CHAPTER FIRST.

ABEL DOANE turned his handsome face very slightly towards the women's side of the meeting-house, as with a gentle rustle of her pearl-drab silk, Friend Whiting walked up the aisle, followed by her daughter Rachel.

Quietly and slowly the good Friend mounted the three steps, and took her place on the high seat,' near the 'head of the meeting;' and in that long row of calm, elderly faces there was none gentler or comelier than hers. Within an exquisitely-hued 'plain bonnet' of the latest shape-(for, be it known to you, O Gentiles! that Fashion, while she imperiously models and remodels, stretches or compresses, elevates or lowers the bonnets of the 'world's people,' has moreover a sly power even among the Elders of the Society of Friends; touching with gentle hand the silk-and-pasteboard fabric, she quietly lifts the crown, and shortens the brim, and naming the result an 'English bonnet,' goes on her way rejoicing ;) — within this sober framework was set a placid, peachbloom face, with wavy brown hair a pleasant picture, truly, worthy to be admired by any eyes not otherwise employed.

Perhaps, however, Abel Doane's followed her no farther than the third seat from the front, in the body of the house, where a pretty straw bonnet with lilac trimming, a white shawl, and a coollooking lilac lawn, deposited themselves. The occupant thereof, after adjusting the footstool, began to sway a dainty palm-leaf fan, and Abel turned his brown eyes sedately away from a face which was a tolerably faithful copy of the fair one on the 'high seat.' Yes, the neighbors were right, in saying 'Rachel favored her mother,' except in regard to the rare violet eyes; they were neither mother's nor father's, nor had they been known in the family until Rachel introduced them, just nineteen years ago this balmy June Sabbath.

Our Quaker maiden was certainly 'fair to see;' so had several 'menFriends' thought at various times; for sundry middle-aged widowers had asked Friend Richard Whiting's permission to address his daughter. But the Friend, by a few words and a judicious use of his heavy black eyebrows, had settled that question summarily.

He entered just after his wife. A dignified, almost stern-looking man, with a slight stoop in his broad shoul

ders. His sons, Joseph and Samuel, seated themselves near an open window, while he advanced to the high seat.

For a few moments there was a tramp on the uncarpeted floor, as the youths who had been talking in groups under the oak-tree gradually assembled in the meeting-house. The last loiterers finally straggled in, and a deep silence fell on the small congregation.

Rachel fanned herself slowly, while her eyes rested dreamily on the wooden bench in front of her. Her thoughts were hardly in order yet. Though she had walked in so demurely after her mother, she had not failed to see a certain dark, curly head on her right. And was it strange, if, for a few moments, her old friend and playmate, whom she had hardly seen for several years, should occupy her thoughts? They had been fast friends in their childhood, that brown-haired youth and maiden. Water-lilies and chestnuts and cardinal-flowers, tame squirrels and rabbits in profusion, were the expression of the little boy's devotion to the little girl, who, in her turn, listened with such breathless interest to Abel's ' piece' on speaking-day at school. Then, when they grew older, Rachel went to a Friends' boarding-school, and Abel to the high-school at Jonesville. Finally he entered Harvest, Atherton & Co.'s employ in the city. When he was at home on short visits, she had happened to be away; so they had scarcely met for three or four years.

Rachel could not help wondering whether Abel would seem as he used to- he had surely grown handsome, she thought, and he had the same frank expression as ever; but the color flushed her cheek as a clear voice broke the stillness, and, looking up, she felt reproached to think how she had been employing the sacred hour.

Hannah Doane, Abel's mother, was the pale Friend who had arisen, and in a low, sweet voice addressed the meeting. Warm and earnest were the words in

which she exhorted her friends to 'bless the LORD who daily loadeth us with benefits, even the GOD of our salvation.' Her pale cheeks glowed with emotion, tears stood in her eyes, and when she took her seat, it seemed to Rachel that there was a heavenly influence in the air.

After a short pause, old Friend Thompson preached with a fervor and earnestness that even his nasal singing-tone, his mispronunciations, and his uncouth gestures could not deprive of a peculiar searching power which reached the hearts of his hearers.

Finally the Friend at the head of the meeting, by shaking hands with his nearest neighbor, closed the simple services of the morning; and Rachel found Ruth Simms chattering in her ear as fast as her brisk tongue could move. Then Mary Baxter slipped up to her dear, quiet little creature! in her rigidly plain straw bonnet, with only a simple ruche around her face, and a mathematical bow-knot under her chin.

Rachel reverenced the self-denying, conscientious little thing, who worked hard all the week, and on 'First-days' invariably walked to meeting over two miles of hot, dusty road. She sometimes wondered if it really was for the growth of Mary's soul to be so severe with herself-never to wear a color brighter than drab or brown — never to taste food containing an atom of sugar, lest she should in that way encourage slavery; and she generally ended by thinking:

'Well, Mary knows best what her conscience will allow her to do. I certainly feel no scruples about plainness of dress.'

