Olive was standing at the window, with a thoughtful face. Any one who remembered seeing her on the porch one evening, a little over two years ago, and recalled her face then, compared to what it was now, would have said in incredulous amaze:

"What a change!"

She was now nearly seventeen, though she looked every day of twenty, both in face and figure. There was such a settled, purposeful look in the face, and so much strength and soul looking out from the eyes, that had been used to scowling fiercely, so much determination expressed in the mouth, that had caught the trick of smiling much more readily than it once had. Nor was this all of the change either; she had come to realize that care in personal attire, and a study of pleasing others, could frame the most unattractive in attractive guise, and indeed, they had done their work for her. Instead of wearing the very things that she knew did not harmonize with her peculiar dark complexion, she studied what was becoming. Her hair, which was luxuriously long and heavy, she wore in such a manner as to soften the severe outline to head and face, and waved it deeply in front, so that curly tendrils of hair lessened the height of her too-high brow, and gave a more girlish look to the thoughtful face. In short, the Olive of two years ago was not much like the Olive of to-day, and in what her character had changed, I leave you to find out for yourself.

She stood there, looking out, and something pleasing, evidently, caught her eye, for it brightened suddenly, then in a moment a look of regret chased the smile from her face.

"What is it, dear?" inquired Mrs. Dering.

"What, mama?"

"The faces of my girls are so dear to me, that I can read them quickly. Something pleased you, then brought an after-thought that was sad. What was it?"

"Nothing. I only saw Bea coming with Dr. Barnett."

"Ah!" The same smile, followed by a look of regret and a little sigh crossed Mrs. Dering's face, and she sewed a little faster than before, as if her thoughts were suddenly quickened by something. Dr. Walter Barnett had come to Canfield within the past year, rented a modest little office, hung out a neat, pretty sign to indicate that all persons afflicted with any of the ills to which flesh is heir, would always find him ready and anxious to do his best; and after a patient, hopeful struggle, he had now settled in a flourishing practise; for he was courteous and gentle, ready and willing, and always inspired the children with a liking, which old Dr. Potts, with his blue glasses and loud voice, could never do. Dr. Walter also taught the bible-class, and won the flinty hearts of the congregation, and the susceptible ones of the young ladies. He also frequently walked home with Beatrice Dering, and had fallen into the way of occasionally stopping in the evenings, if he happened to be passing and saw them in the yard. The old house, with its shady porches, clambering vines, and sheltering trees, made him think of his own home he said, and then Mrs. Dering, with her sweet, motherly ways, and surrounded by such lovely attractions, seemed to charm him; and Ralph Tremayne possessed a wonderful influence over him some way, which served to bring him there more frequently than he could have found an excuse for coming, if that young gentleman had not formed a part of the household.

Bea came up stairs in a little while, with a lovely color in her cheeks, and looking very bewitching indeed, with her soft bright eyes, a posy in her belt, and a merry smile on her lips.

"I met Dr. Barnett" she said, taking off her hat, and smoothing out the ribbons with a little thoughtful air; "he was just going to see that poor widow's little girl, who broke her back last week, and he stopped while I gathered some flowers for him to take to her. He is going to cure her if he can, and not charge anything. Isn't it good and kind in him, mama?"

"Yes, dear, very. He did not tell you so, did he?"

"Oh no; he's too modest. Mrs. Dane told me. She went to see the little girl, and took some things, for they are very poor, you know; and the mother told her, and just cried when she told how good and kind he was, and how he talked, and told Katie stories, when she was afraid to have her back fixed."

"He is a very estimable young man, and a true Christian, I think," said Mrs. Dering, watching Bea's animated face as she talked, and noticing that there was no touch of embarrassment or any trace of color, as she rehearsed her friend's praise.

