Rosalie came betimes to see her young friend, and as they walked together around the garden, they had much to say about the long journey, and the many strange things that Carrie had seen and heard, and then they came back again to home events, and to the school that Rosalie had just left, and that Carrie would soon enter, and this led them to speak of Jennie, who was to be Carrie's roommate.

"Has she no other name?" said Carrie to Rosalie; "I hear nothing but 'Jennie, Jennie,' all the time."

"Oh! her mother's name is Dunmore—that is, her adopted mother. Her own mother is dead; but isn't it strange, I never thought to ask her what her real name is! You can not help loving her, Carrie, I know. In the first place, she's beautiful, and that goes for something, I think; and then, she's as good as she is pretty. Why, Carrie, I do believe you are a little like her! There, throw your hat back, and let your hair fall about your shoulders, so—'tis strange! I should think you were sisters."

"Well, well, Rosalie, I should like to put my hat on when you have done admiring me; I suppose I shall see this paragon of a Jennie on Monday, if I live."

"She will not seem a paragon to you, Carrie, but a simple, loving, truthful girl, and before you know it, you'll have your arm around her neck and your lips to hers as if you had been friends all your life."

"What do you think of Madame La Blanche, Rosalie? Shall I be much afraid of her?"

"Afraid of her! Why, Carrie, she's as kind as my own mother, and many a time, when the girls are sad or home-sick, she sends for them to go to her pleasant room, and there she amuses them with pictures and curiosities until they forget all their sorrows. She doesn't seem like a school-teacher, Carrie, but like some dear affectionate relative."

"Well, it is very pleasant here in my own lovely home, and I dread leaving so soon again; and then, there's grandpa, I can not bear to be away from him. Nobody seems to cheer him as I can—can they, grandpa?" and the dear child sat down beside the old man upon the bench which they had just reached, and looked thoughtfully upon the bowed figure near her.

"You'll come every day to see him while I am gone—won't you, Rosalie? and try to keep him contented and happy? It seems so sad," continued she, "to have no real comfort in life excepting one little gleam, and then to have even that taken from you! Never mind, grandpa, Jennie will come back again, soon."

The old man picked up, one by one, some white petals that had fallen upon his knees from a tree near them, and, letting them drop again, said, "Don't stay long, dear little Jennie. Simon, is the swing safe? You'd better see that it is tied firmly to the branches."

"Yes, sir," said Simon; "I'll attend to it, sir. It is well, miss," he added, "that we have the old swing to fall back upon. Every day while you were gone, when your grandpa seemed uneasy about you, and asked often for you, I'd have to say, 'she's down to the old Buttonwood, sir—only down to the old Buttonwood;' and then he'd rest easy like. The time seemed weary and long to me, miss, as I put him off from day to day; but a year and a day is all the same to him, miss—all the same."

"Well, Simon," said Carrie, "I'm so glad you are here with him; I should never take a bit of comfort if you were not. Even in those strange countries, where there was so much that was new and beautiful to interest me, I could not forget the dear old figure beneath the trees at home, and the thought that you understood him and could cheer him was all that kept me contented and happy."

"Ah, miss, it's a dreadful bereavement!" said the old butler, shaking his head. "Such a noble-looking old gentleman as your grandfather was before this came upon him! I used to watch him as he walked up and down these avenues with Miss Jennie, that's dead and gone, upon his arm, and a prouder father I never saw. He's only a wreck now, Miss Carrie, a pitiful wreck!" and the good servant drew his coat-sleeve across his face, and turned hastily away.