And never did maiden dress in better taste than this Quakeress. She was a born artist, as far as regarded a keen perception of harmony in the arrangement of colors and forms; and while she respected her parents' 'testimony' in favor of plain apparel, by avoiding bright hues, she always contrived to be

She surely looked pretty and lovable enough, a few hours later, as in her delicate lawn she sat with her brothers under the elm-tree in the south yard The Friends had no afternoon meeting, owing to the distance at which many of them lived from Beulah; accordingly Friend Whiting expected his children to read religious books for at least a part of the afternoon.

Rachel, after perusing William Penn's 'No Cross, No Crown' some time, had opened a little blue and gold volume, and was reading 'Aurora Leigh' so intently as not to be disturbed by the constant chattering which Samuel and young Ambrose Vivay, the bright Canadian boy, maintained. Occasionally, when the latter appealed to 'Miss Rachel' whom he admired with the enthusiastic devotion that boys of fifteen are apt to pay to girls of nineteenshe looked up, and answered him pleasantly. The sedate Joseph sat absorbed in 'Youthful Piety,' while Sam's open book told of a vain attempt at 'being good.' Suddenly Ambrose looked up. Some one's coming!' he exclaimed. And there, walking towards them over the grass, came Abel Doane - erect and fine-looking as ever, his face bright with greeting for them all.

'Holloa, Abel!' cried the boys, jumping up. He responded to their cordial welcome, and How does thee do, Abel?' 'How does thee do, Rachel ?' were spoken with a warm grasp of the hand. Then, sitting down on the twisted root of the great tree, Abel talked as merrily with the group as if he had not been absent a day. They chatted about the changes that had happened in Beulah since he first went away; he told them anecdotes of his city life, and entertained them all so effectually, that even Ambrose, who was usually as restless as a cricket, seemed to be charmed into quiet.

Then he asked Rachel what she was reading, and they fell into a talk about

proved to be rather out of Sam's sphere. Joseph listened with sober interest, while Ambrose, though he knew no more about either poet than he did about the Bible, sat as if fascinated, with his keen black eyes fixed now on Abel, now on Rachel.

And so the afternoon wore away in pleasant conversation upon favorite authors and books. Finally, as Abel was about to take leave, he asked with a smile: 'Rachel, does thee know the last bit of news? Aunt Martha Busby is to take three or four boarders this summer.'

'Martha Busby!' repeated Rachel, laughing. What has become of the cats, and the birds, and the rabbits, and the guinea-hens, and the peacock, and the alligator? '

'I am happy to say that several human beings are to share her house and her sympathies for a few months. My employer, young Atherton, wanted a quiet country boarding-place for his mother and aunt and sister. They are invalids at least Mrs. Atherton and Mrs. Crossthwaite are, (be not astonished, ignorant ones! Abel was a young Quaker of the nineteenth century, who stumbled not at Mr., Mrs., Sir, or Madam; who could use 'thee' and 'you' with equal ease, and to whom it mattered little whether the royal month went by the name of June, or plain Sixth-Month,) and they need rest and fresh air. Mr. Atherton asked me about our village, and I wrote to mother, whose eloquence has actually prevailed upon Aunt Martha; so the party are expected next Fourth-day.'

'How young a lady is Miss Atherton?' asked Rachel.

'Oh! quite young; a school-girlsixteen or seventeen, and something of a witch, I fancy. I will introduce her to thee, and thee can judge for thyself. But I must go. Mother will wonder what has become of me.'

'Won't thee stay to tea? Father and mother have n't seen thee yet.'

'Thank thee, I can't this evening. Please remember me to thy mother. I saw thy father at the door, as I came out here. Look at those clouds, Rachel!' he exclaimed suddenly, as his eye rested on a gorgeous mass in the west. Then followed another little talk, as they watched the 'castles in the air' change and crumble. Finally Abel bade Rachel 'Farewell!' and walked down the road, while the maiden went into the house, to assist Phebe in 'getting tea.'

A pleasant afternoon she had spent. That contact of two fresh, keen young intellects had done each good, and the talk about old times had been 'so nice!'

As she brought the quivering carbuncle-colored jelly, and the golden sponge • cake that her own pretty hands had made, to the neatly-spread table, there was a dreamy look in her eyes which Phebe did not fail to observe.

'Where's thee puttin' the jelly, child?' asked the independent 'help,' as Rachel began to turn it out upon the butter-plate.

The young girl laughed merrily, and a slight pink glow ran up into her cheek.

CHAPTER SECOND.

ON 'Fourth-day evening,' as Abel had predicted, the first basket-wagon that Beulah had ever seen within its borders trundled rapidly up the road after a chestnut-pony. A young lady, whose chief personal characteristics were very black eyes, very deep dimples, and a hat with jaunty plume, acted as driver. On her left sat a cream-colored young gentleman in light-colored clothes and straw hat.

all sorts of horrid creatures every time I step out. I wish I could go to a nunnery! I should see fifty times as many people as I shall in this miserable village!'

Here the pretty pony obeyed a quick, cross little pull of the reins, and stopped short at Martha Busby's gate.

