

"Wait, honey," returned the nurse, following her. "Ki! let ole mammy hol' you up to see what's comin' down dar on de wattah."

"Oh, the boat, the boat!" shouted the child, as Aunt Chloe lifted her to her shoulder. "Will it stop, mammy? Is uncle comin' on it?"

"Dunno, darlin'; 'spect he is," Aunt Chloe answered moving on across the lawn in the direction of the little pier where the boat was already rounding to. "Ki! yes, dar he am, standin' on de deck."

The child clapped her pretty hands with a cry of delight. "I see him! I see him! Please go on, mammy. Now let me down. I want to run to meet him."

A man was stepping ashore, gentlemanly in dress and appearance, of medium height, rather stoutly built, sandy hair and whiskers, plentifully sprinkled with grey, a grave, thoughtful face, with stern mouth, but kindly grey eyes.

At sight of the fairy little figure bounding toward him, he set down a valise he carried, stooped and held out his arms, the stern lips relaxing into a smile, the grey eyes twinkling.

In an instant she was clinging about his neck, the rosebud mouth pressing sweet kisses on his lips.

"Well, my bonny bairn, are you glad to see your old uncle come home?" he asked, fondling her for a moment; then setting her on her feet and taking her hand, he walked on toward the house, Aunt Chloe and a negro boy with the valise, following.

A pleasant-faced matron, in a neat muslin dress and cap, met them on the veranda.

"Welcome home, sir, Mr. Cameron," she said shaking hands with him. "Your room's a' ready, and tea will be on the table in ten minutes. Elsie, my bonnie pet, will ye no stay wi' me while uncle changes his linen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Murray, wis you and mammy," the child answered, with cheerful acquiescence. "Uncle won't go 'way to-morrow nor nex' day 'cause he said so."

The child's meals were usually taken alone in the nursery, earlier hours than those preferred by the older people better suiting her tender years; but to-night she took tea with her guardian and Mr. Murray, Mrs. Murray sitting opposite him and presiding over the tea urn, Elsie between them at his right hand; while Aunt Chloe stood at the back of her chair, ready to give instant attention to every want and wish.

The evenings were cool enough to make an open wood fire very agreeable, and a fine one blazed and crackled on the hearth in the library, whither Mr. Cameron bent his steps on leaving the table.

He had scarcely taken possession of an easy chair beside it, when Elsie crept to his side and claimed a seat on his knee.

"Poor bit fatherless bairn!" he muttered, as he took her up. "Some folk are, as the good book says, 'without natural affection.'"

"Why, uncle, I's dot a papa, hasn't I?" she asked, catching in an understanding way only the first half of his remark; "Mrs. Murray tells me 'bout him sometimes."

"Yes; so you have," he said, "but he isn't here to take care of his little lassie, you know."

"I wis' he was! I wis' he'd come dus' now!

"And my mamma in heaven where Jesus is," she prattled on, "my sweet, pretty mamma," and pulling at a gold chain about her neck, she drew out from the bosom of her gown a miniature set in gold and diamonds, a likeness of a very beautiful young girl.

"Dear mamma, sweet, pretty mamma!" she repeated, fondly kissing the pictured face.

"Let me look at it, Elsie," he said, as she was about to return it to its hiding place.

"The bonniest face I ever saw," he mused half aloud, gazing intently upon it. "Woe's me that the sods of the valley should ha' covered it from sight sae soon! Was I wrong! Eh, how could I know that she cared so much for that wild youth? I thought it was the gowd he was after, and I think so still."

But he heaved a profound remorseful sigh, as he relinquished the miniature to its rightful owner.

As he did so he caught sight of Aunt Chloe standing near, her dark eyes fixed on him with an expression of keenest sorrow, mingled with reproach.

"She blames me," he thought uneasily. "Well, well, I meant it all for the best."

"Aunt Chloe," he said, speaking aloud, "bring me a parcel you'll find on my dressing-table."

She left the room, and presently returned bringing what he had sent her for.

"Something for you, Elsie," he said, laying it in her lap.

It was loosely wrapped in brown paper which she quickly unfolded with her small white fingers, bringing to light a large, beautiful and handsomely-dressed doll.

"Oh, oh! see, mammy, see!" she cried in delight; "such a big dolly! biggest of all I's dot!"

Then she thanked the giver with kisses and smiles and sweet words of baby gratitude; for she was a child of most grateful and loving disposition.

Mrs. Murray must be called in to see and admire the new treasure; then with it hugged closely in her arms, the delighted darling bade good-night and suffered her mammy to lead her away to bed.

"What a bonny wean it is! One canna think well o' the father that neglects it," remarked Mr. Cameron, as the tiny, fairy-like figure disappeared through the doorway.

"It's unaccountable, and whiles makes me hae grave doubts of the reality of his love for the mother," said the housekeeper. "But if once he got sight o' the bairn it would surely be different. Who could see the bit winsome thing and not love her dearly? Can ye no manage to get him here by hook or by crook, Mr. Cameron?"

"I cannot say that I'm over anxious," he answered drily. "He's too fiery and hot-headed a youth to deal comfortably with; besides he's away in Europe."

"Ah! when will he return?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Murray, I got no hint o' that, except that his stay was likely to be lengthy."

She had brought in her accounts of household expenditures for the past month, and some time was spent in going over them and conversing of various business matters.

