B"BESSIE," said Harry, as the children were at their supper, and he saw his little sister sitting with her spoon in her hand and her eyes fixed on the table as if she had forgotten the bread and butter and berries before her,—"Bessie, what are you thinking of."

"Of Miss Adams," said the little girl.

"Nurse said she was talking to you ever so long," said Fred; "what was she saying?"

"I don't think she meant me to talk about it," said Bessie; "she didn't want nurse to hear, and so I shall only tell mamma and Maggie. You know I must tell mamma everything, and I couldn't help telling my own Maggie."

"She is a queer dick," said Fred, "pulling your hair, and tormenting you out of your life one time, and telling you secrets another. The idea of a grown woman telling secrets to a little snip like you!"

"No snip about it!" said Maggie; "and if I was everybody, I'd tell Bessie every one of my secrets."

"That's right, Maggie. You always stand up for Bessie and fight her battles; don't you?"

"But, Bessie," said Harry, "did Miss Adams tell you you mustn't repeat what she said?"

"No," said Bessie.

"Then there's no harm in telling."

"Oh, Harry!" said Fred. "If Bessie knows Miss Adams don't want her to talk about it, she ought not to tell any more than if she had promised; ought she, father?"

"Certainly not," said Mr. Bradford; "it would be unkind as well as dishonorable."

"Yes," said Maggie; "it is not to do to others as I would that they should do to me."

"Exactly, little woman," said her father, "and remember, dear children, that is a very safe rule to be guided by, when we do not feel sure whether a thing is fair or not."

"Bessie," said Fred, "tell us what ails the colonel. I suppose you know, for all the grown-uppers seem to be telling you their secrets."

"Why, that's not a secret! His leg is cut off."

"Don't think I don't know that. I mean, what makes him so grumpy? He isn't like the same fellow he was when he first came down here."

"Fred," said Bessie, giving him a reproving look, "you're not polite at all to talk that way about my soldier. He's not a fellow, only boys are fellows, and he's a big gentleman. And he's not that other thing you called him,—I sha'n't say it, because it is a very ugly word."

"And it's saucy to say it about the colonel," said Maggie.

"I don't care," said Fred. "It's true; isn't it, Hal? He used to be the best company in the world,—always ready to tell us boys stories by the hour, and full of his fun and jokes. But for the last few days he has been as solemn as an owl, with no fun to be had out of him, and if one can get him to talk, it always seems as if he were thinking of something else. He's as cross as a bear too. Now don't fire up, Bess; it's so. Starr, his man, says he was never half so impatient or hard to please all the time he was sick as he has been for the last ten days."

"Fred," said Mrs. Bradford, "you should not talk to a servant of his master's faults."

"He didn't, mother," said Harry,—"at least, not in a way you would think wrong. The colonel was dreadfully dull and out of sorts the other day, though he declared that nothing ailed him, and seemed quite provoked that we should ask, though any one could see with half an eye that something was the matter. Starr was hanging round, bringing him this and that, books and newspapers, coaxing him to have something to eat or drink. At last he asked him if there was nothing he could do for him, and the colonel thundered at him and said, 'Yes, leave me alone.' Then he got himself up on his crutches and went off, and would not let Starr help him. The man looked as if he had lost every friend he had in the world. So Fred told him he didn't believe the colonel meant anything. Starr said he was sure he did not, for he was the best master that ever lived. But he was troubled about it, for he was sure that something was wrong with him. Fred said perhaps his wounds pained him worse; but Starr said no, the wounds were doing nicely, and the colonel was not a man to make a fuss about them if they did pain him, for all the time he was suffering so dreadfully that no one thought he could live, he never heard a complaint or a groan from him. And it was then he said the colonel was far harder to please, and more impatient than when he was so ill."

"Maybe he wants to get back to his regiment," said Fred.

"No, it is not that,—at least, Mrs. Rush says it is not; for this morning, when I was standing in the hall, the doctor came out of the room with Mrs. Rush, and he said her husband had something on his mind, and asked if he were fretting to be with his regiment. And she said, 'Oh, no, the colonel never frets himself about that which cannot be.'"

"Didn't she tell him what it was?" asked Fred.

"No, but I guess she, too, thinks there's something wrong with him, for the doctor told her she must not let anything worry him, and she did not say a word. And when he went, and she turned to go back to her room, her face was so very sad."

"She's just the sweetest little woman that ever was made," said Fred, who was a great admirer of Mrs. Rush, "and I don't know what he can have to make him fret. I should think he had everything a man could want."

"Except the one great thing," said Grandpapa Duncan, in a low voice to himself.

Mr. Bradford, who had been listening to what his children were saying, but had not spoken, now walked out on the piazza, where he stood watching the clearing away of the storm. In a moment or two Bessie followed him, and silently held out her arms to him to be taken up.

"Papa," she said, as he lifted her, "do you think my soldier has a trouble in his mind?"

"I think he has."

"Wont you help him, papa?" said Bessie, who, like most little children, thought her father able to help and comfort every one.

"I could only show him where he could find help, my darling, and I do not think he cares to have me tell him."

"Then is there no one that can help him, papa?"

