CHAPTER IV.

DORA'S NEW HOME.


One year has passed away since the night when, cold, weary and
forlorn, Dora followed her cousins up the graveled walk which led
to her new home. One whole year, and in that time she has somewhat
changed. The merry-hearted girl, who, until a few weeks before her
mother's death, was happier far than many a favored child of
wealth, has become a sober, quiet, self-reliant child, performing
without a, word of complaint the many duties which have gradually
been imposed upon her.

From her aunt she had received a comparatively welcome greeting,
and when Eugenia displayed her purchases, which had swallowed up
the entire three hundred and fifty dollars, Mrs. Deane had laid
her hand on the little girl's soft, auburn hair, as if to ask
forgiveness for the injustice done her by the selfish Eugenia,
whose only excuse for her extravagance was, that "no one in her
right mind need to think of bringing back any money from New
York." And Dora, from her seat on a little stool behind the stove,
understood nothing, thought of nothing, except that Eugenia looked
beautifully in her velvet cloak and furs, and that her aunt must
be very rich, to afford so many handsome articles of furniture as
the parlor contained.

"And I am glad that she is," she thought," for she will not be so
likely to think me in the way."