"When I gave him the flowers," added Bea, taking the posy from her belt, and sniffing at the fragrant leaves, "he gave me these, and said we would exchange. He has a little window-garden in his office. I think that is so nice,—and these grew in it; they need some water now, poor little things. Hand me that vase, Olive! There!" Mrs. Dering went on with her sewing, and her heart, ever young, went back to the blissful days of her own life, like these in which Bea now lived, and she thought, with a smile:

"Bless the dear innocent little heart. She doesn't suspect yet how happy she is, nor what precious meaning the little exchange of posies will soon take unto themselves."

Olive was thinking of Bea's happy face and blithe laugh, and after her sister had gone singing from the room, she came over to her mother's side, and sat down on a stool there.

"Mama, are you glad?"

"Yes, dear, both glad and sad. A mother always dreads the time when she must begin to prepare herself to have her children leave her; but it must come, so if she can know that their new choice will bring them happiness, it, of course, lessens the pain which comes with losing them. Dr. Barnett is a good Christian, a perfect gentleman, and I think he loves Beatrice. I also think she is quite unconscious of it as yet, and I am very glad. I hope it will continue so. She is young yet, my dear little girl, and when she becomes aware of the new love, then I must be content with second place, and I do not want it to come yet."

"And, mama—"

"Well, dear." "I want to speak of something that may be all imagination on my part, and will take your word to settle it. But don't you think Ralph thinks a great deal of Kittie?"

"Yes, he does; but it is all a brotherly feeling, anything else would be nonsense! Why, they're nothing but children!" said Mrs. Dering a little sharply.

"I know Kittie is, and she never thinks of such a thing any more than a genuine kitten; but Ralph is twenty, mama," said Olive.

"I know; and very old for his age in many things, but at heart he is nothing but a boy. He has always been at home with his mother, and has an almost girlish love and preference for ladies' society. He and Kittie are genial in amusements, just as you and he are in books and ambitions. They love each other as brother and sister, but as nothing more. I should be sorely displeased if any other idea should ever reach either."

"It never will through me," said Olive. She then sat silent for a long time, and finally breaking the pause, by saying:

"Mama, do you remember, one night a long time ago, when we were all telling disappointments?"

"Yes, quite well."

"Of course, it was all nonsense; but I have often thought since, that some time, I would tell you what I wanted to do." "And am I to hear now?"

Olive smiled, and looked a little wistful.

"Yes, I guess I will tell you, though it will be no surprise to you. I want to study, but I can never do it in Canfield. When I was fourteen, I first thought of going to the city and studying in Cooper's Institute and coming home for over Sunday, and I began to save up my money for it. The money that I gave to papa was that, and I was at work on a head to take with me, because I thought perhaps I would have to have a trial picture. I knew I couldn't go then, because I was too young and inexperienced; but I'm older now, and if you would only say that you are willing, so that I could begin to put just a little money away every month—"

Mrs. Dering laid down her sewing, and looked in amaze at Olive's face, which had become so enthusiastic as she put her plea in a voice that trembled in its eagerness.

"My dear child, I had thought of that same thing for you."

"Why, mama!"

"I had, indeed; and is it possible that it has been your own thought and desire for so long? You have so cheerfully given up your own work and done that less tasteful, and so patiently waited for the time to come when you could use your own money, that I had decided on just this thing, and will draw enough money from the bank to send you. I have a dear old friend in the city who would be delighted to have you board with her during the week, and now that Ralph is here, you can and shall be spared from your work, and shall take a rest in doing the work that you love."

Olive looked speechless. Her eyes were full of sparkling tears, and her lips trembling with a smile. She evidently did not know what to say for some moments, then she exclaimed:

"Oh, mama! Is it really so? It seems too good to believe, I had almost given up hope, for it didn't seem as if I ever could go. Oh, how I will study and draw, so as to make money and make my name;" and overcome with joy and a desire to shed some happy tears, Olive jumped up and ran out.

