little affair of the piano and the foreigner has set the whole town to
talking, and people are putting on grave faces, and inquiring how they
can afford it. But it seems they do afford it, and also to have the best
of carpets on their parlor floor. And they have shown a taste for art in
several engravings hung on the walls.

The Chapmans expected company from the city that night. A bright coal
fire and a globe lamp on the centre-table are shedding a soft, mellow
light, and adding an air of comfort and cheerfulness to everything in
the room.

Mattie was sitting alone in the parlor reading a letter by the light on
the centre-table. Her dress was a plain black silk, made high at the
neck, and with an open stomacher, disclosing an aggravating bit of white
lace. There was always something neat and becoming in Mattie's dress,
and the white ruffles that now encircled her neck and wrists added the
charm of simplicity to her appearance. Her hair, too, was almost
golden, and hung in long, careless curls down her shoulders.

There was something of deep interest to her in that letter, for she read
and re-read it, as her soft, blue eyes, so full of love and tenderness,
almost filled with tears. Then she kissed it, and kissed it, and pressed
it to her bosom. "Oh, how I wish he was here to-night, that I could tell
him how much I love him;" she said, resting her head on her hand
thoughtfully. "I would tell him all my thoughts and feelings, just as he
has told me his. He is so true to me, and it never shall be said that I
am not true to him, poor fellow!" she mused, and putting the letter to
her lips again she kissed and kissed it. "They never can get me to love
any one else, never!" she resumed, when the door opened and Mrs. Chapman
entered, arrayed in her best millinery, and her front hair screwed into