the piece of torn newspaper, and had just decided to carry it to Aunt Sarah, and hear what she would say about it, when Martha came into the kitchen. Martha was our maid-ofall-work, a good honest soul as ever was, but plain in person, plain and practical, too, in mind. She was young-almost as young as I wasbut I do not believe she had ever dreamt of a prince, or even of an ideal butcher, baker, or farmer's

man.

She was fond of me, though, and I thought I would tell my good fortune to her before I went to Aunt Sarah. Martha's eye had lighted at once on the broken egg on the kitchen floor.

'Yes, I did it; but never mind, Martha, you can get a cloth and wash it away, and the floor will be no worse, and eggs will soon be as cheap as dirt to us, so it doesn't matter for one broken.'

'Lor, miss,' said Martha, staring, 'then you won't be for sending any more on 'em to London town. Folks don't reckon much of presents that's no better nor dirt to them as sends 'em.'

This was not worth a reply.

'Read that, Martha,' I said, giving her the paper; but she blundered so in her spelling after she had passed the familiar letters of my name, that I snatched it away impatiently, and read it myself aloud. There, what do you think of that?' There was triumph in the tone of my question, but Martha's reply dashed it just a little.

'Think, Miss Chrissy! why I think as I should like to punch that Mr. Rudge's head for him, if only I could get a sight of him. Why couldn't he write you a proper letter, and send it by the post, like honest folk does, if he had anything to say, instead of putting your name in the newspaper for all the world to stare at, like that?' Martha never doubted the advertisement was meant for me, that was pleasant hearing for me in the midst of her indignant burst. 'I like his impudence,' she finally concluded.

'But, Martha, if Mr. Rudge didn't know my address, how could he write to me by the post?'

'Then he might let it alone; you

don't know him, and if he knows so little of you, how should he be for knowing anything to your advantage?'

'But suppose somebody has left me a fortune, Martha ?"

Martha shook her head in solemn warning.

'Oh, Miss Chrissy, don't you be for trusting and going after that bad man. The parson preached the other day about wolves in sheep's clothing, and it's my belief this here Mr. Rudge is one of them there wicked creatures.'

'Well, Martha, I'm going to tell Aunt Sarah all about it, and you may be sure I sha'n't do anything she doesn't approve.' And I left the kitchen, and went my way to the parlour as I spoke.

Dear Aunt Sarah! There she sat in her old arm-chair by the fire, her knitting in her hand, whence she looked up, smiling her own bright smile on me as I entered. Such a dear aunt she was. She had never been married, and she was nearly fifty years old; but she wasn't the least like an old maid, not the least bit fussy or fidgetty, or prim, or cross-grained; she was gentle and forbearing, not to my shortcomings only, but to those of the whole world; she had a sweet, loving temper, and was altogether more like an angel than any one I have ever seen. She was sweet-looking, too, quite lovely, I thought, with her small, delicate features, and neat figure, always so exquisitely though so plainly dressed; her loveliness was not in the least impaired to my eyes by the look of habitual illhealth on her face, and the silver threads that mingled thickly with her soft brown hair. She had been more than a mother to me since I lost my own when I was hardly ten years old, and before that I seemed to have two mothers, for Aunt Sarah had always lived with us; the two were much alike, and I scarcely knew then which was dearest. My father had died when I was a baby, and I was an only child, so now Aunt Sarah and I lived alone together, and were all in all to each other. We were poor, but had enough for our simple wants in the

cottage which was our own-enough and to spare-for besides the halfyearly hampers we sent to the Smiths of Westminster, and to some others in our own rank of life, there were those in the village poorer than ourselves, who blessed Aunt Sarah's charity not once in the half-year, but every day of the year.

Well, then, Aunt Sarah looked up and smiled at my entrance.

Is the hamper packed already, Chrissy?' she said.

