the two strangers to throw a chill upon the rest of the party; and at the end of ten minutes all were chatting as merrily as if they had known each other for months. Minnie found herself talking with Rachel Whiting, and admiring her in spite of herself.

'Charlie!' said Abel, suddenly, 'perhaps the ladies would prefer to serve as crew.'

'To be sure we would!' exclaimed little Susie Bowes; 'did thee ever know the time when we would n't?' So there followed a grand changing of seats, and rocking of the boat, as the young men resigned their oars to Susie and Rachel, declaring 'it was a famous invention this feminine rowing!'

'Do you row, Miss Atherton?' asked Abel. To which query Miss Atherton replied: 'No, but she would like to know how.' The result was, that she was established, with oar in hand, and Abel at her side as instructor.

Great was the merriment during that first lesson-many were the 'crabs' she caught many the little screams as her oar nearly slipped from her grasp. Rachel sat directly in front-her shawl thrown from her shouldersrowing like a very Lady of the Lake.

Minnie looked up occasionally, and spied Horace perched in the bow of the boat, with his eyes fixed on the graceful rower, who looked radiant as the moonlight streamed over her, lighting her wavy hair, her fair face, and her rounded arms. Miss Minnie might have seen, too, if she had not been tugging so vigorously at her oar, that her instructor was not quite so unmindful of the pretty Quakeress as she imagined.

Through the gentle light the boats floated on, while the weird shadows of the rocks and trees girding the bright pond, seemed to inclose an enchanted circle.

Some one began to sing-then all joined, and their voices sounded over the water, clear and full-Rachel's sweetest and clearest of all.

'Why!' said Minnie; do Quakers

sing?'

Rachel smiled, and carolled on.

Minnie happened to look at Horace. He sat as if entranced- his eyes still resting on Rachel - his pale, glossy whiskers tipped with light, while his slender voice was drowned in Abel's rich tenor. His sister was vexed to see him look so absorbed, although her prejudice against 'buxom farmers' daughters' was rapidly abating, for she knew very well that few of the girls in her own 'set' were half as pretty as this one; ' and her manners, too, were wonderful: what could it mean?' Thus she soliloquized, and sang meanwhile in a clear little treble all the songs that 'every body knows.'

At last Abel drew out his old-fashioned silver watch, saying: 'I promised Mrs. Atherton that I would bring her people safely home at ten o'clock; so I suppose we must sing, 'Homeward Bound.''

but

Minnie actually felt a little sorry, she had an idea that it would do no good to remonstrate with Mr. Doane; so she pulled at her oar, and tried in vain to keep time with Rachel's even strokes. As they were landing, she heard Horace ask: 'May I see you home, Miss Whiting?' Then Abel offered to escort her, and after a coquettish little walk with him, she found herself at Friend Busby's gate, just as the Jonesville clocks, in the distance, were ringing ten.

Her mother and aunt, weary with their journey, were nodding in their chairs, but they aroused a little as she came in, and, 'Had she caught cold?' Where was Horace?' 'Gone home with Miss Whiting.' 'How kind of him!' ejaculated Mrs. Crossthwaite ; he saw you home first, and then went with her.' 'No, ma'am; Mr. Doane came with me.' 'What a gentlemanly person Mr. Doane is!' 'Really behaves as if he had seen good society!' Such were the rather sleepy comments of

these toil-worn ladies, whom Minnie ordered to bed, and then requested Mrs. Busby to exhibit her tame alligator. The good woman's objections being overruled, the whole menagerie of indoor pets were waked by the light of the kerosene-lamp, and the young lady's exclamations at the 'ridiculous little creature,' twelve inches long, who opened his tiny jaws, as if he would enjoy demolishing both his spectators.

Then Horace came home, and they discussed the rowing-party, the latter declaring his belief that his sister 'wouldn't have so bad a time, after all,' in that village. This occasioned a little altercation, by way of restoring the balance of Minnie's temper, which had been disturbed by her unwonted amiability during the evening; and she finally retired, leaving Friend Busby rather nonplused.

