University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Next morning before daybreak Mr. Wilmot was aroused
from a sound slumber, by what he thought was the worst
noise he had ever heard. He instantly concluded that the
house was on fire, and springing up, endeavored to find his
clothes, but in the deep darkness of the room such a thing
was impossible; so he waited awhile, and tried to make out
what the noise could be.

At last it assumed something of a definite form, and he
found that it was the voice of a man, calling out in thunder-like
tones, “Ho, Jedediah! come out with ye! Do you
hear? Are you coming?”

“Yes, marster, comin'.”

Then followed a long catalogue of names, such as Sam,
Joe, Jack, Jim, Ike, Jerry, Nehemiah, Ezariah, Judy, Tilda,
Martha, Rachel, Luce, and Phema, and at the end of each
name was the same list of questions which had preceded
that of Jedediah; and ever from the negro quarters came
the same response, “Yes, marster, comin'.”

By this time all the hens, geese, turkeys and dogs were
wide awake, and joining their voices in the chorus, made
the night, or rather the morning, hideous with their outcries.
At last the noise subsided. Silence settled around
the house, and Wilmot tried to compose himself to sleep.

When he again awoke, the sun was shining brightly into
the room. He arose and dressed himself, but felt in no
hurry to see “his host,” who had come home, he was sure,
and had given such tremendous demonstrations of the
strength of his lungs.

Mr. Wilmot finally descended to the sitting-room, where
the first object which presented itself was a man, who was
certainly six and a half feet high, and large in proportion.
His face was dark, and its natural color was increased by a
beard of at least four weeks growth! He had on his head
an old slouched hat, from under which a few gray locks
were visible. As soon as Wilmot appeared, the uncouth
figure advanced toward him, and seizing his hand, gave it a
grip, which, if continued long, would certainly have crushed
every bone! He began with—

“Well, so you are Mr. Wilmot, from New-York, hey?
Of course a red-hot abolitionist; but I don't care for that, if
you'll only keep your ideas to yourself, and not try to preach
your notions to me. I've heard of you before.”

“Heard of me, sir!” said Mr. Wilmot, in surprise.

“Yes, of you; and why not? Thar's many a man, not
as good as you, judging by your looks, has had a hearing in
his day; but, however, I haint heard of you by the papers.
As I was coming home last night, I got along to old man
Edson's, and I seen him swarin' and tarin' round, so says I,
`Ho, old man, what's the row?' `Oh,' says he, `that you,
Middleton? 'Nuff's the row. I've done let my best horse
and nigger go off with a man from the free States, who said
he's going to your house, and here 'tis after nine, and Jim
not at home yet. Of course they've put for the river.'
`Now,' says I, `don't be a fool, Edson; if that ar chap said
he's goin' to my house, he's goin' thar. I'll bet all my land
and niggers he's honest. Likely Jim's stopped somewhar.
You come along with me and we'll find him.' So we jogged

along on the pike, till all of a sudden we met Prince
coming on home all alone! This looked dark, but I told
Edson to say nothin' and keep on; so we came to Woodburn's
fine house, and thar in the cabins we seen a bright
light, and heard the niggers larfin like five hundred, and
thought we could distinguish Jim Crow's voice; so we
crept slyly up to the window and looked in, and sure
enough, there was Jim, tellin' a great yarn about the way
you rode, and how you got flung on to the gate. It seems
he didn't half hitch Prince, who got oneasy like, and started
for home. Edson hollered to Jim, who came out, and told
how he didn't go clear here with you, 'cause you said you
could find the way, and he might go back. Then old man
Edson turned right round and said you were a likely man,
and he hoped I'd do all I could for you. So that's the way I
heard of you; and now welcome to old Kentuck, and welcome
to my house—such as it is. It's mighty mean,
though, as `Tempest' says.”

Here he turned to Julia, who had just entered the room.
Then he went on, “Yes, Tempest raves and tar's about the
old house, and can hardly wait till I'm dead before she
spends my money in fool fixins. Devil of a cent she'll get
though, if she rides as high a horse as she generally does!
I'll give it all to `Sunshine;' yes, I will. She's more gentle-like,
and comes coaxin' round me, and puttin' her soft arms
round my old shaggy neck, says, `Please, pa, if I'll learn to
make a nice pudding or pie of Aunt Judy, will you buy us a
new looking-glass or rocking chair?' And then 'tisn't in
my natur to refuse. Oh yes, Sunshine is a darling,” said
he, laying his hand caressingly on Fanny's head, who just
at that moment showed her sunny face in the room.