No, auntie, dear; I came in because I've something to show you,' and I gave her the piece of the newspaper. Aunt Sarah took her spectacles from her pocket; her dear eyes had been failing the last year or two; she could knit, but not read without glasses. She had soon adjusted them, and glanced through the few lines of the advertisement; but she did not speak immediately. At length, almost with a sigh, she said

'We have been very happy always, Chrissy, haven't we? It is not the richest people who are the happiest, dear child. I don't think I would wish for riches for you. But this mayn't be riches, it may be only a little lent you by the good God to do good with. The advertisement may not be addressed to you, but Christina is not a common name, and I think we ought to inquire. I Iwill write to our cousins at Westminster-it will not be much trouble for them to go to Mr. Rudge's office.'

'Oh, Aunt Sarah, but it says Christina Smith is to apply in person. Couldn't I go to London myself?'

I was amazed at my own temerity, and Aunt Sarah gazed at me with as much wonder as if I had proposed a journey to the moonthe one seemed to her almost as impracticable as the other. True, we had both of us been to Exeter more than once, and there was railroad all the way from Exeter to London; but Aunt Sarah had never travelled by railroad in her life, had never trusted me to do so; in her young days there had been no such mode of transit: railroads, balloons, and M. Blondin's feats on the tight

rope, they were all fraught with strange peril in her imagination.

'I fear not, my darling. I would take you indeed if I could, but you know the doctor told me to avoid all excitement, and I'm afraid the journey would be too much for me. I must take care of my poor health for your sake, Chrissy, till you have somebody else to take care of you.'

How could Aunt Sarah think I would be so selfish? I would not have had her go for the world. But I was young and strong-I should not be afraid even of the railway with its great rampant fire engine, and I had been thinking. By degrees I unfolded my plan. Farmer Mallard would drive me to Exeter; there were the Bensons there, kind friends with whom Aunt Sarah and I had both stayed before; they would be so glad to give me a bed for the night; they would take me to the railway station the next morning, see me safely into the train, and I should reach London before dark, even though the time was Christmas, and the days were short. And I would not the Westminster Smiths meet me there at the station, and let me stay with them for a week? A week would be quite sufficient time to settle all my business with Messrs. Rudge and Ffinch - how important I felt as I uttered these words-and not long enough for dear Aunt Sarah to feel lonely, and miss me much. The Westminster Smiths had always written such kind letters on receipt of the hampers, and manifested such warm interest in their dear cousin Christina, I thought they would only be too glad to have a week's visit from her. I had run on so fast that Aunt Sarah had not been able to get a word in, but as she noted my eager ness, her face had changed, and I saw I should persuade her according to my wish. I had told Martha I should not do anything Aunt Sarah did not approve-ah! but didn't Martha and I both know she never in all her life refused her approval to anything on which I set my heart, when it was not absolutely wrong? And there was no wrong in my going to London.

Aunt Sarah demurred a little at

first to my staying a week with the Westminster Smiths; they might not like it, and could not well refuse, if she asked it as a favour. And she didn't like asking favours of people without being able to make them some return. I suggested the hampers might be looked upon as a return, and we might send them oftener, one again in the spring, instead of waiting till midsummer. But aunt said she could not look upon the hampers in that light, they were only by way of keeping up the family feeling and immemorial custom. And then a bright idea struck her.

'Suppose, Chrissy,' she said, 'that when I write to propose that you should spend a week at Westminster, I were to invite one of our cousins to return with you to visit us in Devonshire. The last letter said Eliza Jane was delicate. I am sure our pure country air would be of service to her; for my own part I wonder how delicate people can live at all in the heart of a horrible great city. Yes, I will invite Eliza Jane-I believe she is the one who is just of your age, Chrissy.'

I agreed cordially in the invitation to Eliza Jane. And you'll write to-morrow, auntie, dear? And when may I go? I should like the hamper to arrive before me to prepare my way.'

'My dear, don't impute interested motives to your cousins, of which they are probably incapable. I feel sure they will love you for yourself when they come to know you. Yes, I'll write by to-morrow's post, and you shall go-let me see I should like you to spend Christmas-day at home with me-suppose you start on the 27th-that is if we hear they can do with you at Westminster?'

How good Aunt Sarah was to me! I knew how she would miss me during that one short week-me, who had never been separated from her for a single day before; I knew how she would magnify and dread for me the dangers, real or imaginary, of the journey, yet she said not one word further against it, but on the contrary with her sweet smiling face did all she could to help me on my way. I told her what Martha

had said, and she laughed at poor Mr. Rudge being so arbitrarily turned into a wolf.