CHAPTER THIRD.

THE boating-party proved only the forerunner of numerous other excursions. Horace soon sent to town for his own and Minnie's saddle-horses, and they, with Rachel and Abel, and sometimes Charles and Susie Bowes and the Smith girls, gradually formed the habit of taking long horseback-rides.

Minnie seemed not to find as many buxom farmers' daughters and awful young men' as she had expected, and after some frisking and offishness, she settled down into a devout admirer of Rachel Whiting. Her likings were always strong, and almost every day, the graceful little form, clad in dainty lawn or barege, might be seen fluttering up among the green leaves towards Friend Whiting's door.

While Rachel moulded 'tea-cakes,' or rolled her pie-crust, her little friend sat by the window and chattered, asked funny questions, and 'bothered' while she amused her. The former found that there were many good and lovable traits in the imperious, petulant little being traits which her own sunny and health

ful influence seemed to call out; for Rachel was one of those persons who seem surrounded by a cheerful, buoyant magnetism.

Minnie never

snapped' when alone

with her, although they did not always agree in their ideas of things. Their tastes were in many respects unlike, yet they enjoyed each other's society, and had what Minnie called 'delicious little talks' in those summer afternoons, as the chestnut pony trundled them over the shady roads about Beulah.

Mrs. Atherton and Mrs. Crossthwaite actually grew quite fond of the young Quakeress, and were entirely willing for Minnie to patronize her. They had not sufficient penetration to see that Rachel could never be patronized. Minnie could have told them that with all her sweetness, her friend had too much independence and dignity for that. They saw though it is by no means certain that they recognized the cause-that Minnie, between Aunt Busby's cosy good temper and Rachel's loveliness, was really growing somewhat more amiable; the vitriol was slowly being alchemized into 'honey,' and there was a chance that Aunt Martha's favorite epithet might some time become applicable.

As for Mr. Horace Atherton, his visions of watering-places, hunting expeditions, and yachts seemed to be dissolving views; for, though he did 'run up' to the mountains for a few days, and occasionally 'dropped in' at the counting-room in town, the inhabitants of Beulah, that summer, were favored with far more glimpses of his luxuriant whiskers, and faultless, airy costumes than any other part of the globe. He did not appear to pine for society, either. If Abel and Rachel and Minnie and himself could only have a gallop over the hills together, or take a leisurely afternoon sail on the pond, he was quite content.

By the aid of mosquito-nets, fans, and shady rooms, Mrs. Atherton and her sister were kept in a tolerable state of preservation. And, on the whole, it

After Abel's three weeks' vacation had expired, he came up from the city only to spend his Sabbaths; but Horace vowed, 'It was too bad for Doane to be slaving in town such weather as that,' and accordingly he drove in one morning alone, and drove out that af ternoon with Abel, having exerted such mysterious influence with the Senior Partner as to induce the latter gentleman blandly to inform Mr. Doane that 'business was rather dull, and he saw no reason why his recess should not be extended.'

So they all lived a pleasant life through the fierce midsummer heats, until on a certain August evening it came to pass that Mr. Horace Atherton sat, as was his wont, in a chair tipped against the cherry-tree. He puffed idly at his cigar, as was also his wont, and watched Minnie, who came out with a rose-bud in her hand, dragging a chair after her. Seating herself opposite her brother, she said, unconcernedly: 'Horace, my dear, put on your hat, and go up to Friend Whiting's, and offer yourself to Rachel!'

The front legs of Mr. Atherton's chair dropped from their exalted position. His cigar also obeyed the law of gravitation, and his face was flushed to the roots of his whiskers.

'Well!' said Minnie, 'have you any objections?'

he knew were firmly imbedded in the little lady's mind. And now, to have some one speak of it, and Minnie, above all-it was almost too much!

