In a fortnight Mary and Ellen had taken possession of their neat plain room at Mrs. Maclean's, and Mr. Villars had set out on his journey to some place in Carolina. It was autumn, but the weather had not yet become at all cold. Mrs. Maclean was a lover of flowers, and the little court-yard before her house was really gay with its golden marigolds, its pink and white artemisias, and its purple dahlias. We have said that Mrs. Maclean was a widow. She had no children of her own, and it was with real pleasure that she prepared for the reception of these young girls. Mr. Villars had sent over the furniture for their room, and she had begged that they would come over themselves and direct its arrangement. And how patiently did she obey their directions! Now the bedstead was put behind the door, because Mary thought that the right place for it; and now wheeled into the corner near the fireplace, because Ellen thought it would look best there. The looking-glass was hung first in one pier and then in the other, and then moved back again to the first. In short, every piece of furniture made a journey around the room before it found an abiding place, and yet Mrs. Maclean showed no weariness or impatience,—a fact on which Ellen dilated with great emphasis to her uncle in Mrs. Merrill's presence—declaring that "Mrs. Maclean was so good-natured, she was sure she should love her dearly."

When Mr. Villars took the sisters to their home on the evening before he left H., Ellen carried him up to their room—explained to him all the advantages of its present arrangement—and especially challenged his admiration for the mantelpiece, on which Mrs. Maclean had placed two china mugs filled with her brightest flowers. More pleasant than all to Mr. Villars, was her satisfaction. While his children smiled so cheerfully and appeared so animated, he felt that there was little to regret in their change of circumstances. It was noon the next day before Mr. Villars was at leisure to make his farewell visit at Mrs. Maclean's. As soon as he came within view of the parlor windows, he saw Ellen standing at one of them, looking out. She saw him too, and running out opened the little gate for him.

"Oh, Uncle Villars, I thought you were never coming, I have been looking for you so long."

"That was very unprofitable labor, Ellen, for it could not bring me here any sooner. Where is Mary?"

"Up stairs in our room—come softly, Uncle Villars," here Ellen lowered her voice to a whisper, "come softly, and I do believe you may get close up to her without her knowing it—she is so busy sewing."

Ellen tripped lightly on herself, and Mr. Villars with a smile followed with as quiet a step as possible. They ascended the staircase, the door was opened without the least noise, and Ellen, motioning to her uncle to stand still, stole on towards her sister. Mary sat near the window, but though her face was towards it, she was not looking out. Her head was bent down over a piece of embroidery, and her fingers were moving quickly while she sang in a low suppressed voice to a cheerful tune an old song, the words of which ran thus—

As she finished her song, Ellen, who now stood close beside her, though unperceived, took up the strain and warbled,

"Ah truant!" said Mary, with a smile, "you will not win much treasure, I am afraid. See how much I have done while you have been looking out for Uncle Villars, and all your looking has not brought him."

"No—but if I could only persuade you to take your eyes from your work and just give one glance over your shoulder, he would be here I know; try it, Mary."

"No, butterfly, I mean to be a bee, and you shall not tempt me to lose time."

"There, Miss Bee, is that losing time?" asked Ellen, as, putting a hand on each side of Mary's head, she turned it suddenly round to where Mr. Villars stood, amused by the scene.

"Why, Uncle Villars!" exclaimed Mary, dropping her work in her surprise and pleasure, and hastening to meet him, "how long have you been there?"

"Long enough to hear most of your song, Mary. But what pretty work is this?" asked Mr. Villars, as he picked it up and handed it to her.

"A cape which Mrs. Melville sent me this morning to embroider for her; and see, she has sent Ellen some cambric handkerchiefs to hem."

"And how much have you done to them, Ellen?"

"I have done half a side to one of them."

Mr. Villars shook his head, and Ellen coloring, said, "Well, Uncle Villars, I do hate so to hem handkerchiefs; it is all the same thing over and over again. Now there is some pleasure in embroidering."

"But my little girl must learn to take pleasure in winning treasure," said Mr. Villars, pleasantly.

"I should like very well to have the treasure, Uncle Villars, if you mean money, but I do not see much pleasure in winning it."

"But I do not mean money only, Ellen, that is the treasure of earth; but you remember the bee won that of the sky too, and I would have you, my dear child, win the best of all treasures, a disciplined, well-regulated mind and heart; and the surest way to do this, is by steady perseverance in what you know to be right, however disagreeable it may be to you; and to encourage you, let me tell you that the things you like least will become pleasant to you as soon as you have made up your mind to do them, because they are right."

This was Mr. Villars' parting lesson to Ellen, for it was soon time for him to be on board the steamboat which was to take him to New York, on his way south. He left them, with many charges that they should write to him at least once a fortnight; and that they should apply, if any difficulty occurred, to Colonel and Mrs. Melville for advice, and, if necessary, for assistance.