The cottage was all furnished, and had even a foot stove for the old lady, and a soft, stuffed easy chair in the parlor, while on the woodshed wall hung Reuben's tools; and what do you think hopped up from under a board as Violet stood looking at these? Toady, on his three legs, who winked his one round eye at her, as if he would say, "Isn't all this fine?"

Then there was a school room, where Violet's pupils came every morning, and learned to love her as if she were their own sister.

After school she would tell them stories about the birds, and squirrels, and flowers, among which she had lived so long, or take them to walk in the old pleasant places.

They told their sister Narcissa, who, like Violet, was grown to a young lady now, so much about the new teacher, that one pleasant day she went to the cottage with them.

Violet was grieved to see how the handsome face was scarred and spoiled; but Narcissa said,—

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me, Violet—that accident; it cured me of pride and selfishness."

And it had, truly. Narcissa was so gentle and patient, you would not have known her for the same person. She grew as fond of Violet as the children were; and when they were busy in the school room, studying, she would often sit and read to the old lady in the sunny little room where she slept and spent almost all her time. This room looked out towards the violet beds, and over it the vines grew most luxuriantly; their blossoms looked in at her window, and their shadows flickered over the bright-red carpet; while old Mary sat in her easy chair thinking of Reuben, who was dead and gone, and rejoicing that she could live and die where every thing reminded her of him, and be buried by his side.

By his side she was buried, under the great elm tree, but not until she had lived many years in the cottage with Violet—the happiest years of her life.

Then Violet's friends at the great house said she had better go and live with them, it was so lonely in the old place now; and about this time Alfred came home from India, where he had lived long enough to grow very sickly and very rich.

He told Violet that he had been earning money to take care of her, and now, if she would be his wife, they might still live in the cottage and be happy all their days.

But Alfred's father was proud and ambitious, and would not be satisfied to have his son marry a poor berry girl. This Violet knew well enough; so she never told Alfred that she loved him, but only said "No" to his offers, at which he felt so badly he threatened to shoot himself.

But instead of this, he concluded afterwards to marry some one else—a lady, rich, and accomplished, and gay, who made the great house merrier than it had ever been before she went to it.

There were balls, and parties, and concerts, strangers coming and going constantly; there was no such thing as quiet.

Violet was unwilling to exchange for this her pleasant, sunny little cottage; the vines and the elm tree and crowded garden beds had grown so dear to her, and the very birds and squirrels seemed to know and love Violet, and sing and chip to her, "Do stay."

How could she refuse? Who would take care of poor Toady if she went? and who would feed the old faded cat lying now on the doorstep half asleep, opening half an eye sometimes to watch her kittens play, and then going off into a doze again like a worn-out grandmother, as she had become.

Who will believe it?—she was the same kitten that followed Violet into the wood about the time our story began, and wasn't old enough then to catch a cricket or keep from drowning in the brook.