Minnie had no intention of allowing him to dally, however; so handing him the rose-bud, she said: 'Take this to her, and tell me every word you say, and just what she says, and how she looks, and all about it! I'll sit up till you come home. Now be off!'

Horace, not knowing what to do or say, went into the house in a delightful little tremor, and presently emerged, looking delicate and pretty- (yes, my dear reader! He looked strictly pretty in that newest of neck-ties) — his hands encased in fawn-colored gloves, and the rose-bud in his button-hole.

His sister, after escorting him to the gate, and giving him a few parting instructions, ran to the house in high glee. She was unusually entertaining that evening, and kept the three ladies in a gentle state of laughter, until she heard the gate open.

Then she bounded down the walk. 'Well, Horace, every word now! Did she blush? Did she look sweet as a rose - my sister Rachel? Aren't you glad it is over?' And she twirled him around before he could speak.

'O Minnie!'-his voice was choked'she refused me!'

Minnie stood still. 'Horace Atherton! Did Rachel Whiting refuse you?'

'In earnest! To be sure I am! I want Rachel Whiting for a sister, and if you do n't hurry, I shall run up and settle the business myself.'

For the first time in her life, Minnie seemed to Horace like a ministering angel. He had been sitting there in the twilight, pondering this very subjectfeeling sure that if ever a fellow was in love, he was'— wondering what his mother would say whether Minnie would make a grand fuss, for he feared her fondness for Rachel would never out

'Hush, Minnie; do n't! She is an angel. You ought to have heard her talk to me this evening. You wouldn't have blamed her then! Get your hat, and tell mother you are coming out for a little walk with me. I will tell you all about it, for you must never say a word against Rachel Whiting.'

As Minnie rejoined him, she said: 'I can't understand it I never would have believed it!'

'O Minnie! You have no idea how lovely she was. If I had n't been a fool, I should have known that such a creature could never love a man like me; but I was a fool, so I thought of nothing else, and I had bought a little ring, you know'-here he choked again. When I told her, she seemed to feel so sorry for me, but she said she could not accept me as a lover, though she should always like me as a friend; and she was so sweet about it all that I loved her better than ever.

'She told me something that you must n't tell. No one knows it except the family. She says she meant to tell you very soon. You won't say any thing about it?'

'No.'

'She is engaged to Abel Doane.'
'To Abel Doane!'

'Yes; it is only about a week since it happened. And, O Minnie! I ought to feel so glad for her! Abel is a noble fellow, and just worthy of her, if any man is worthy of an angel. You don't know Doane as I do! I admire him from the bottom of my heart. He is so generous and noble-hearted.'

'But, interrupted Minnie, 'Rachel must have known some time ago that you were in love with her.'

'She says she did think of it at last, and tried afterwards to be very careful about encouraging me.

And if you look back you will see that she has hardly been with me at all for some weeks. You have seen her a great deal, but it has been at her home.'

Minnie's pride was struggling hard with her love for Rachel. Her tears dropped fast in the darkness. It needed a long walk and talk with Horace to convince her that all was right. But her brother was eloquent that evening, and in the end she could not but acknowledge that her friend had acted nobly to relinquish such a brilliant chance as Minnie considered this, for a

quiet, plain life with the man she loved.

'It is more than many girls would have done,' she said, pondering what she should have done, had she been in Rachel's stead. 'But I had wanted her to be your wife, and my sister. I could have been good, if I only had her to be with me always.'

'Well, Minnie, I shall some time be able to say I am glad for it to have been decided in this way. Now Recovering his voice, he said: 'You will go and see her to-morrow, won't you?' 'Yes,' and Minnie's pride stood defeated.

For the first time Horace could remember, almost, she reached up to his check, and laid a soft, sisterly kiss upon it. Thank you, Minnie,' he said, reLet us love each other.

turning it. and Rachel.'

'Yes, Horace. Good-night!' 'Good-night, Minnie!'

