It was Mildred's first sight of the ocean. The November air was chill but the sun shone brightly, and well wrapped up, she found the deck not an uncomfortable place; so kept her station there all through the passage down the river and bay; though Mrs. Dinsmore very soon retreated, shivering, to the cabin, and called in nurses and children; with exception of Adelaide, who insisted upon remaining with her father and cousin, and was, as usual, allowed to have her own way.

"There, we have a full view of old ocean," Mr. Dinsmore said, as they steamed out of the bay. "You never saw anything like that before, Mildred?"

"Yes; the great lakes look very similar," she answered, gazing away over the restless waters, her eyes kindling with enthusiasm. "How grandly beautiful it is! I think I should never weary of the sight and should like to live where I could watch it day by day in all its moods."

"Roselands is not so very far off from the coast," said Adelaide. "A ride of a few miles in one direction gives us a distant view."

"Oh, I am glad of that!" Mildred exclaimed.

"And we will place a pony and servant at your command, so that you can ride in that direction whenever you will," added Mr. Dinsmore.

Mildred took her eyes from the sea long enough to give him a look of delight that fully repaid him; nor did she spare words, but told him he was wonderfully kind to her.

"Tell about being on the lakes, cousin," pleaded Adelaide. "When was it and who was with you?"

There had been a little homesickness tugging at Mildred's heartstrings, and that last question brought the tears to her eyes and a tremble to her lips. She had a short struggle with herself before she could so command her voice as to speak quite steadily.

But when she had once begun it was not difficult to go on and give a circumstantial account of their journey to Indiana: especially as Adelaide proved a delighted and deeply interested listener.

"Thank you," she said, when the story had come to an end. "But do tell me more about your brothers and sisters—everything you can think of. What a lot of them there is! I think Cyril and Don must be comical little fellows."

"Yes; and very provokingly mischievous at times," Mildred said, laughing at the recollection of some of their pranks, which she went on to describe for Adelaide's entertainment.

But the sun had set and the air was so cold that they were compelled to seek the shelter of the cabin.

They found warmth and brightness there. Mrs. Dinsmore was half reclining on a sofa, her husband reading the evening paper by her side.

"Well, I'm glad you've come in at last," she said, with a reproachful look directed at Mildred. "It was really very thoughtless to keep Adelaide out so late."

"She didn't keep me, mamma," answered the child with spirit. "I could have come in any minute if I had chosen. I was not even asked to stay."

"Don't be pert, Adelaide," said her mother. "Dear me, how the vessel begins to rock! I shall be deathly sick before morning."

"That would have been less likely to happen if you had followed Mildred's example in staying on deck as long as possible," remarked her husband, turning his paper and beginning another article.

"I should have caught my death of cold," she retorted snappishly, "but perhaps you wouldn't have cared if I had. And I think it's quite insulting to have a chit of a girl like that held up to me as an example."

Mildred had walked away and did not hear this last remark. Adelaide had slipped her hand into Mildred's, and was saying, "I like you, cousin. We'll be good friends, shan't we?"

"It shall not be my fault if we're not," Mildred said, forcing a smile; for Mrs. Dinsmore's fault-finding had hurt her feelings and caused a decided increase of the homesickness. But determined to overcome it she gathered the children about her at a safe distance from their mother, and told them stories till interrupted by the summons to the tea table.

They had a rather rough sea that night and the next day, causing a good deal of sickness among the passengers. Mildred, taught by past experience, fought bravely against it seeking the deck soon after sunrise and spending almost the whole day there in company with her uncle.

The second day she experienced no difficulty and was joined by her cousins; but Mrs. Dinsmore kept her berth to the end of the voyage, and when the vessel arrived in port, came from her stateroom pale, weak and disconsolate.

The last stage of the journey was made in carriages.

They reached Roselands just as the sun was setting amid a mass of crimson, gold and amber-colored clouds forming a gorgeous background to a landscape of more than ordinary beauty.

"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Mildred, as her uncle handed her from the carriage. "I was prepared to be charmed with the place, but it exceeds my expectations."

"Let me bid you welcome and hope that first impressions may prove lasting, your stay here most enjoyable," he said, with a gratified smile.

But now Mildred's attention was taken up by the reception that had been prepared for them:—just such an one as she had often heard described by her mother.

