The morning was cloudless, and the garden looked beautifully, with its leaves and flowers glittering with dew-drops. But I only saw it from my window, for though Harriet and Mary, starting from sleep at the first sound of my voice, sprang eagerly up, and, dressing in haste, waited impatiently for the tap of Florence, which was to summon us to our morning walk; they waited in vain. Florence could not be awoke, or when awake, could not be induced to rise; and breakfast was announced, and we were all seated at table before she made her appearance. She looked far more discontented and dull than those whom she had disappointed. This did not surprise me, for I knew she could not feel very well pleased with herself; and those who are not, are seldom pleased with others.

"Well, Florence," said her father, "so you have slept so long that your friends have lost this fine morning in waiting for you, and have seen nothing of all you promised last evening to show them."

Florence colored, hung her head, and replied in rather a sulky tone, "I could not wake myself."

"No," said Mr. Arnott, "but—"

"Come, Mr. Arnott," said I, interrupting him, "the disappointment is past—we have many other pleasures in store for to-day, we can afford to postpone this one; and I doubt not Florence will be ready in time to-morrow. To secure it I will call her myself. May I, Florence?"

She looked pleased, and replied promptly, "Yes, ma'am."

I had two reasons for interrupting Mr. Arnott. One was, I thought Florence was already so much grieved and disappointed that it was useless to distress her farther. Another, and perhaps a more important reason was, that I wished to serve this little girl by helping her to correct her faults; and I felt that in order to be able to do this, it was quite necessary that she should learn to love me, to place confidence in my kindness, and take pleasure in my society. Now you will readily see that she would not be likely to do any of these things, if through me she were made to feel uncomfortably.

After breakfast, Mr. Arnott invited the children to take a walk with him, adding, "I have something to show you, which even Florence has not seen."

"Which I have not seen? What can it be? Do, papa, tell me what it is," said Florence, coming back from the door, which she had reached on her way for her bonnet.

"You will know in a few minutes," said Mr. Arnott, "that is, if you will put on your bonnet and come with me, instead of keeping us all waiting. See, Harriet and Mary are ready," pointing to them as they now entered the parlor.

Florence ran off for her bonnet, saying, however, as she went, "I will ask nursey—if she knows, I am sure she will tell me."

"She does not know," Mr. Arnott called out.

As I love pleasant surprises, especially when children are to enjoy the pleasure, this little mystery was a temptation to join the walkers too strong for me to resist, so before Florence came back, I was ready too, and went off as full of curiosity and pleased expectation as any of the party. Mr. Arnott led us through the garden into the orchard beyond it. As we entered the garden, Florence said, "Now I know what it is, papa—you are going to show us a new flower."

"Indeed, I am not, Florence."

As we passed into the orchard, she suddenly exclaimed, "Now I have it, papa, now I have it; the cherries we were looking at the other day are ripe, and you are going to get us some."

Her father smiled, but said nothing.

"That is it, papa, is it not?"

"Wait a few minutes, Florence, and you will see."

"Well, I give it up, now, for we have passed all the cherry-trees."

Mr. Arnott turned towards a wood which skirted the orchard on the north, and long before we reached it the secret was told; for, on the stoutest branch of a magnificent oak, which he had, by removing his fence, enclosed within the orchard, hung a swing—a new and strongly made swing, with a very comfortable seat. We all quickened our pace as we came in sight of it, and many were the exclamations of admiration and delight from the children.

"Such a beautiful swing, under such a cool, shady tree, how delightful!"

Florence jumped, danced, clapped her hands, and at length darted off, and, bounding into the swing, called to her father, "Come quick, quick, papa, and swing me."

"After I have swung your friends, my dear."

Florence looked disappointed, and both Harriet and Mary drew back, saying, "Oh no, sir! Swing Florence first."

Mr. Arnott saw that to persist in his politeness would distress them, so saying, "I will swing you twelve times, Florence," he touched the swing, and away it rose, rapidly yet steadily, through the air, higher and higher each time, till, as Mr. Arnott counted twelve, Florence shrieked, half with fear and half with delight. Mr. Arnott caught the swing as it descended, and stopped it.

"Oh papa! is that twelve?"

"Yes, Florence; did you not hear me count?"

"Well, just once more, papa."

Mr. Arnott stooped and whispered to her—she reddened, and getting down slowly, said, "Now, Harriet, you get in."

Harriet got in, and counting for herself, sprang out as the swing descended for the twelfth time. Mary had her turn, and looked so well pleased, that, had her father been in Mr. Arnott's place, she would, I doubt not, have said, like Florence, "Just once more, papa." As she came out Florence again sprang in.

"Now, papa, once, only once—or twice," she added, as her father extended his arm at her entreaty.

But after giving one toss to the swing, Mr. Arnott turned resolutely away, saying, "You are never satisfied, Florence, but I will not indulge you any farther this morning, for the sun is getting too warm for any of you to be here longer—in the cool of the evening we will try it again."

Florence looked not very well pleased, but as we all turned towards the house, she came out and followed us.