right. I've come for you to take you to Baxter, for my Beulah has pined for you ever since she got home."

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"You have come all this distance to take me to Baxter!" exclaimed Zephina. "What kindness!" "O, no very great kindness on my part," said the Squire; "the kindness will all be on your side if you will consent to go. Can you be ready by day after to-morrow?

Zephina was silent for some moments.

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"O, I forgot," said the kind-hearted man;"here is a little billet from Beulah that will persuade you better than I can."

Zephina's tears fell fast upon the paper as she

read the note,

- but they were tears of joy. "I did not need this to persuade me," said she, folding it up, and kissing it. "It is enough that you have taken all this trouble for me. I will go."

"Thank you, thank you," said the Squire. "And can I help you any way about getting ready?"

"O, no; what little arrangements I have to make will soon be completed." And Zephina looked sorrowfully around her room, as she said, "I shall leave every thing here as it is, till my

return."

"Well, then, good night; I stop with Cousin Whately, and shall not see you again till day after to-morrow morning, bright and early. You look pale, dear. Miss Morris says country air always suited you, and she knows now it will be the best medicine in the world for you."

"There is no medicine like kindness for the sick heart," said Zephina.

All needful arrangements were made on the following day, and Zephina was ready at the appointed hour. Yet it was sad to leave that place, enchained as it was to so many touching remembrances. Amid much sorrow and loneliness, she had passed there many hours of peace and con

tentment.

And Baxter was at last in sight, first the steeple, then the village.

"But where is the dear farm-house?" eagerly inquired Zephina.

"Here we are home again," said the Squire, as they stopped before the gate.

"What, this white house with green blinds? exclaimed Zephina, with a momentary feeling of disappointment that it was not the same old, red house. And then she added, "It is! it is! for

there comes Beulah through that pretty porch." And another was there who was not named, and a more cordial welcome could not have been given to the heiress of millions.

And after the greetings were over, there were many improvements to be shown to Zephina. The bower had been enlarged, or rather built anew with more durable materials, and it was completely covered with sweet-briers and honeysuckles.

And there, not many weeks after, a conversation took place, which decided the future life of Zephina, a conversation in which Medad was the other party, and the principal speaker.

The Squire insisted, that there was no use in putting off what was to be done, and what every body allowed was the best thing that could have happened. He wanted the young folks to be married right away; for he took all the credit to himself of having brought it about, though he did allow that Medad hinted pretty hard about his going after Zephina.

"But," said the good man confidentially to Mrs. Morris, "when I saw how handsome Finey had grown, and how sort of stately and graceful she was, like a tall, young elm-tree, my heart

went pit-a-pat for the boy, just as it did when I popped the question to you, wife; and I think he is a lucky fellow to get such a prize; but he is a first-rate farmer, and he deserves her, though he is our son."

Zephina consented to name an early day, and in bright and beautiful June, when the rose-season offered its sweetest gifts, they were married.

Soon after the marriage, they went to Boston, not for the sake of a fashionable bridal-tour, but because the bride had made no arrangements, when she left the city, with reference to the event that had taken place.

The very day that they arrived in Boston, by one of those singular coincidences that do now and then happen, Harriet Ann Gunn's name was ringing louder than it ever had done before. She did not appear at breakfast one morning. Caleb Prium required that every one should be punctual in his family, and sent a servant-girl to call her. The girl came down, saying that she had knocked at her door, and called, but that no one had answered, and she believed the door was fastened.

Mrs. Prium went and found that it was so, and, alarmed lest her niece should be ill or dead, called her husband, and he immediately burst the door open, but no Harriet Ann was there.

The bureau drawers were opened, and every thing of value taken out of them, her trunks and bandboxes all gone. They at first thought of a robbery, but then what had become of Harriet Ann herself? So great was their alarm, that the girl who had been sent to call her at length confessed that she had helped her to pack her trunks, and to remove all her luggage in the night to the front door, and that very early in the morning a carriage had come, and, as she expressed it, "Had taken the bandboxes, and baskets, and trunks, and Miss Harriet Ann, all away."

"And who came in the carriage?

She did not know; she did n't go to the door. Just then the opposite neighbour, who kept a grocery store, came over, and asked if Caleb Prium knew who his niece had gone away with? No; certainly he did not.

Well, then, he could tell him; for he was opening his shop very early, and he saw a carriage drive very slowly up to the door, and, said he, "Out jumped that rascal who calls himself Mr. Percy, from South Carolina."

"And who is he?" demanded Mr. Prium.

"As great a scamp as ever lived. He owes me ten or twelve dollars for cigars and wine. I