As the proud young girl knelt by her bedside that night, and repeated the prayer which she had so often neglected, she felt that there were some things in life more worthy and precious than family name or wealth.

But had Rachel decided without a struggle? Was it entirely easy for her, with her refined, cultivated tastes, to give up the chance of becoming Horace Atherton's bride? Had the long golden vista of a luxurious future no charms for her?

Ah! good and true as the maiden was, she had not been without a temptation. She had felt Horace's admiration for herself; she had thought that by a little effort she might secure him, with his whole heart and his great wealth. Once she faltered, as before her passed a vision of a beautiful home-of rare books and statues and pictures, choice music and perfumes and gorgeous flowers of all the gifted

men and women whom she would assemble as guests. All these and more might be hers, if she would use the slightest coquetry, give the least encour

agement. But as a delicate face rose before her pleadingly, another manlier one with glorious brown eyes came between, and all else vanished! Then she knew her own heart, and for weeks afterwards she guarded closely against encouraging in the least Horace Atherton's attentions. She believed that she succeeded, that he would never think of her again as other than an agreeable summer acquaintance.

And when, one pleasant afternoon, Abel came slowly in at the south gate, she felt that he had come to claim that which was wholly and truly his own.

That sunset-walk upon the brow of the hill in her father's field was for them both the one choice hour of their lives; and as the rays fell upon them, transfiguring both into a brighter beauty than before, they almost believed that the golden sky beyond was thronged with angels, who bent from afar, and beamed a blessing on the troth that was plighted beneath their gaze.

CHAPTER FOURTH

MORE than a year has passed since we first saw Rachel Whiting quietly follow her mother into the plain little meeting-house. Again the drab-robed Friends are assembled in silence; but the day, instead of being a balmy June Sabbath, is a brilliant Fifth-day in the Tenth-month, (which is, being interpreted, a certain Thursday in October.)

To-day Abel Doane and Rachel Whiting walk in together through the women's door, and with them are Horace and Minnie Atherton, who have come up from the city to act as groomsman and bridesmaid.

They all take their places upon the second rising seat, and the stillness becomes deeper than before.

We cannot blame the Friends, if, during meeting that morning, their eyes rested often and long on those four young faces. Two of the choicest of their flock the children of many prayers were to unite hands as they had already united hearts, and then go out

from among them, into the great city. Never, they thought, had Rachel looked so pure and lovely as then, in her simple bridal garb; never had Abel looked more manly and noble.

After a sermon by Friend Felltham, Hannah Doane made a prayer, which seemed the very outpouring of her heart; and just before the close of the meeting, at the motion of one of the committee, the group on the facing seat arose, and Abel, taking Rachel by the hand, promised, through Divine assistance, to be unto her a faithful and loving husband until it should please the LORD by death to separate them. The hush was intense, when, in a low, clear voice Rachel repeated the simple words which made her Abel Doane's wife.

Then the certificate was signed, and the wedding-party returned to Friend Whiting's house, and there Rachel's tears fell quietly, while the bright smile on her lips belied them, as she received her father's and her mother's kiss. Abel's mother, Joseph and Samuel followed, then Minnie; and as Horace Atherton's lips for the first time touched her check, he whispered: 'Rachel, I am glad you chose as you did.'

She smiled gratefully, and understood all that he meant.

Turning to Abel, Horace said: 'Abel, excuse me! Here is a note I brought you from the city.'

Abel opened it-read-looked up. 'How can I thank you?' he exclaimed. 'Rachel, see!' and she read a formal invitation from Harvest, Atherton & Co: to Mr. Doane to become junior partner in their firm. She tried in vain to say a word.

Horace laughingly said: 'You see, Mrs. Doane, I am selfish in not wishing you to get the start of me. Abel is my partner now, as well as yours!'

And just then Minnie came spinning along in a most undignified manner, considering she was a bridesmaid, and hugged Rachel with all her might, telling 'Mr. Doane' that she knew he never could love his wife half as well as she did!