During breakfast, Mr. Middleton inquired more particularly
into Mr. Wilmot's plans and wishes, and told him there
was no doubt that he could obtain a good school in that

immediate neighborhood. “Your best way,” said he, “will
be to write a subscription paper. The people can then see
what for a fist you write, and half the folks in Kentuck will
judge you by that. In the paper you must tell what you
know, and what you ask to tell it to others. I'll head the
list with my two gals, and give you a horse to go round
with, and I'll bet Tempest and Sunshine too, that you'll get
a full school afore night.”

At the last part of this speech, Julia curled her lip and
tried to look indignant, while Fanny laughingly said, “Pa,
what makes you always bet sister and me, just as though
you could sell us like the horses? It's bad enough to bet,
and sell the blacks, I think.”

“Ho! ho! so you've got some free State notions already,
have you?” said Mr. Middleton. “Well, honey, you're
more'n half right, I reckon.” So saying, he, for the fourth
time, passed up his coffee cup.

Breakfast being over, he took his young friend to the
stable, and bade him select for his own use any horse he
chose. Mr. Wilmot declined, saying, that as he was not
much accustomed to horses, he preferred that Mr. Middleton
should choose any horse he pleased.

“Very well,” said Mr. Middleton; “form the accounts I
have had of your horsemanship, it may be improved; so I
reckon I'll not give you a very skeary horse to begin with.
Thar's Aleck 'll just suit you. He'll not throw you on the
gate, for he doesn't trot as fast as a black ant can walk!”

Accordingly Aleck was saddled and bridled, and Mr.
Wilmot was soon mounted, and, with his subscription paper
safe in his pocket, was riding off after subscribers. He was
very successful; and when, at night, he turned his face
homeward, he had the names of fifteen scholars, and the
partial promise of five more.

“Well, my boy, what luck?” said the gruff voice of Mr.

Middleton, as Wilmot entered the sitting room that evening.

“Very good success,” returned Mr. Wilmot; “I am sure
of fifteen scholars, and have half a promise for five more.”

“Yes, pretty good,” said Mr. Middleton; “fifteen sartin,
and five unsartin. Who are the unsartin ones?—old
Thornton's?”

Mr. Wilmot replied that he believed it was a Mr. Thornton,
who had hesitated about signing.

“He'll sign,” said Mr. Middleton. “I's thar after you
was, and he told me you might put down five for him. I
pay for two on 'em. He lives on my premises; and if
he doesn't pay up fort t'other three, why, he'll jog, that's
all.”

Mr. Wilmot said he hoped no one would send to school
against their wishes.

“Lord, no,” rejoined Mr. Middleton; “old Thornton
wants to send bad enough, only he's stingy like. Let me
see your paper, boy.”

Mr. Wilmot handed him the paper, and he went on;
“Thar's ten scholars at eight dollars—that makes eighty;
then thar's five at eleven dollars, and fifty-five and eighty
makes a hundred and thirty-five; then thar's five more at
fifteen dollars;—five times fifteen; five times five is twenty-five—seventy-five
dollars;—seventy-five and a hundred and
thirty-five;—five and five is ten, one to seven is eight, eight
and three is eleven—two hundred and ten dollars! Why,
quite a heap! Of course you've got clothes enough to last
a spell, so you can put two hundred out at interest. I'll
take it, and give you ten per cent.”

Mr. Wilmot smiled at seeing his money so carefully disposed
of before it was earned, but he merely said, “There's
my board to be deducted.”

“Your what?” asked Middleton.

“My board, sir. I have no other means of paying it.
I find I can get boarded for a dollar and a half a week.”

“The deuce you can,” said Mr. Middleton. “Who'll
board you for that?”

Mr. Wilmot gave the name of the gentleman, to which
Mr. Middleton replied, “I want to know, if he will board you
so very cheap!”

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Wilmot. “Do you think I ought
to pay more?”

“Pay more!” replied Middleton. “Don't be a fool!
Why, here's this infernal old shell of a house wants filling
up, and thar's heaps of horses, and niggers lounging 'round,
with nothing to do: then I've plenty of potatoes, bacon, and
corn meal—and such fare as we have you're welcome to,
without a dollar and a half, or even a cent and a half.”

Mr. Wilmot remonstrated against receiving so much at
Mr. Middleton's hands, but that good man put an end to all
further argument by saying, “Do let me act as I like. You
see I've taken a liking to you, and because I see you trying
to help yourself, I am willing to try and help you. They
say, or Tempest says they say, I'm a rough old bear, and
may be I am; but I'm not all bad; it's a streak o' fat and a
streak o' lean; and if I want to do you a kindness, pray let
me.”

