be in the wrong place.  Aunt Lucinda, however, gave me a much more kindly welcome than I had feared, which I regarded as a favourable omen.  She also introduced me to the notice of my aged grandmother who was seated in her deep arm-chair in the corner.  She has seen more than eighty years of life, but as she sits there, day by day, in her quiet decrepitude, she still pretends to a superintendence of the labors of Aunt Lucinda in a way that might sometimes provoke a smile.  She seems not to realize that my uncle and aunt are themselves middle aged gray-haired people, and still calls them her boy and girl.  When made aware who I was my grandmother seemed delighted to see me, and talked long and affectionately of my mother whom she had not seen for many years.  Aunt Lucinda was busily employed at the ironing-board, but looked often to see that her mother’s wants were all supplied; nothing could exceed the affection and care she seemed to bestow upon her aged parent, indulging every whim, so that the old lady hardly can realize that she is old and almost helpless.  We were soon seated at the supper table, and they all must have had the idea that I had brought with me from Elmwood a most unheard-of appetite, if I could judge by the quantities of food they insisted upon piling on my plate.  Aunt Lucinda treated me with a good degree of kindness, but evidently kept a sharp eye to all my movements, doubtless expecting that in a short time I would break out in some flagrant misdemeanor, when she would be called to open hostilities.  Poor Aunt Lucinda, you had little to fear from the homesick boy who sat in the purple twilight, leaning his elbows upon the window-sill, thinking of his now far-distant mother and sister, and his loved companion, Charley Gray.  As I sat there a line of light in the eastern sky gradually became brighter, till the full round moon rose to view, bathing the whole scene in a flood of silver light.  Seated thus, gazing over the moonlit landscape I began (with a mind beyond my years) to look far away into the future, and I made many resolves for my course of action in time to come.  I wished to assist my uncle in doing up the “chores” for the night, but he would not hear of it.  “You’ll get work enough here,” said he, “but you shall rest after your journey and you shall not lift a hand to-night.”  When work was over and the house quiet, Aunt Lucinda placed the large family Bible upon the table, preparatory to their evening worship.  “Now won’t it be nice, Lucinda,” said Uncle Nathan, “we’ve got some one in the house that has good eyes, to read the chapter for us every night, it bothers me to read by lamplight, and I have often heard you call a word wrong if the light was the least mite dim.”  “My sight isn’t so bad as it might be,” replied my aunt who evidently did not relish this hint that she was not as young as she had been, but she readily consented that for the future I should read the Chapter from the Bible each evening.  After reading we