"Mr. Cameron," she said, as the interview was about to close, "life and health are both uncertain wi' us all. In case onything should happen to you, sir, what—"

"I will give you the address of my solicitor, and o' the bairn's grandfather," he said, without waiting for the conclusion of her sentence; and turning to his writing desk he wrote both on a card, which he handed to her, saying, "It would be advisable for you, or the overseer to send them both word immediately if aught occur to deprive me of the ability to attend to the affairs o' the estate and the welfare o' the bit lassie."

Scarce a week had elapsed when Mrs. Murray found reason to be thankful for this act of prudent foresight. Mr. Cameron was taken suddenly and violently ill, soon became delirious, and after a few days of suffering, breathed his last, without an interval in which he could have attended to business, however important.

As soon as it was known that the illness was likely to terminate fatally, letters were dispatched to the addresses given.

The lawyer living no further away than New Orleans, was able to reach Viamede in time for the funeral; but it would take weeks for the letter to Mr. Dinsmore to wend its way to Roselands.

Little Elsie saw nothing of her guardian after he was taken sick; she was not shown the corpse, and during the funeral her nurse had her away in a distant part of the grounds.

"She's too young to be saddened wi' thoughts o' death and the grave," said Mrs. Murray; "we'll just tell her, when she asks for her uncle, that he's gone to the beautiful heaven where the Saviour is; and her sweet, pretty mamma, too. And she'll hae only pleasant thoughts about it, the darling pet!"

The good woman had a very strong, motherly affection for the lovely little one, and was more concerned in regard to the possible, not to say probable, separation from her, consequent upon Mr. Cameron's death, than with any other question touching her own earthly future. She did not know what disposal would be made of the child, but was resolved not to endure separation if it could be avoided, even by a considerable pecuniary sacrifice.

The lawyer could tell her nothing except that the child's father would now assume entire control of both her person and property.

"Then," she said with the tears stealing down her cheeks, "I fear we may have to part; but I will ever comfort myself with the thought that God reigns and the mon's heart is in His hand as the rivers of water; so that He can turn it whithersoever He will."

"You seem strongly attached to her," remarked the lawyer. "Well, she's a pretty little creature and a great heiress; the estate was large at the time of the grandfather's death, and has flourished under my friend Cameron's care; his investments were always judicious. In fact he couldn't have handled the funds more wisely and carefully if it had been his own. Mr. Dinsmore has been sent for, you say?"

"The grandfather, sir; the father's away in Europe."

"Ah! rather unfortunate, I fear. Well, Mrs. Murray, I have finished the business that brought me here, and shall leave by the next boat; which passes, I understand, half an hour from this," he concluded, consulting his watch.

"Yes," she said; "but you will first step into the dining-room and take some refreshment, will you not, sir? It is quite ready."

He accepted the invitation, and while sipping his tea, said, "I shall see Mr. Dinsmore in New Orleans; he will doubtless call upon me there before coming on to Viamede, and you may depend, Mrs. Murray, that if I have any influence it will be exerted in favor of the plan of leaving the little girl in your care."

"I thank you, sir," she said. "I love the sweet bairn as I loved my own, now all gone before to the heavenly rest, and perhaps, as they hae never seemed to care to trouble wi' her, they may be willing to continue her in my charge."

Mrs. Murray was by no means the only one at Viamede who dreaded the changes that might come as an indirect consequence of the death of Elsie's guardian; there were many anxious hearts among the older and more intelligent of the servants. Would the little mistress, whom they fairly idolized, be carried away from them? Would there be a change of overseers? Would any of them be sold away from home and kindred?

Work had been suspended on account of the funeral. It was over, and returning to their accustomed haunts about the mansion and the quarter, they collected in little groups here and there, looking sadly into each other's faces, talking in subdued tones, with many a dubious shake of the head, and not a few tears dropped to the memory of the fair young creature who had left them four years agone to lie down beside her parents in the family burial ground on a grassy slope not far away.

Ah, could they but have kept her! so sweet, so gentle, so kind.

Presently Aunt Chloe and her young charge, taking the quarter on their way to the mansion, appeared among them, the baby girl looking wondrously like to her whom they mourned; the same fair, oval face, large, lustrous brown eyes, golden brown hair and sunny smile.

They gathered about her with honeyed words of endearments, kissing the small white hands, the golden ringlets, even the hem of her richly embroidered white dress; she scattering gracious winsome words and smiles like a little queen among her loyal subjects.

It was truly the homage of the heart, for scarce one of them would have hesitated to risk life and limb in her service.

She dispensed her favors with great impartiality, and was borne to the house on the shoulders of several of these ardent admirers, each taking his turn in carrying her part of the way, that all might share in the privilege; since the loving little heart would not favor one to the rejection of the others.

It was just as Mr. Coonly, the solicitor, was about taking his departure that the baby girl was thus borne in triumph to the veranda, and set down there all flushed and rosy and crowing with delight.

"Nice ride, Uncle Ben, and all you other uncles," she said, kissing her hand to them, "Mammy will get you some cakes."

"She's a beautiful child!" exclaimed the solicitor in an aside to Mrs. Murray.

"Yes, sir; and a dear bairn, sweet and good as she is fair."

"Will you give me a good-bye kiss, my little dear?" he asked, stepping toward her.

"Yes," she said, holding up her rosebud mouth. "But I don't know you. Did you come to see my uncle? Where is he?"

He gave her a puzzled look, then saying, "I haven't time to tell you now, my little girl," hurried away.

She looked after him for a moment, then turning to Mrs. Murray, repeated her question.

"Gone away, darling," was the answer. "Now come in and eat your supper; and then we'll have a nice bit talk."