lonely. No one had ever understood her nature, or seemed to think
her anything but a machine to teach the children their daily
lessons. But now what a prospective! How earnestly would she begin
her new life; and burdened with this thought she walked to the edge
of a green wood, and sat down to weep tears of pure joy.

When she returned she found her room filled with mosses and trailing
vines, which Dawn had gathered for her. She was rapidly learning to
love the child, and felt lonely when she was out of her sight.

In the evening they sat together,--father, child, and teacher, or
companion, as she really was to them, in the library, communing in
silence, no word breaking the spell, until Dawn did so by asking
Miss Vernon if she played.

She glanced longingly at the beautiful instrument, which had not
been opened since Mrs. Wyman's death, and said,--

"I do play and sing, but not as well as I hope to with opportunities
for practice."

"Do open the piano, papa, it will spoil shut up so."

"So it will, Dawn. I will open it this moment," and he silently
accused himself for keeping it closed so long.

"Do you love music, Dawn?" asked Miss Vernon, "can you sing?"

"You shall hear her, and then judge. Come, darling, while I play
your favorite song;" and he commenced the prelude to a low, sweet