So it was settled that Mr. Wilmot should remain in Mr.
Middleton's family during the winter. To Julia, this arrangement
gave secret satisfaction. She had from the first
liked Mr. Wilmot, and the idea of having him near her all
the time, was perfectly delightful. She resolved to gain his
good opinion, cost what it would. To do this, she knew she
must appear to be amiable, and that she determined to do
—before him at least. She had also seen enough of him to
know that he set a great value upon talent, and she resolved
to surprise him with her superior scholarship and ability to

learn. She, however, felt some misgivings lest Fanny should
rival her in his esteem; but she hoped, by negro bribery,
and various little artifices of her own, to deter him from
thinking too highly of her sister.

The following Monday, Mr. Wilmot repaired to his
school-room, where he found assembled all his pupils. It
was comparatively easy to arrange them into classes, and
ere the close of the day, the school was pretty generally organized.
Weeks passed on, and each day the “Yankee
schoolmaster” gained in the love of his scholars, and one of
them, at least, gained in the affections of the teacher. Julia
had adhered to her resolution of appearing amiable, and of
surprising Mr. Wilmot with her wonderful powers of learning.
This last she did to perfection. No lesson was so long,
but it was readily learned, and its substance admirably told
in words of her own. She preferred reciting alone, and as
she so far outstripped the others in the length of her lessons,
it seemed necessary that she should do so. Mr. Wilmot
often wondered at her marvellous capacity for learning so
much in so short a space of time, for she never took home
her books at night, as she said she had plenty of time for
her lessons during school hours.

With Fanny it was just the reverse. She got her lessons at
home, and played all day at school! Sometimes a reprimand
from Mr. Wilmot would bring the tears into her eyes, and
she would wonder why 'twas she could not behave, and
make Mr. Wilmot like her as well as he did Julia. Then
she would resolve not to make any more faces at that booby,
Bill Jeffrey, for the girls to laugh at, nor to draw any more
pictures on her slate of Dame Sobriety, as she called Julia,
and lastly, not to pin any more chalk rags to the boys'
coats. But she was a dear lover of fun, and her resolutions
were soon forgotten. Her lessons, however, were generally
well learned, and well recited: but she could not compete

with Julia, neither did she wish to. She often wondered
how her sister could learn so long lessons, and, secretly, she
had her own suspicions on the subject, but chose to keep
them to herself.

Meantime the winter was passing rapidly, and, to Mr.
Wilmot, very agreeably away. He liked his boarding
place much, and one of its inmates had almost, without his
knowledge, wound herself strongly around his heart. For a
time he struggled against it, for his first acquaintance with
Julia had not left a very favorable impression on his mind.
But since that night she had been perfectly pleasant before
him, and had given but one demonstration of her passionate
temper.

This was one evening at the supper-table. Zuba, a
mulatto girl, brought in some preserves, and in passing them,
very carelessly spilled them upon Julia's new blue merino. In
the anger of the moment, Mr. Wilmot and his good opinion
were forgotten. Springing up, she gave the girl a blow
which sent her half across the room, and caused her to drop
the dish, which was broken in twenty pieces. At the same
time she exclaimed, in a loud, angry tone, “Devil take you,
Zube!” The loss of the dish elicited a series of oaths from
Mr. Middleton, who called his daughter such names as
“lucifer-match,” “volcano,” “powder-mill,” and so forth.

For her father's swearing, Julia cared nothing, but it was
the sorrowful, disappointed expression of Mr. Wilmot's face,
which cooled her down. Particularly did she wish to recall
what she had done, when she saw that Fanny also had received
some of the preserves on her merino; but instead of
raging like a fury, she arose and quietly wiped it off, and
then burst into a loud laugh, which she afterward told her
mother was occasioned by the mournful look which Mr. Wilmot's
face assumed, when he saw that Julia's temper was
not dead, but merely covered up with ashes.

From this remark of Fanny's the reader will understand
that she was well aware of the part her sister was playing.
And she was perfectly satisfied that it should be so,
for by this means she occasionally got a pleasant word from
Julia. She however often wished that Mr. Wilmot could
be constantly with her sister, for his presence in the house
did not prevent her from expending her wrath upon both
Fanny and the blacks.