'I dare say he's a very worthy inan, my dear,' said Aunt Sarah. 'Knowledge about property and things of that sort comes in the way of their business to lawyers, and it's quite a common thing, I believe, to advertise in the newspapers for the persons who have a claim, whom, indeed, they could address in no other way, being ignorant of their place of residence.'

One more request I urged on Aunt Sarah.

'You won't tell them at Westminster why I want to go to London, only say I have some business to settle, let me tell my own story when I get there. I must tell Martha to be silent too.'

And Aunt Sarah promised it should be in this also as I wished; and then I kissed her, and thanked her many times, before I ran away to finish packing my hamper.

The hamper was despatched, the letter written and posted the next day. In due time came the answer. The Westminster Smiths praised the quality of goose and turkey, butter and eggs, and were profuse in their thanks to the donors. They thought it very friendly, too, of Cousin Chrissy that she should propose to come and see them; a warm welcome was awaiting her, and they hoped she would find she liked them well enough to stay longer than a week. If she would say what time she would leave Exeter, father would know when the train reached London, and would meet it on arrival. Perhaps, also, Cousin Chrissy would be so good as to give some description of herself or the dress she wore, to be a sort of guide to father in the large London station where so many people were for ever coming and going. For similar help to Cousin Chrissy the writer added-father was short and stout, wore a grey overcoat, had a red face and no whiskers. Then followed many thanks for the invitation to Eliza Jane, who was, indeed, as usual, far from well; and the doctor said change of air was all she wanted; but Eliza Jane was

shy of strangers, so perhaps it would be better to leave arranging about her visit to Devonshire until she had seen her Cousin Chrissy.

Such was the sum and substance of the letter. It could not have been kinder. No impertinent curiosity was betrayed as to the nature of my business, it was never so much as named. The thought struck me that very possibly my cousins imagined it a mere ruse and pretext, and that my journey was undertaken simply that I might see them, and the great city where they lived. What more likely than such a wish on my part? What more unlikely than that a girl of nineteen -they knew my age, it having been some time ago by letter compared and found to be the same as Eliza Jane's- what more unlikely than that I should have business in London? Yet, likely or not, I had -hadn't I?

The letter could not have been kinder, I have said; yet a very short time after I had read it, Aunt Sarah remarked I was looking unusually grave, and asked me the reason. blushed, and hesitated.

I

'I was only thinking - only hoping that all my cousins would not be short and stout, and have red faces,' I said at length.

Aunt Sarah laughed.

'Oh, that was it, was it, Chrissy? We may hope that Eliza Jane at least will be an exception, as she is delicate. By the way, how will you describe yourself, my dear?'

And Aunt Sarah looked at me with such peculiar meaning in her eyes, that I felt myself blush still deeper as I replied

I shall leave that for you to do, Aunt Sarah. You wrote the first letter, and you must write this one too.'

And she did so.

Christmas-day came and went. A glorious day it was-not a cloud flecking the brilliancy of the clear blue sky. Aunt Sarah and I walked between hedgerows where the bright holly berries grew thickly on both sides of us, to morning service at the church, which art had decorated almost as luxuriantly, if less tastefully, perhaps, with the same colours

of red and green. We joined with our good clergyman in the thanksgiving of universal Christendom; then we walked home by the same way we had come, and spent the rest of the happy day alone together. Never was Christmas-day before that Aunt Sarah had been so cheerful, so merry, though I was to leave her the day after the morrow, for the first time in my life. It was she who kept up my flagging spirits, for now the time drew so near, I began to feel rather frightened and nervous, not of any fancied terrors of the journey, but of the strange men and women at the end of it.

The next day my box was packed; I put all my best things into it, for I did not want Westminster to be ashamed of its country cousin; and at the bottom of the box lay the certificate of my baptism, which it was Aunt Sarah's thought I should take, to prove to Messrs. Rudge and Ffinch the truth of my pretension to be called Christina Smith. Mr. Hunter, our clergyman, had manifested a little curiosity when it had been requested of him, but Aunt Sarah had managed to satisfy him without revealing what I was so anxious to keep a secret.