In a day or two, however, something happened that deferred Olive's studies for a while longer. It was from Jean, a long letter, full of love and longings to see them all, and long reports of what the doctors were doing for her, and how she could stand straight now without her crutch, and would soon be able to take a step. And after all that, she began about Uncle Ridley: how kind and good he was, how she had everything she could think of; how they loved each other; and then came this piece of news:

"He wants one of the girls to come and make a visit, mama. He's often said so; but the other day he told me to write for one of them, which ever one I wanted, and he would pay her expenses. Now you know I never could choose which of the girls I'd love to see most, because I want to see them all so very much. But I think he wants to see Olive; he's often said so; and he's asked me so much about her, and said he'd like to know her because she was so impudent to him. Why was she? Do you know, mama? I think it's so strange, when he's such a dear, darling uncle. Anyhow, I think it would please him very much if she would come, and oh, how very happy I would be. Tell me what you think about it, and I do hope she'll come; and if she can't, please let one of the others, and hurry and let me know. I can hardly wait."

"Of course you'll go," said Kittie, when the letter was finished, and the question open to discussion.

"To be sure," said Kat. "Olive, you're a lucky girl. I wish I had been impudent to him."

"I always have wanted to see Congreve Hall," said Bea, with a little sigh. "How grand it would seem to live in a magnificent place that had a name to it. I suppose you'll stay a long time, Olive?"

"I wish he wanted any of you," said Olive, "and I believe he does. It's all Jeanie's notion, his wanting me. Fix Bea up, mama, and let her go. I have something else on my mind."

But Mrs. Dering shook her head. "I think Jean is right," she said. "Uncle Ridley is a peculiar old man and he thinks Olive is much like the Congreves; he told me so himself, and I think he wants you for that reason."

So great was Olive's consternation, that she sprang right up from her seat in dismay.

"Oh, mama! I want to see Jean; you know I do, but I can't give up my plan any longer; I can't. You don't think I ought to, do you?"

"What do you think about it, Olive?"

"I don't know; I think it's too bad," cried Olive; then fled from the room, as she always did when she found her emotions getting the mastery over her.

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Kat, in sympathy. "It is too bad when her heart is so set on her studies. That's the disadvantage of having a talent. Don't you suppose Uncle Ridley would be satisfied with me? I'd do my level best to be like the Congreves, if that is such an attraction to him."

"He'd go crazy with such a whirligig about as you," said Bea, a little envious of Olive's good luck. "I think I might go. I'm the oldest, and dear me, how I would enjoy it!"

"I would love to have you all go," said Mrs. Dering, thoughtfully creasing the letter in her fingers. "Congreve Hall was papa's home, and I would enjoy having you see it, would love to go myself, in fact, and when I think of my dear precious little girl, it seems as though I must go. But that cannot be, so it need not be thought of. As to Olive, Uncle Ridley is peculiar and quick, and he took a fancy to her, and if her going to see them would give him any pleasure, I am only too glad and willing to have her go. I am sorry the invitation came just now for the child has waited so patiently to study and work on her art, that delay will be a sore disappointment to her. But she will see through it rightly I am sure and be willing to wait a little longer."

"Mama," said Kat, reflectively, "don't you think Olive has changed very, very much?"

"Yes, dear."

"And especially since Ernestine went away. Why?" asked Kittie.

Mrs. Dering sighed and looked sad; she always did when Ernestine's name was mentioned.

"Olive's was a very unhappy disposition then, a great deal more so than she is now," she said. "What attractions she possessed, she hid by her faults; she did not try to please any one, but took her time in envying Ernestine's natural beauty and power to please. She made herself bitter, morose, and unattractive, then blamed others for showing any preference for her sisters. I think the lesson poor Ernestine taught was one that she took to heart deeply, and has profited much by."

"I notice she does not dislike Uncle Ridley as much as she used to," said Bea, smiling and looking very happy all at once as she caught sight of a gentleman coming up the shady walk. "Mama, here comes Dr. Barnett. I promised him some more flowers to take to little Katie Gregg. If he is not in a hurry I shall ask him in; and, Kat, I advise you to put up your hair. It looks like an Indian's that way."