For some days after the affair of the preserves, Mr. Wilmot
was somewhat cool in his manner towards Julia, who
had discernment enough to attribute the change to the right
cause. Earnestly did she desire to win back his esteem,
and she accordingly cast about for some method by which
she could undo what she had done. She could think of no
way, except to acknowledge her error to Mr. Wilmot, and
promise to do better in future. So one evening when her
father, mother, and Fanny were absent, and she was alone
with him, she adroitly led the conversation to the circumstance
of her spoiled merino. She acknowledged that it
was very unamiable and unladylike to manifest such passionate
feelings,—said she knew she had a quick temper,
but she tried hard to govern it: and if Mr. Wilmot would,
as her teacher and friend, aid her by his advice and influence,
she was sure she should in time succeed. So nicely
did she manage each part of her confession that Mr. Wilmot
was thoroughly deceived. He believed her perfectly sincere,
and greatly admired what he thought to be her frank, confiding
disposition.

From that time she was dearer to him than ever, and
Julia, again sure of his esteem, placed a double guard upon
her temper, and in his presence was the very “pink” of
amiability! Affairs were gliding smoothly on, when the
family unexpectedly received a visit from a gentleman, whom
Julia would rather not have seen. This was Mr. Miller,

whom we have mentioned as having taught in that neighborhood
the winter before. Mr. Wilmot found him in the
sitting-room, one night, on his return from school. When
the young men were introduced, they regarded each other a
moment in silence, then their hands were cordially extended,
and the words, “Richard Wilmot,” “Joseph Miller,” were
simultaneously uttered.

It seems that, years before, they had been room-mates
and warmly attached friends in the Academy of Canandaigua,
New-York, and now, after the lapse of ten years, they
met for the first time far off in Kentucky. A long conversation
followed, relative to what had occurred to each since
the bright June morning, when they parted with so much
regret in the old Academic halls of Canandaigua.

At length Mr. Miller said, “Richard, what has become of
that sister of yours, of whose marvellous beauty you used to
tell us boys such big stories?”

“My sister Kate,” said Mr. Wilmot, “is at present at
school in New Haven.”

“And is she still as beautiful as you used to try to make
us think she was?” asked Mr. Miller.

“I will show you her likeness,” returned Wilmot, “and
you can judge for yourself.”

So saying, he drew from his pocket a richly cased daguerreotype,
and handed it to Mr. Miller. It was a face of
uncommon beauty which met Mr. Miller's eye, and he gazed
enraptured on the surpassing loveliness of the picture. At
last he passed it to Fanny, who was eagerly waiting for it,
and then turning to Wilmot, he said, “Yes, Richard, she
has the handsomest face I ever saw.”

“And the handsomest face I ever saw with one exception,”
said Mr. Wilmot, glancing admiringly towards Julia.
Mr. Miller followed the direction of his eyes, and as he saw
the brilliant beauty of Julia, he sighed for fear his young

friend might or had already become entangled in her dark
meshes.

Just then Fanny exclaimed, “Oh, how handsome; look,
mother,—Julia, isn't she perfectly beautiful!” And then
she added, “But, Mr. Wilmot, is she as good as she is beautiful?”

“How absurd,” said Julia hastily, “just as though one
cannot be handsome and good too.”

“I didn't say they couldn't, sister,” said Fanny, “but I
thought,—yes, I'm sure she looks a little selfish!”

“Upon my word, you're very polite,” said Julia. “Mr.
Wilmot will doubtless feel complimented by what you say
of his sister.”

“Never mind, Fanny,” said Mr. Wilmot, “never mind,
you are more of a physiognomist than I thought you were,
for Kate's great fault is being too selfish; but she will overcome
that in time, I think.”

“Oh yes, I 'm sure she will,” said Fanny, who was anxious
to do away with any unfavorable impression she might
have made. So she went up to Mr. Wilmot, and laying
her hand on his shoulder, said, “I am sorry if I said any
thing bad of your sister. She is very beautiful, and I think
I should love her very much. Do you think she will
ever come to Kentucky?”

“I hardly think she will,” said Mr. Wilmot, “but I think
you would like her, and I am sure she would love you. I
often write to her about my two Kentucky sisters.”

“Oh, do you,” said Fanny, clapping her white, dimpled
hands, “do you really call us both sisters? And do you
tell her how much handsomer Julia is than I am, and how
much more she knows?”

“And how much more does she know?” said Mr. Miller,
who was always interested in whatever Fanny said.

“Oh she knows a `heap' more than I do,” said Fanny.

“I fear I haven't improved much since you left, for Mr. Wilmot
is so very indulgent that he never scolds when my lessons
are but half learned, but consoles himself, I suppose, with
Julia 's great long yarns.”

