long quiet afternoons with Miss Ruth.

I used to write letters at her dictation, and read to her, not
altogether dry reading, for she dearly loved an amusing book. It was
the "Chronicles of Carlingford" we read, I remember; and how she
praised the whole series, calling them pleasant wholesome pictures of
life. We used to be quite sorry when Rhoda, the rosy-cheeked
housemaid, brought up the little brass kettle, and I had to leave off
to make Miss Ruth's tea. Mr. Lucas always came up when that was over,
to sit with his sister a little and tell her all the news of the day,
while I went down to Flurry, whom I always found seated on the
library sofa, with her white frock spreading out like wings, waiting
to sit with father while he ate his dinner.

I always had supper in Miss Ruth's room, and never left her again
till nurse came in to put her comfortable for the night. Flurry used
to run in on her way to bed to hug us both and tell us what father
had said.

"You are father's treasure, his one ewe lamb, are you not?" said
Miss Ruth once, as she drew the child fondly toward her; and when she
had gone, running off with her merry laugh, she spoke almost with a
sigh of her brother's love for the child.

"Giles's love for her almost resembles idolatry. The child is like
him, but she has poor Florence's eyes and her bright happy nature. I
tremble sometimes to think what would become of him if he lost her. I
have lived long enough to know that God sometimes takes away 'the
desire of a man's eyes, all that he holds most dear.'"