It was the first week in September before Mr. Graham moved, and the beginning of the second before his family were so settled as that Jessie could fulfil her promise of an evening's entertainment to her young friends. They were all invited the day before to come at four o'clock, that they might have an hour to see all the beauties which Jessie had discovered, and all the improvements which she had made in her new home, and then, taking tea at five o'clock, might all be at their homes again before the evening became chill. I had a whispered request from Jessie, that though there were to be no grown ladies there, I would just come with the children; a request which you may suppose I did not refuse. When the afternoon came, I took Mary and Alice and two other little girls with me in the carriage, while Harriet rode her own pony. Jessie was waiting in the piazza to welcome us, and William Temple stood gallantly ready to help us from the carriage; and before the hour was gone, every nook and corner of the poultry-yard and garden had been explored. They were both in very nice order, and Alice, as Jessie led her around the garden, was constantly exclaiming, "How delightful!" while she inhaled the perfume of roses and pinks, and honeysuckles and jessamines. It was too late for strawberries or raspberries, but when this garden was made, Mr. Dickinson had had some fine peach and pear trees set in it, and these were now covered with ripe fruit, and from the grape-vine hung large clusters of the rich purple grape. The table for the children was spread under the grape-arbor, and when at five o'clock they were called to it, they found,—not cakes and sweetmeats and tea,—but a dish of warm, light biscuits, of Mrs. Graham's own making—a bowl of soft peaches with cream and sugar—baskets of pears and grapes, and a cup of Mooly's rich milk for each child. The sun was low, and only a few of its rays found their way through the reddish-colored grape-leaves into the arbor; and, sure I am, those rays never fell upon a happier group. They were still enjoying their feast, when hearing some one speak to Mr. Graham, who was busy propping up an overloaded branch of a pear-tree, I looked around and saw Mrs. Temple and Mr. Dickinson with Flora Temple in his arms, coming towards the arbor.

"Mr. Graham," I heard Mr. Dickinson say, "why have you not taken your little visiters through the other garden?"

"Why, sir," said Mr. Graham, "though they are all very good children, they are not just as used to gardens as Jessie, and they might be careless—but if you would let me, I would like to take that poor blind child through the green-house, for she is so fond of flowers, and I doubt if she ever smelt a lemon blossom."

"Certainly, Mr. Graham, I shall be pleased to have you take her."

Mrs. Temple took Flora from her brother and joined the little party under the arbor, while Mr. Dickinson remained outside, seemingly engaged with Mr. Graham, but I suspect much more attentive to the merry voices of the children. At length William called him in, and I am sure no one who saw him then for the first time would have called him "the cross Mr. Dickinson." I said this to old Mrs. Graham, and her reply was, "Nothing, I think, ma'am, makes people so pleasant and good-humored as seeing happy faces,—especially when they know, as Mr. Dickinson does, that they made the happiness."

Our party separated in good time, but not before Mr. Graham had taken Alice to the green-house. She went with him, not knowing where he was taking her, and was so delighted with the strange perfume, and so curious to know from what it came, that Mr. Dickinson, who had followed them, cut off a cluster of flowers from a lemon-tree for her. After this, the highest expression of satisfaction with any thing which Alice ever gave, was to say, "It is almost as pleasant as Mr. Dickinson's green-house."

When William was leading me to the carriage, he begged me to put my head down, as he wanted to tell me a secret. I did so, and he whispered, "I am coming to spend Christmas with my uncle, and I told him I wanted to see a play acted, for I never saw one; and he says I shall see one then and act in it too, and he will write it himself, and it is to be called, "All for Truth, or the Flower well Lost."

That I shall have an invitation to see this play I have little doubt; so my next story for you may be of Christmas merry-making at Flowerhill—at the cross Mr. Dickinson's. Let this teach my little readers, that if children are good and pleasant themselves, they will seldom find any one cross to them long.

THE END.