The neighbors were very kind; coming in with offers of assistance in nursing the sick, bringing dainties to tempt their appetites, encouraging them with the assurance that they were but sharing the common lot; "almost everybody expected a chill about once in two or three weeks; especially this time of year; and they weren't often disappointed, and thought themselves fortunate if they could stop at one paroxysm till the week came round again.

"Quinine would generally stop it, and when people had a long siege of the ague, they often got used to it so far as to manage to keep up and about their work; if not at all times at least between the chills, which as a general thing came only every other day.

"Indeed it was no unusual thing for them to feel quite bright and well on the intermediate day."

The Lightcaps were not a whit behind the others in these little acts of kindness. Rhoda Jane forgot her envy of Mildred on learning that she was sick and seemed to have lost her relish for food.

One morning Miss Stanhope, who was getting breakfast, was favored with an early call from Miss Lightcap.

She appeared at the open kitchen door basket in hand, and marched in without stopping to knock. "I heerd Miss Mildred was sick and couldn't eat nothin'," she said; "and I knowed you hadn't no garden sass o' your own; so I fetched over some tomats; we have a lot this year, real splendid big ones, and there ain't nothin' tastes better when you're gettin' over the agur, than tomats.

"Just you cut 'em up with vinegar and pepper and salt, and if she don't say they're first-rate eatin'—I'm mistaken; that's all."

"Thank you, you're very kind, Miss Nightcap," said Aunt Wealthy, looking so pleased and grateful that the girl could not take the misnomer as an intentional insult.

"Pshaw!" she said, "it's nothin'; we've plenty of 'em."

Having emptied her basket upon the table, she was starting for the door, but looked back.

"Say, do you want a girl?"

"Yes, indeed, if we can get one that's worth anything."

"Well, Celestia Ann Hunsinger told me she wouldn't mind coming here for a spell; 'cause she wants money to git new clo'es."

"What sort of a girl is she?"

"Pretty high-strung and spunky, but some punkuns for work."

"Thank you. I'll tell Mrs. Keith about it, and send you word directly after breakfast."

"All right. I guess she'll come if you want her."

She was scarcely gone when the door at the foot of the stairs opened, and Mildred's pale face appeared.

"Aunt Wealthy, it is too bad to see you at work here. Let me get breakfast. I do think I can. The children are dressing each other, mother has the baby and won't let me do anything up there."

"Well, you'll not find me a whit more tractable," returned Miss Stanhope. "Let you get breakfast, indeed! I'd be worse than a brute if I did.

"Go into the sitting-room and lie down on the lounge," she continued taking up one of the finest tomatoes and beginning to divest it of its skin, "and I'll bring you something presently that I really hope will taste good to you.

"That Miss Heavycap brought you a present. She's not over refined, but good-hearted, I think, in spite of her rude ways and rough talk."

"Yes, they have been very kind and neighborly; I wish they were the sort of people one could enjoy being intimate with," Mildred said, languidly. "Auntie, let me skin those tomatoes."

"Child, you look ready to drop."

"Do I?" smiling faintly, "well, I'll sit down to it. I really can't let you do everything. How fine and large these are; are they what Rhoda Jane brought?"

"Yes; for your breakfast. I hope you'll relish them; and the corn-pone I have in the oven, too."

"See here! haven't I learned how?" cried Rupert exultingly, stepping in at the open door and holding up a foaming bucket of milk "Viny never persuaded old Suky to give us so much."

"It's beautiful," said Aunt Wealthy, taking it from him with a congratulatory smile. "I'll strain it at once before the cream begins to rise."

"I'll carry the pans down cellar. And what more can I do, auntie?"

"You may draw the butter up out of the well, presently, when breakfast is quite ready."

"And let it down again when the meal's over. Hello, Milly! is that you? how white and weak you look!"

"Yes," she said, laying the last tomato in the dish, "I believe I'll have to lie down, as Aunt Wealthy bade me, till breakfast is ready."

She tottered into the sitting-room and laid herself down on the lounge feeling so miserably weak and forlorn, so homesick for the old home where they had all enjoyed good health, that the tears would come in spite of every effort to restrain them.

Breakfast was to be eaten here; the table was already set, neatly, too, with snowy cloth, shining silver and delicate china; but there was a look of discomfort about the room that vexed and tried her orderly soul; sand on the carpet, dust on the furniture, children's toys and a few articles of clothing scattered here and there—and she had no strength to rise and put it in order.

"And no one else is much better able," she sighed to herself, "for Aunt Wealthy, mother and Zillah have all had chills within a week. Oh dear, this dreadful country! why did we ever come to it!"

She heard her father's voice in the kitchen.

"Here, Aunt Wealthy, is some steak; rather better than usual, I think; can we have a bit broiled for breakfast?" and Miss Stanhope's cheery tones in reply,

"Yes, Stuart, I'll put it right on. I'm so glad you succeeded in getting some fresh meat. It's something of a rarity to us in these days, and I hope they'll all relish it, Marcia and Milly, especially; for they both need something to build up their strength."

"Where are they? not able to be up?"

His tone was anxious and concerned.

Mildred did not catch the words of Miss Stanhope's reply, but the door opened, her father came to her side, stooped over her and kissed her pale cheek tenderly.

"How are you, daughter? Don't be discouraged; we'll have you all right before long."

"O father, I'm so out of heart," she sobbed, raising herself to put her arms round his neck and lay her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, that won't do! you must be brave and hopeful," he said, stroking her hair. "You're not so very ill, my child; ague is not a dangerous disease."

"It isn't that, but there's so much to be done and nobody to do it; we're all so poorly."

"Don't fret about the work; we'll find some one to do it."

