benefactor, frequently asserting that he meant to do something for
him. But the something was never done, the father was dead, and in his
strait the old man turned to the son, whom he knew to be very rich,
and who he had been told was exceedingly generous.

"How I wish I could go with you clear up to Aikenside! They say it's
so beautiful," Madeline had said, as on Saturday evening they sat
discussing the expected events of the following Monday. "Mrs. Noah,
the housekeeper, had Sarah Jones there once, to sew, and she told me
all about it. There are graveled walks, and nice green lawns, and big,
tall trees, and flowers--oh! so many!--and marble fountains, with gold
fishes in the basin; and statues, big as folks, all over the yard,
with two brass lions on the gateposts. But the house is finest of all.
There's a drawing-room bigger than a ballroom, with carpets that let
your feet sink in so far; pictures and mirrors clear to the floor--
think of that, grandpa! a looking-glass so tall that one can see the
very bottom of their dress and know just how it hangs. Oh, I do so
wish I could have a peep at it! There are two in one room, and the
windows are like doors, with lace curtains; but what is queerest of
all, the chairs and sofas are covered with real silk, just like that
funny, gored gown of grandma's up in the oak chest. Dear me! I wonder
if I'll ever live in such a place as Aikenside?"

"No, no, Maddy, no. Be satisfied with the lot where God has put you,
and don't be longing after something higher, Our Father in heaven
knows just what is best for us; as He didn't see fit to put you up at
Aikenside, 'tain't noways likely you'll ever live in the like of it."

"Not unless I should happen to marry a rich man. Poor girls like me
have sometimes done that, haven't they?" was Maddy's demure reply.