There stood the good lady, round and rosy and solid, wearing that comfortable smile that no creature ever resisted. Even Minnie's black eyes flashed a little less sharply as they met the cheerful face.

'How does thee do, honey?' asked a voice that sounded as if it had rolled over cushions, it was so soft and full.

Now 'honey' was a word never applied to Miss Minnie by her most partial friends, and in her present frame of mind, oil of vitriol' would have been far more appropriate; but Aunt Martha was irresistible.

·

Minnie took the broad little hand that was extended, and said with quite a good grace: 'How do you do, Mrs. Busby?'

'Pretty well, thank thee, dear. I've been lookin' for you all this some time. Where's thy mother and aunt?'

'They'll be here directly- there they are now!' as the Jonesville hack, loaded with trunks, ascended the hill.

It stopped. Horace assisted the inseparable sisters to alight. Two genteel-looking ladies, evidently intended by Nature to form a span through life, though Mrs. Atherton's mourning may have been a shade more inconsolable than Mrs. Crossthwaite's, and Mrs. Crossthwaite's chin may have been a trifle longer than Mrs. Atherton's. Mrs. Atherton's nose had a very slight curve to the left, while her sister's betrayed a

'Is this the place?'

'Yes; how does it look ?'

'Oh! that makes no difference to you,' snapped Miss Minnie; 'you can go where you please this summer, and I'm to drink buttermilk, and wear festoons of spiders and grasshoppers, and

Both were in delicate health; both were nervous, and the dust of their two hours' journey lay like lead upon their spirits. But Martha Busby's cheery words of welcome, and cool, whitewalled chambers had a surprising effect in reviving them.

Minnie speedily freshened herself with

cool water, a white dress, and a bit of flame in the shape of a scarlet bow at her throat, then darted down-stairs to regale herself by teasing Horace a little. She found him sitting by the door. 'I have just seen Doane,' he remarked; 'met him right out here. He may be down this evening.'

Now Miss Atherton, in addition to other little sins, was an arrant flirt, and the thought of having handsome Mr. Doane as a subject for her powers was not displeasing. So the black eyes sparkled a little, as she asked: 'Where does he live?'

'Up the street, in a bit of a cottage. His mother is a widow, and keeps house with her sister.'

'Who else is there here? Buxom farmers' daughters, I suppose, and awful young men that stoop, and carry red pocket-handkerchiefs ! '

Horace shrugged his slender shoulders, and said he should not see many of either class, as he intended to 'be off' most of the summer.

This proved an unfortunate remark, for it reminded Minnie of her fate, and she proceeded to lavish amiable epithets upon her brother, until, to his relief, the tea-bell tinkled.

They were all sitting around the doorway that evening - Mrs. Atherton and Mrs. Crossthwaite in rocking-chairs and Shetland shawls, Minnie on the bench outside, Horace tilted against the cherrytree, smoking—when the gate opened, and Abel Doane walked up the path, looking remarkably handsome in his new straw hat, Minnie noticed.

Horace introduced him to the elder ladies, and for a few moments he made himself very agreeable. Then he invited Minnie and Horace to join a little party who were going out on the pond.

'Oh!' exclaimed Mrs. Crossthwaite. 'Oh!' exclaimed Mrs. Atherton. 'Minnie must n't go on the water in the evening! You would catch such a cold, my dear!'

But Minnie had inwardly decided that she would go, and with a determined

little air that her mother understood, said: 'O mamma! I think I'll go! I'll wear half a dozen shawls.'

So she went, of course. She was never known to obey, unless it were perfectly convenient.

She had soon donned her pretty hat and shawl, and the three started for the shore. The sky was still pink with the last tint of sunlight, and a great golden moon was just rising over the hill.

As they approached a tiny cottage reddened with a drapery of June roses, Abel said: "There is my mother in the front-yard.'

'Won't you introduce us?' asked Minnie.

'With pleasure,' and he opened the gate, saying: 'Mother, these are the friends I told thee about-Miss Atherton and Mr. Atherton.'

Friend Doane welcomed them with her sweet, peculiar dignity, and gathered some of her prettiest roses for Minnie. After talking pleasantly a few minutes, they bade her 'good-evening,' promising to call again.

They had soon reached the pond, where nine or ten young people stood talking in groups near the boats. Minnie's quick eye scanned them at a glance, taking a complete inventory of their faces and costumes. She resolved to be rather gracious, thinking it would be 'fun' to make a sensation among these village lads and lasses, and accordingly underwent the ceremony of introduction condescendingly.

'Who goes in the Dolphin?' cried Abel. 'Miss Atherton for one, Mr. Atherton for two! Now who else?' And with one of those manoeuvres which people of tact can always accomplish without being observed, he managed to secure Rachel Whiting, Carrie Temple, and Susie and Charlie Bowes, as passengers in the Dolphin.

The remaining six stepped into the Lilly Dale, and the two boats pushed off from shore, and out, side by side, upon the moon-lit pond.

Abel would not suffer the presence of