The plantation was large; the dwelling also; and a dozen or more of house servants headed by the housekeeper, who was a very respectable white woman, had ranged themselves in a double row across the veranda, and down the wide entrance hall.

Their faces were full of delight, their hands held out in joyous greeting, glad words of welcome on every tongue, as master, mistress, guest, and children, with their attendants, passed slowly between the ranks, shaking hands and making kind inquiries right and left.

Some of the older ones remembered Mildred's mother, and our heroine's heart warmed toward them as they sounded "Miss Marcia's" praises, and averred that her daughter bore a striking resemblance to her in looks.

"Mrs. Brown, this young lady is my niece," said Mr. Dinsmore, laying a hand on Mildred's shoulder, and addressing himself to the housekeeper, "and I commend her to your special care. Please see that she is well waited upon, and wants for nothing that house or plantation can supply. Here, Rachel," to a young mulatto girl, "I appoint you Miss Mildred's waiting maid; you are to be always at her call, and do whatever she directs."

"Yes, massa," the girl answered, dropping a deep courtesy first to him, then to Mildred whom she regarded with a look of smiling approval, "dis chile berry glad ob de chance. Shall I show de way to yo' room, now, miss?" Mildred gave a smiling assent, and was immediately conducted to a spacious, elegantly furnished apartment, where an open wood fire blazed and crackled, sending around a ruddy light that rendered that of the wax candles in the heavy, highly polished silver candlesticks on the mantel, almost a superfluity.

Mildred sent a very satisfied, appreciative glance about her, then turning to her young handmaiden, who stood quietly awaiting her orders, asked if there were time to change her dress before tea.

"Yes, Miss, plenty time. Whar yo' trunks, Miss? Oh! heyah dey come," slipping out of the way of two of the men servants as they entered with Mildred's luggage.

Mrs. Brown followed close in their rear, bade them unstrap the trunks before leaving, inquired of Mildred if there were anything more she could do for her, and said she hoped she would be very comfortable.

"Rachel is young and has not had much experience in the duties of ladies' maid," she added, "but I think you will find her trusty and willing. Would you not like to have her unpack your things and arrange them in the bureau and wardrobe? Then the trunks can be put away out of sight till they are wanted again."

"Yes, that will be very nice," said Mildred, producing the keys. "But will there be time before tea?"

"Hardly, I'm afraid, Miss Keith, if you have any change to make in your dress; but later in the evening, if that will answer?"

"Oh, yes, quite as well."

Mrs. Brown took her departure, Mr. Dinsmore looked in for a moment to see that his young guest had not been neglected, and how she was pleased with her new quarters; then Mildred, left alone with her maid, opened a trunk, laid out the dress and ornaments she wished to wear, and proceeded with Rachel's assistance, to make a somewhat hurried toilet.

The tea-bell rang, and Adelaide's bright face peeped in at the door.

"Ready, cousin? I'll show you the way."

They entered the supper-room looking fresh and blooming as two roses.

Mr. Dinsmore assigned Mildred the seat of honor at his right hand, and complimented her on the becomingness of her attire.

She was the only guest, the children were all allowed to come to the table, and they were a merry family party, everybody rejoicing in being at home again after an absence of several months.

The table was loaded with delicacies, skillfully prepared; for old Phebe, the cook, was a real genius in the culinary art—the cloth was of finest damask, the service of rare china and costly silverware, and the attendance all that could be desired.

Pleading excessive fatigue, Mrs. Dinsmore retired to her own apartments immediately upon the conclusion of the meal.

"You look quite too fresh and bright to be thinking of bed yet," Mr. Dinsmore remarked, laying his hand affectionately on Mildred's shoulder; "will you come to the library with me?"

She gave a pleased assent and they were soon cosily seated on either side of the fire there, a table covered with books, papers and periodicals drawn up between them.

"How do you like this room?" Mr. Dinsmore asked.

"Oh, very much!" Mildred answered, sending a sweeping glance from side to side, noting all the attractions of the place, from the rich Turkey carpet, handsome rugs, comfortable chairs, couches and tables, to the long lines of well filled book shelves, statues, statuettes and busts, and two or three fine paintings on the walls.

