tion appeared to her young companions to increase in cheerfulness with her years, and Lucy would often question her on the change, recalling the time when Madam Weston was very sorrowful, and when they often surprised her in tears; now this rarely, indeed never occurred, and once when they mentioned it to her, she said, "Oh, my dears, it is impossible to live with such merry little things as you are without catching mirth; I must take care of myself, or I shall be a very child with you." In fact, as Weston said, it was impossible to live with two such happy creatures and not imbibe some portion of their hilarity. Whether the influence would have extended to the melancholy Lord of the manor is uncertain; there was no opportunity of ascertaining if the deep settled grief of the husband would yield to the affection of the father. A certain portion of the day was devoted by Mr. Penruddock to the education of his daughter, for which he was well qualified. He dined, or rather he sat at table, with Laura and Lucy, and one half-hour he walked with Laura in her flower-garden. The rest of his time was passed in the library, where no one but Laura was admitted, and in one part of the grounds, a solitary and dismal-looking spot, called the Beech Grove; this portion of the park was forbidden to all the inhabitants of the Manor House, even to the little Laura, who had once during her childhood cried long "to go with papa in his wood.” Mr. Penruddock assured her there was nothing pretty in his wood, as she termed it; but Laura was not to be pacified till she received a promise to go the next day. When the little girl was alone with Weston and Lucy, she looked earnestly on her nurse and inquired what was the matter with her? "Did she wish to go with them to the Beech Grove?" No, my dear," replied Weston, " I never wish for anything that will make your papa unhappy." “What will make him unhappy, dear Wes ton?" "Your wish to be his companion will make him very unhappy." "I do not understand, nurse!” "Your papa does not like you to go with him when he walks in the Beech Grove." “And why not?" "Your papa does not tell me his reason, Miss Laura, but I know you will make him very sorry if you go with him, and I did not think you would wish to make him sorry." Laura made no answer, nor did she speak again on the subject during the rest of the day. On the morrow, when Mr. Penruddock prepared for his walk he asked for his daughter, and taking her hand, he led the way to the dark and gloomy avenue leading through the Grove. The little girl looked repeatedly in his face, but to her comprehension there was no appearance of grief. There was no difference in her father, and Laura soon recovered her usual gay spirits; these, however, were quickly checked. Mr. Penruddock requested she would be silent. "This is not a pleasure, my dear Laura," said be," and you will oblige me by being quiet." The tone of Mr. Penruddock's voice was differ ent to his usual sad but composed speech, and Laura looked earnestly at him; at length she said, "Are you not happy, papa?" A convulsive movement-it was scarcely a start-was his only answer. Laura continued, "Tell me, dear papa, shall I make you sorry, very sorry, if I walk with you? Weston said I should." Young as Laura was, she could distinguish a change in her father's countenance; but no reply was given to the anxious and affectionate child, who now gave full credit to the report of her nurse; and she believed, though she wondered why, that she had made her father sorry, very sorry! Withdrawing her hand from Mr. Penruddock, she said, "Good bye, dear papa, I will not make you sorry; I will back to Weston, and not walk with you in that dark, ugly wood. Don't stay there long; it is not half so pleasant as my garden." go From that time Laura was satisfied, and |