"Yes, there is One who can give him all the help he needs."

"You mean the One who lives up there?" said Bessie, pointing to the sky.

"Yes. Will my Bessie pray that her friend may receive all the help he needs from that great merciful Father?"

"Oh, yes, papa, and you'll ask him, and my soldier will ask him, and he'll be sure to listen; wont he?"

Mr. Bradford did not tell his little girl that the colonel would not ask such aid for himself; he only kissed her and carried her in. Bessie did not forget her friend that night when she said her evening prayers.

Maggie and Bessie went over to the hotel the next morning with their mother. After making a visit to their grandma, they thought they would go to see the colonel, so they ran away to his room. Mrs. Rush was there busy, and she told them the colonel was out on the piazza. He was reading the newspaper, but threw it down when they came, and was very glad to see them. Bessie looked at him earnestly, to see if she could see any signs of trouble about him. But he seemed much as usual, laughing and talking pleasantly with them. But she could not forget what Harry had said, and she turned her eyes so often upon him with a questioning look that he noticed it, and said, "Well, my pet, what is it? What do you want to know?"

"Does something trouble you?" asked Bessie.

"Trouble me!" he repeated. "What should trouble me?"

"I don't know," she answered; "but I thought maybe something did."

"What have I to trouble me?" he again asked, carelessly. "Have I not the dearest little wife and two of the dearest little friends in the world, as well as pretty much everything else a reasonable man could want? To be sure, another leg would be a convenience, but that is a small matter, and we will see what Palmer can do for me one of these days; he will make me as good as new again."

Bessie was not quite satisfied. Though the colonel spoke so gayly, she felt sure there had been something wrong, if there was not now. She still watched him wistfully, and the colonel, looking into her loving eyes, said, "If I were in any trouble, you would help me out of it, Bessie; would you not?"

"If I could," she answered; "but I couldn't do very much, I'm too little. But we know who can help us; don't we? and we can tell Him. Mamma has a book named 'Go and tell Jesus.' Aint that a pretty name? I asked her to read it to me, and she said I couldn't understand it now. When I am older, she will; but I can understand the name, and I like to think about it when I have been naughty or have a trouble."

"May your troubles never be worse than they are now, little one," said the colonel fondly, with a smile; "and one of your troubles is done with, Bessie. Do you know that your enemy, Miss Adams, is gone?"

"Oh, she is not my enemy any more," said Bessie; "we are friends now, and I am glad of it, for I don't like to be enemies with people."

"Ho, ho!" said the colonel. "How did that come about? I thought she wanted to make it up with you, but I did not see how it was to come about when you were off like a lamp-lighter every time she came near you."

Then Bessie told how Miss Adams' presence of mind had saved Franky from falling into the stream, "And then we talked a little," she said, "and I told her I was sorry I had been saucy, and kissed her, and so we are all made up."

"That was the way; was it?" said the colonel. "I do not think you were the one to ask pardon."

"Oh, she did too," said Bessie; "she said she was sorry she teased me."

"And what else did she say?"

"I don't think she meant me to talk about it, 'cause she didn't want nurse to hear."

"Then I wont ask you, honorable little woman."

"And she sent us home in the pony-carriage when the rain was coming, and ran all the way to our house herself, and mamma was very much obliged to her," said Maggie.

"Well," said the colonel, "I suppose I shall have to forgive her too, since she saved you from a wetting, and took a bad cold in your service. We all wondered how she came to be so drenched, but she would not tell us how it happened."

"Did she take cold?" asked Maggie. "Mamma said she would, but she said nothing ever hurt her."

"Something has hurt her this time. They say she was really ill when she went away this morning, and some of the ladies tried to persuade her to wait until she was better. But go she would, and go she did. Here comes Mrs. Rush to take me for a walk. Will you go with us?"

The children were quite ready, and, mamma's permission gained, they went off with their friends.

But although this was the last they saw of Miss Adams, it was not the last they heard of her. Mrs. Bradford was right. Miss Adams had been wet to the knees in the brook, and much heated by her long run; and then again thoroughly drenched in the rain, and when she reached home, the foolish girl, for the sake of making people wonder at her, would not change her clothes. She took a violent cold, but, as the colonel had said, insisted on travelling the next morning, and went on till she was so ill that she was forced to give up. She had a long illness, from which it was thought she would never recover, but she afterwards said that this was the happiest thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

Sometime after this, about Christmas time, came a letter and a little parcel to Bessie. The letter said,—

"My dear Little Bessie,—

"Tell your mother I scorned her advice the day we were caught in the rain, and paid well for my folly, for I was very ill; but there was a good, kind doctor, who came and cured me, and now he is going to 'take care of me and my money, and make me behave myself.' He thinks he can make the 'kitchen lady' less of a mad-cap; but I do not know but that my long illness has done that already. While I lay sick, I had time to think, and to feel sorry that I had acted so wildly and foolishly as to leave myself without a true friend in the world. I shall never forget you, Bessie, and I hope you will sometimes think kindly of me, and that you may do so, will you ask your mother to let you wear this bracelet in remembrance of

Clara Adams."