"That is right," he said with a pleased smile. "I want you to feel perfectly at home here; coming in whenever you please and staying just as long as you like, reading, writing, studying or lounging; helping yourself with perfect freedom to books and writing materials; for whatever is in the room is entirely at your service."

Mildred was beginning to thank him, but he cut her short with, "Never mind that. Here's better occupation for you," handing her a package of letters as he spoke.

She took it with a joyful exclamation. "Letters from home! oh, I have been so hungry for them."

"Yes," he said, enjoying her delight, "but don't run away," for she had risen to her feet, evidently with that intention; "perhaps there may be a bit here and there that you'd like to read to me. And if they bring tears to your eyes, I'll not think the worse of you. Besides I shall be too busy with my own correspondence to take notice."

So she sat down again and presently forgot his presence in the interest of those written pages which seemed almost to transport her into the very midst of the dear home circle.

It was a family letter, every one, from her father down to Annis, contributing something; the little ones having each dictated a message to "Sister Milly;" but the greater part was from her mother, giving in pleasing detail the doings, sayings and plannings in their little world, the small successes and failures, the apparently trivial occurrences, the little joys and sorrows, little trials and vexations and little pleasures that make or mar the happiness of daily home life.

The mother's sweet, loving, trustful spirit breathed through it all. There were little jests that brought the smile to Mildred's lips or made her laugh outright—and these she read aloud to her uncle:—there were words of faith and patience that filled her eyes with tears; then at the last wise, tender, motherly counsels that stirred her heart to its inmost depths.

She would have given a great deal at that moment to be at home again, within sound of that beloved voice, looking into the dear eyes, feeling the gentle touch of the soft caressing hand. Oh, could she stay away for months?

The tears would come. She rose, crossed the room and stood before a painting, with her back to her uncle, who at that instant seemed wholly absorbed in a business letter which he held in his hand.

Recovering herself, she came back to the table.

Mr. Dinsmore looked up.

"I think we must have a ride to-morrow morning, Milly, you and Adelaide and I, shall it be at nine o'clock?"

Her eyes grew bright and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She was very fond of riding on horseback.

"I shall be delighted to go, uncle," she said, "and can be ready at any hour that may suit you best."

He considered a moment.

"I should not be surprised if you and Adie find yourselves inclined to take a long morning nap after your journey," he said. "We will say directly after breakfast, which will not be earlier than nine. Now I see you are wanting to retire; so bid me good night and away with you to slumbers sweet," and with a fatherly kiss he dismissed her.

Mildred's room was bright, warm and cheery as she had left it. Rachel was not there; and the trunks had vanished also, but the opening of wardrobe doors and bureau drawers showed their contents neatly bestowed therein.

An easy chair stood invitingly before the fire and dropping into it Mildred gave her letter a second perusal, mingling laughter and tears over it as before.

She sighed softly to herself as she folded it up, then glancing about the spacious, handsomely appointed room, smiled at thought of the contrast between her present circumstances and surroundings and those of a few weeks ago, when she was occupying a small, very plainly furnished room, and instead of having a maid at her beck and call, was constantly waiting upon and working for others.

The rest and ease of the present were certainly very enjoyable, yet she had no desire that the change should become a permanent one; home with all its toils and cares was still the sweetest, dearest place on earth.

Rachel came in to replenish the fire and ask if there was anything more she could do for the young lady's comfort.

"No, thank you, my wants are fully supplied," Mildred said with a smile. "I think I shall get ready for bed now."

"Den missy want her slippers and night clo's," remarked the girl hastening to bring them. "Shall dis chile' take down yo' hair and brush um out?"

"Yes," Mildred said; "when I have put on my dressing gown; and I'll read to you while you do it."

"Tank you, missy, dis child be berry glad to hear readin'," the girl answered with a look of pleasure, "can't read none herself and neber expects to know how. Dat's for white folks."

"Then I'll read the Bible to you every night and morning while you do up my hair," Mildred said. "It is God's word, Rachel; his letter to tell us the way to heaven and we need to know what it says."

"Spect we does, miss," responded the girl, with wide open, wondering eyes fixed on Mildred's face. "But nobody neber tole me dat befo'."

"Then here is work for me to do for the Master," thought Mildred, and sent up a silent petition, "Lord, teach me how to lead her to thee."