“And are Julia's lessons so very long?” asked Mr. Miller.

“Yes, sir,” replied Fanny. “It is the wonder of all the
girls how she manages to commit so much to memory in so
short a time, for she never brings home her books, and she
spends two thirds of her time, during school hours, in writing
something on a sheet of foolscap. We girls have our own
suspicions about that paper, for when her lesson is very hard,
we notice that she is unusually confined to her notes.”

Here Julia angrily exclaimed, “Fanny, what do you
mean? Do you intend to insinuate that I write my lesson
down, and then read it?”

“Fire and fury!” said Mr. Middleton, who had been an
attentive listener, “what 's all this about? Tempest, do you
write down your task? Good reason why you don't bring
home your books. Speak, girl, quick,—are you guilty of
such meanness?”

Julia burst into tears, and said, “No, father, I am not;
and I think it too bad that I should be suspected of such a
thing, when I am trying to do as well as I can.”

“I think so too,” said Mr. Wilmot, whose sympathies
were all with Julia.

Mr. Miller thought otherwise, but he said nothing. Julia
had never been a favorite with him. He understood her
character perfectly well, and he felt grieved that his friend
should be so deceived in her. Perhaps Julia read something
of what was passing in his mind; for she felt very uneasy,
for fear he might tell Mr. Wilmot something unfavorable
of her. Nor was she mistaken in her conjectures, for after
the young men had retired for the night, their conversation
naturally enough turned upon the family, and the two girls,

both of whom Mr. Wilmot spoke of in the highest terms.
Mr. Miller agreed with him as long as his remarks were confined
to Fanny, but when he came to speak of Julia, and of
her superior beauty, intellect and agreeable manners, he ventured
to disagree with him.

Said he, “As to Julia's beauty, there can be but one
opinion, for she is very handsome; but the interior of the casket
does not correspond with the exterior: she is as false as
fair. Then as to her intellect, I never thought it greatly superior
to Fanny's. To be sure, she has a way of showing
off all she does know, while Fanny is more retiring.”

Here Mr. Wilmot spoke of the faculty she possessed
for learning so long lessons. “Even your favorite Fanny,”
said he, “admitted that.”

“True,” returned Mr. Miller, “but have you forgotten the
notes? Do you not think there may be something in that?”

“Is it possible,” said Mr. Wilmot rather warmly,—“is it
possible you think the high-souled Julia capable of such
meanness? You do not know her as well as I do, if you
think she would stoop to such deception. You shall go to
school with me to-morrow, and then you can see for yourself.”

“Yes, I will do so,” said Mr. Miller, and then as he saw
Mr. Wilmot seemed somewhat excited, he changed the conversation,
which had been heard by other ears. Adjoining
the room of Mr. Wilmot, was a long, dark closet, the door of
which opened into the apartment of Julia and Fanny. This
closet was used for a kind of lumber room, in which were
stored promiscuously old barrels, trunks, hats, boots, and so
forth. It originally had a window, but the glass had long
been broken, and its place supplied by a large board, which
failed to keep out the wind and rain, so that during the
winter season, the closet was a cold, cheerless place.

But on the night of which we are speaking, it contained
a novel piece of lumber. Crouched behind an old barrel, sat

Julia, listening eagerly to the conversation between her
teacher and Mr. Miller. When it ceased, she arose from her
dark hiding-place and muttered to herself, “So you'll see,
will you? You old torment! I wish the Old Scratch had
got you, before you ever came here. If I dared to I'd —
but no, I wouldn't do that, bad as I am. However, I'll cheat
you for once, you hateful limb! But what shall I do?”

She indeed was in a dilemma; but she had often boasted
that she never yet was in so straitened a spot that she could
not devise some means of extricating herself, and she relied
on the Master she served, to aid her in this difficulty. She
never brought her books home, and, as the reader will ere
this have surmised, she was in the daily habit of writing a
sketch of her lesson on foolscap, and then reading it off.
When school first commenced she had asked the privilege
of sitting in her seat while reciting, and by this means she
could hold the paper under her desk, and thus avoid Mr.
Wilmot's suspicion. Her lessons for the next day were unusually
long and hard, and as Mr. Miller would be present,
she dared not resort to her usual artifice, particularly after
what had been said about her “notes.” She knew she never
could learn all that long lesson in school hours, neither would
she fail of having it for any thing. What could she do? For
some time she sat by the dying embers with her dark face
buried in her hands, revolving in her mind the best scheme
by which to outwit Mr. Miller.