"Who cares for old Barnett?" said Kat, as Bea flitted out. "My hair suits myself, and if he don't like it, he can look at Kittie's. Hers is as proper as ten commandments, with a killing bow fastened right on an angle with her ear. Now here comes Ralph, and I'm off. Kittie come down to the pond, and let's take a row."

"I will in a little while," said Kittie, putting her sewing aside; "but Ralph is going to help me with that example I couldn't get, and I'll do that first, then I'll be down."

"Well, I'll not look for you," said Kat discontentedly. "After you get your old example, there'll be something else, and then it'll be time to get dinner. I just abominate cousins!" and Kat slammed out of one door, just as Ralph came in at the other.

No one saw Olive again during the day, but just before supper she came down stairs and asked for mother.

"I don't know," said Kittie, flying about the kitchen with her big apron on. "She and Bea went down town this afternoon; I don't know whether they're back or not. If you're going in the sitting-room, tell Ralph to come; he said he'd beat the eggs, if I'd make a puff-cake."

So Olive went into the sitting-room, and sent Ralph out to the feminine employment of egg-beating, then she stood by the window and looked absently out at the shadowy yard. She was going to Virginia; she had decided on that, though the decision had cost some bitter tears and some stern reasoning; for her new plans, long held in check, were doubly precious in the sudden promise of fulfillment, and her whole soul, starved out on book-keeping and dusty offices, begged for a revel in the art she loved so well.

"After all," she mused, deciding grimly to look at the best side of things, "Jean says there is a gallery of grand pictures at Congreve Hall, and I suppose I can study and make copies of the ones that I like; and then"—the thought was a little distasteful to her—"I suppose I was unjust to Mr. Congreve, and ought to make amends if I can. We do owe him more than any amount of gratitude can ever repay, for all he's done for Jean, and I suppose I ought to call him Uncle Ridley, and have the dress made that he sent me; perhaps he'll recognize it;" then she laughed a little, to think what he would say at discovering her just accepting the present made two years ago. "A laugh sounds encouraging; what brings it Olive?" asked Mrs. Dering, having entered noiselessly.

"Nothing, I was just thinking," answered Olive. "I will go, mama, because I cannot help but think that I ought to, I was just deciding in my mind to call him Uncle Ridley, and have the black dress made. How soon shall I go?"

"I cannot tell yet; there is much that you will need done. I am very glad that you have decided in this way, Olive dear, though I know it was a sacrifice; but your art will become none the less precious through delay, and your decision shows a desire to retract some hasty judgments, and do justice to a peculiar old man, who, with all his faults and vagaries, has a heart as true as gold."

"I guess that's it," said Olive, with a little sigh; and then the supper-bell rang.

At the end of three weeks Olive was ready to go, and it was hard to tell whether she was any more enthusiastic with the idea or not. After the fashion of all young girls, she could not help but be pleased to see the accumulating pile of pretty things; to feel all the time that something, which might prove very pleasant, was going to happen; and that she was the cause of all the little bustle of preparation that filled the house, and engrossed the mind and hands of mother and sisters. There is always something, more or less exciting in the appearance of a trunk, and when packing time actually came, Olive found that she was beginning to indulge in some very pleasing anticipations.

"I expect Jean has grown very tall," said Bea one afternoon, as the girls were all gathered in Olive's room, and the big trunk stood open in the middle of the floor.

"Probably wears long dresses, and does her hair in a chignogger," said Kat, from a perch on the foot-board of the bed, where she rested in idle moments.

"'Tisn't to be supposed that she can be treated so like a young lady, and not get stuck up. Just to think of having a maid, and being called Miss Dering, when you are only twelve. Hollo, Kittie! hand me that pile of skirts, and I'll fold them."

"Dear me," said Kittie, handing over the snowy starched heap. "You have six white skirts, Olive, and three of them trimmed. I'd feel terribly fixed up, and lady-like with so many."

"Pooh! some girls have six dozen, with tucks, and ruffles and puffles on every blessed one of them," said Kat, making the starched cloth rattle with her vigorous folding.