"But they don't do it right. Viny never would spread up a bed straight or sweep or dust without leaving half the dirt behind her. And when she washed she faded the calicoes, shrank the flannels and made the white clothes a wretched color, though she tore them to pieces with hard rubbing and wringing."

"Well, we'll have just to try not to mind these trifles or be too particular," he said, soothingly. "Ah, here comes the breakfast," as Miss Stanhope, Rupert, Zillah and Ada trooped in, each bearing a dish, "let me help you to the table."

"I don't feel in the least hungry," she objected.

"Then eat to please father."

"And mother too," said Mrs. Keith coming in with Baby Annis in her arms. "Come, daughter, dear, auntie has prepared an excellent meal for us. With some help from our kind neighbors too, I hear."

"Yes," assented Miss Stanhope, "and I've directed them according to preparations and they do taste good. Come now; when I see you eating, I'll tell you a bit of news the girl brought besides."

Mildred laughed, felt her spirits begin to rise, tasted the tomatoes, pronounced them excellent and went on to make a good hearty meal.

The world looked brighter after that.

It had been decided to try Miss Hunsinger if she could be got. Mr. Keith went in search of her shortly after breakfast, and within an hour she was duly installed into office.

She was a tall, strong woman with a large proportion of bone and muscle; ditto of self-conceit and impudence united to uncommon energy and decision, and a faculty of turning off a great amount of work; doing it thoroughly well too.

At first she seemed a great improvement upon Viny, and Mildred's heart rejoiced in a complete sweeping, dusting and setting to rights of the whole house.

The children had been sent out to play in the shade of the sapling grove, while Mrs. Keith superintended the operations of the new help, and Miss Stanhope and Mildred, in the parlor, busied themselves, the one with the week's mending for the family, the other over her sometime neglected studies.

"She's a real new broom—is my Celestia Ann," said Mrs. Keith, coming cheerily in, "leaves no dirty corners or cobwebs, no wrinkles in sheets or spreads."

"O, mother, what a blessing?" cried Mildred, "if she'll only stay so."

"Ah, there's the rub! she cannot be a rose without a thorn. What was it Rhoda Jane said of her, Aunt Wealthy?"

The old lady reflected a moment ere she answered.

"Large potatoes, I think it was, Marcia; and I understood it to mean that she was a good worker. Something also that gave me the impression that she might be high-tempered and saucy. But as you say, we cannot expect thorns without roses."

"She's getting dinner now," remarked Mrs. Keith, "and seems to feel as much at home there as about her other work. I've told her what to get, and showed her where everything is; and now I shall leave her to her own devices; and see what will be the result."

Half an hour later the door of the parlor, where now the whole family were gathered, was thrown open with the announcement,

"Dinner's ready; all on the table here."

Having given the summons Miss Hunsinger rushed back to the table in advance of the family, seated herself, spread out her elbows upon it and with a nonchalant air said, "Come, folks, it's all ready; set right up."

There was a rapid exchange of glances among the party addressed, but not a word of remonstrance or disapproval was uttered. Physically unequal to the work that must be done, they were helpless in the hands of their "help."

The meal was begun in a profound silence which she was the first to break.

"Ther's some hot biscuits out thar," with a jerk of the head toward the kitchen door.

"You may bring some in," said Mrs. Keith.

"Just let one o' your gals do it this time, I will next. Turn about fair play you know."

Mildred's eyes flashed, and she opened her lips to speak; then closed them firmly as she thought of the consequences to her mother and aunt should this girl be sent away before she was able to take up even a part of the burden of the work.

"I'll go, mother," said Zillah, hastily leaving her place, "I don't mind it; but if I were paid for doing it, I would want to earn my money by doing it myself."

"Well, my dear, what do you think of your new help?" queried Mr. Keith, mischievously when they had withdrawn to the privacy of the parlor.

"The thorn is rather large and sharp," she answered laughing, "but we are not the only people in the world who must make a choice of evils."

"For my part," said Mildred severely, "I think it's a species of dishonesty to take pay for doing the work of a family and then ask them to do it themselves."

"Aren't you a trifle too hard on her, dear?" said Miss Stanhope. "It was very forward and impertinent, but I think hardly dishonest, because she is not expected to do quite all the work of the family."

"Here comes Emmaretta Lightcap," said Ada, who was standing in the open doorway. "She has an old faded calico dress, and sunbonnet and bare feet, just as usual; and a tin pan in her hands."

"Come in, Emmaretta."

The little girl stepped over the threshold and approaching Mrs. Keith said,

"Here's more tomats mother sent you and a bird for her," pointing to Mildred, "Gote he's been out shootin' and he sent it to her."

"He's very kind, take him my thanks for it," said Mildred, coloring, and vexed with herself for doing so. "Please tell your sister, too, that I thank her for the tomatoes and that I liked them very much."

"Are you a comin' to our school? cause Miss Damaris, she said you was," said the child, turning to Ada, while waiting for her pan, which Zillah had carried away to empty it.

"No! no, indeed!" cried Ada; "I don't like her, and wouldn't go there for anything!"

"Hush, hush, Ada! you don't know Miss Drybread," said Mrs. Keith, quite surprised at the outbreak.

"Yes, mother; don't you remember she was here one day?"

"Rhoda Jane, she's comin' over to see you this evenin'," said the little maid, taking her pan and departing.

Mildred's countenance fell; she appreciated Rhoda Jane's kindness; but could not enjoy her society.

"Why, Ada," said Mr. Keith, "I knew nothing of your dislike to Miss Drybread; and so when she met me in the street this morning and asked me to send her a scholar, I thought of Milly's sickness and that she must not have so much to do, and promised that you should go."

"O father!" exclaimed the child beginning to cry.

Then they all tried to comfort her, and finally she grew in a measure reconciled to her fate.