At last she rose up, and a malicious smile of exultation
passed over her features. She looked at the clock, and saw
it was already half-past ten, and then stealing softly to the
bedside where Fanny lay quietly sleeping, she bent down
and assured herself that her sister really was unconscious of
her movements. She then hastily threw on her overshoes,
cloak, and hood, and stealing noiselessly down the stairs, was
soon in the open air alone in the darkness of the night.

Just as she shut the door of the house, the watch-dog, Tiger,
came bounding furiously toward her with an angry growl.
She silenced the fierce animal by saying, “Down Tiger,—
poor Tige—don't you know me, Tiger?” After quieting
the dog, she proceeded on her strange errand, which was to
obtain her books from the school-house, which was more
than half a mile distant.

The mud, which was very deep, was not more than half
frozen, and at each step, she sunk into a mixture of mud,
snow and ice. Still she kept fearlessly on, till at last she
found herself in the midst of the thick woods. Here her
courage somewhat failed her, for she called to mind all the
stories she had ever heard of runaways, who were said to
walk abroad at this dark hour of the night. Once she
thought she saw the giant form of a negro standing in her
path, but it proved to be a black stump, and she was about
laughing at her fears, when her ear detected the sound of a
light, rapid tread, coming towards her. Almost paralyzed
with terror, she stood perfectly still, and listened for the
sound to be repeated, but all was silent, and again she went
on her way, and soon reached the school-house.

But here a new difficulty presented itself. The house
was locked, and the key was in Mr. Wilmot's pocket; but
the old adage, “where there's a will, there's a way,” came
into her mind, so she felt round on the half frozen ground
till she found a long rail, which she placed against a window;
then climbing up, she raised the sash, and in a moment
was in the school-room. The atmosphere of the room
was still comfortable, and she stopped for a moment at the
stove to warm her benumbed fingers, then groping her way
to her desk, she easily found her books, and made her way
out of the house in the same manner that she had entered.

Just as she reached the ground, a large, dark object
sprang towards her, and two glittering eyes looked up into

her face. She uttered a loud shriek, which was answered
by a low whine, which she instantly recognized as belonging
to Tiger. “Why, Tiger,” she exclaimed, “how you frightened
me! What did you follow me for?” It seems Tiger
had thought there must be something wrong, or his mistress
would not be out at this unreasonable hour, so he had followed
on after her. She was noways displeased at this, for
she liked not the idea of again going alone through the
wood, but with Tiger for a companion, she went fearlessly on,
and reached home just an hour after she had left it.

On entering her room, she struck a light, and then tried
to warm her chilled limbs over the few faint coals which
still glimmered on the hearth; but there was no wood in the
room, and she dared not go for any, so she sat down with
her cloak still around her, and for four long hours studied as
she had never before done in all her life. At the end of that
time, her lessons were very nearly learned, and sick with cold
and fatigue, she threw aside her books, and prepared for bed.

Her movements awoke Fanny, who, on seeing her sister
up at that hour of the night, started with surprise, and exclaimed,
“What, is it Julia? What is the matter?” Julia
immediately extinguished the light, lest her sister should discover
her books, and then said, “Nothing, Fanny, nothing;
only I have the toothache, and I got up for the camphor,
but cannot find it.”

“The camphor is down stairs,” said Fanny, “but I will
go for it if you wish me to. Does your tooth ache very
hard?”

“Yes, rather,” said Julia, and her kind-hearted sister
arose, and found her way in the dark, down stairs, to her
mother's room.

“What in thunder's come now!” called out Mr. Middleton.
“'Pears like somebody's been tousing 'round the house
all night.”

“It's only I, father,” said Fanny. “Julia has the tooth-ache,
and I am after the camphor bottle.”

“Oh it's you, Sunshine, is it? The camphire's on the
mantletry. Be keerful and not break it, honey.”

While Fanny was after the camphor, Julia arose, and
seizing her books, threw them hastily into her bureau
drawer. She then sprang back into bed, and when Fanny
came in, she was making a very appropriate moaning on
account of her aching tooth!

“How cold you are, sister,” said Fanny, “let me warm
my shawl and put 'round you.”

“You can't warm it, for there is neither fire nor wood,”
said Julia; “and besides, my tooth is much better now!”

So Fanny lay down by her sister, and the two, purity
and guilt, were soon fast asleep, side by side, and the angel
of innocence spread his broad wing protectingly over the
yellow locks of the one, while a serpent lay coiled in the dark
tresses of the other.