Then came the day of my departure, and the hour when Farmer Mallard drew up in his dog-cart before our door. Aunt Sarah kissed me fondly, and whispered to me just at the last not to stay much longer than a week if I could help it. And I shook hands with Martha, and bade her not think of me as another little Red Riding Hood going into the forest, otherwise the city, to be eaten by a wolf, for Martha's looks were uncommonly lugubrious.

My boxes-I had two-were hoisted into the cart, I was helped by Farmer Mallard to my own seat at his side, and the next minute we were off. I looked back to wave a last farewell to Aunt Sarah and Martha, still standing at the gate. Farmer Mallard drove fast, and the bay mare was a good one; in another minute the Nest '--so we called our pretty home-was completely out of sight, but I could

still hear the loud, vehement adieux of Rover, our dog. By the time his voice had died away in the distance we were in the village, where almost every house turned out one or more men, women, or children, smiling, curtseying, touching hat or cap in greeting, for every one knew of my journey, and it was quite an event to them. London was such a long way off, and such a wonderful place in the village mind.

Exeter itself was thirty miles off, so we had a long drive before us, Farmer Mallard and I together. We had not much to say to each other, though our hearts were full of good will. As we passed from the known into the further and less familiar country, I made a few remarks on its aspect, with which my companion always agreed. It was a fine, bright day, but the air was sharp, and he was constantly hoping I did not feel cold, and heaping rugs and all kinds of wraps around me to prevent it. Sometimes, too, he ventured what he considered a good-humoured joke, likely to please

me.

'I don't expect as I shall ever have the pleasure of driving you back from Exeter, Miss Chrissy.'

'Oh yes, I hope you will in a week, Farmer Mallard. I shouldn't like to leave Aunt Sarah for longer.'

But the farmer smiled, shook his head, and said-'Ah! but I shouldn't wonder if they know a rose when they see one in London even. Maybe there'll be some one who won't be for letting you come back.'

Nobody should keep me against my will,' I said, stoutly.

But there's no knowing,' he proceeded; perhaps you'll like the citizens, when you see them, better than us country bumpkins. I hope not though,' he added; for there's no manner of doubt the country's the best for the roses themselvesthey'll soon fade and grow pale in the town.'

The vision of my cousin of Westminster with the red face, as he had been described to me, here crossed my mind, but I did not communicate that fact to Farmer Mallard, though it might have convinced

him there were exceptions to his rule of town pallor.

We were now rapidly approaching Exeter; the picturesque suburban villas, sparsely scattered at first, became more and more frequent, until at length we were rattling through the streets, passing shops that riveted all my attention; those of London surely could hardly be more magnificent.

The Bensons lived out of the way of the shops, in a more retired part of the town. They received me very kindly, extending also their welcome to Farmer Mallard, as a friend and benefactor of mine, though he was personally unknown to them. It was too far to drive sixty miles in one day; indeed the farmer had too much regard for his favourite mare to have intended such a thing; but his idea of putting up at an hotel until the morning was so decisively negatived by the hospitable Bensons, that he was forced to yield and accept the shelter of their roof and partake of the fruit of their vine.

We spent a pleasant evening, at least I can answer for myself: I am not sure the farmer felt quite at his ease among these town-bred strangers. The Miss Bensons had been in London more than once, and very kindly wrote down for me a list of all the most wonderful sights, which I must on no account neglect to see. I must stay a night with them on my return, and entertain them with an account of my visit. I said hesitatingly, perhaps my cousin Eliza Jane, might be with me, we had invited her to come and stay with us. Whereupon the friendly Bensons declared they should be delighted to see Eliza Jane for my sake, as, indeed, any or all the Smiths of Westminster. I thought to myself in that case their house should be made of India-rubber, for these Smiths were a family of ten, without reckoning father and mother, both of whom were living. But with many thanks I promised for myself and Eliza Jane. Then Farmer Mallard must come also, to be ready to drive us home again the next day. And the farmer bowed, and thanked, and promised too.

When this had been settled we all