"All nonsense," assented Kittie, down on her knees before the trunk. "Now hand me the things and I'll pack. Kat, you're knocking everything off the table, the way you whisk those skirts around. Hand me the black dress; that's the heaviest and must go in first."

"Where's the other black tip?" asked Bea, who was trimming the travelling hat. "There it is, you blew it behind the table with your whirlwind of skirts; hand it to me, Kat."

"What fun it is to pack and go away," said Kat, fishing out the desired feather with Olive's parasol. "You pack like a captain, Kittie. I'd most likely have put her best hat in the first thing, shoe polish next, and then tumbled in anything that I happened to lay my hands on. Dear me, I wish I was going."

"I really think it's too bad that you haven't a party dress, Olive," said Kittie, with some disapproval.

"Whatever would she do with a party dress," cried Kat, once more enthroned on the foot-board. "Who'd give a party, I'd like to know? One old man, a little girl, and a pile of servants!"

"Young Mr. Congreve is there," corrected Bea.

"S'pose he is; and anyhow, I hope you'll snub him, Olive; he's going to own Congreve Hall, and it ought to have been papa's. If he was a decent man he wouldn't take it. How are you going to treat him?"

"I don't know;—yes, I like the feather that way; you ought to see how nicely my dress hangs," said Olive, in a little flutter of pleasing excitement. "Really, it's quite nice getting ready to go away. I only wish the visit was over and done with, and all this preparation was for sending me off to study."

"Don't worry about your studying, you're twice as smart now as any of us," said Bea, surveying her work, from its perch on her finger. "Now try this on, Olive, I've tipped the feather a little more to one side, and it looks more jaunty—just the thing too; isn't that becoming girls?"

"Perfectly mag!" exclaimed Kat, making an eye-glass of her hands, and falling into a rapture of admiration that pretty near upset her from the foot-board.

"I declare, you're going to be very distinguished looking, Olive," said Kittie, resting from her packing to survey, and pass an opinion. "And a cocked hat is very becoming. The next thing we hear, you will be creating a sensation in Staunton that will shake the whole of Virginia."

"Very likely," laughed Olive; but she looked pleased, for there was honest admiration in each sister's voice; and, after all, it is no small thing to be going off alone, with a trunk filled by loving hands, a new cocked hat that is becoming, and the pleasing thought of looking well in all respects, and perhaps "distinguished."

The day for departure came at last; and in the afternoon sunshine, Olive, trunk and satchel stood on the porch, waiting for the express wagon; and the front door stood open, and there was a great deal of laughing and talking going on within, that sounded very gay and happy. Dr. Barnett had taken advantage of the little excitement to drop in, though he had been around only the evening before, and bid Olive good-bye, with much ceremony and many good wishes; but no one seemed to object to his being on hand again, for Bea looked her unconscious happiness, and Mrs. Dering was cordial and kind, and the young doctor was in a dream of bliss.

"Where's Ralph?" exclaimed Olive, suddenly, when the real good-bye moment had fairly come; if such it could be called, when the whole family were going to the depÔt with the young traveller.

"He's gone, sure enough!" said Kittie, after some hasty and lusty calling had taken place. "I suppose he's gone on down to the train; but it's funny the wagon don't come."

"I'll trot down to the gate and see if it is in sight," volunteered Kat, who was obliged to keep moving as a vent to excitement; but just as she started, there rattled up to the gate, in great style, the handsomest of Canfield's two hacks, and out of it sprang Ralph.

"I wanted you to go off in style," he said, well pleased with himself when he saw Olive's delighted look. "Here cabby, is the trunk! Now, ladies—hollo, doctor! you going to the train?"

"Well, really," said Dr. Barnett, hesitating, "I hadn't thought, but, if Miss Olive will allow me, I'll be happy." He said Miss Olive, but, bless you! he looked right straight at Miss Beatrice, and she smiled; and after that, neither ever knew whether Olive was willing or not.

"This is putting on style with a vengeance," said Kat, as the ladies seated themselves in the back, after the trunk had been tossed aloft. "People will think the whole family is departing for Europe."

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