independent of circumstances!"

"And circumstances are education, too," said Hugh, smiling. "I
dare say we should not appreciate our mountains and woods so
well, if we had had our old plenty of everything else."

"I always loved them," said Fleda. "But what good company they
have been to us for years past, Hugh! — to me especially; I
have more reason to love them."

They walked on quietly and soberly to the brow of the table-
land, where they parted; Hugh being obliged to go home, and
Fleda wishing to pay a visit to her aunt Miriam.

She turned off alone to take the way to the high road, and
went softly on, no longer, certainly, in the momentary spirits
with which she had shaken hands with the wind, and skipped
down the mountain; but feeling, and thankful that she felt, a
cheerful patience to tread the dusty highway of life.

The old lady had been rather ailing, and from one or two
expressions she had let fall, Fleda could not help thinking
that she looked upon her ailments with a much more serious eye
than anybody else thought was called for. It did not, however,
appear to-day. She was not worse, and Fleda's slight anxious
feeling could find nothing to justify it, if it were not the
very calm and quietly happy face and manner of the old lady;
and that, if it had something to alarm, did much more to
soothe. Fleda had sat with her a long time, patience and
cheerfulness all the while unconsciously growing in her