“No, Thomas,” said Uncle Pennyman gravely, but with a kind of breaking about his mouth:  “your eyes were open when you had that vision, and you must not jest with serious subjects.  But it is well you mentioned it, dear boy, and it is well our child Winnie received such a remarkable direction, since it throws light on friend Haines’ visitation, and apparently the happiness of that excellent young minister and our dear Bessie here.”

“The young man has just expressed himself in corroboration of the vision,” said Mr. Haines, much affected.

Bessie threw her arms round her father, then round me, and then she ran away.  Mr. Haines and Uncle Pennyman went out to their commentaries, Mrs. Tanner to see to her buns:  Tom and I were alone.

“What is this about, Winnie darling?” he said.

“Tom,” said I, “we are all the victims of dreams.”

MARGARET HOSMER.

The Cold Hand.

There is a rocky hill in what was till recently the town of Dorchester, looking out over Boston Bay.  It takes its name from the stiff black savins with which it is covered, and which contrive to find nourishment and support in the rock to which they cling.  Some of these trees show their great age by their gnarled and knotted trunks and boughs.  Black and impassive they stand, alike in the brightest summer or the grayest winter, sighing restlessly in the breeze, but wailing piteously when the sea-winds sweep over the hill.  Partway up the little rocky eminence stands an old house, now fast falling to pieces.  It is a low building, with a gambrel roof and a huge chimney.  It has stood there many years, for it was built not long after the Revolution, and it might have stood many years more had it not been suffered to go to decay with a carelessness which seemed to belie the general thrift of the town.

Wandering over the hill one bright winter day, with no companion but a large dog, I stopped to look in at the window of the old house.  The glass was gone from the sash, and the sash itself was broken in many places; but the obscurity was so deep within that I obtained only a partial glimpse of an interior which to my fancy had a peculiarly deserted and eerie look.  I felt a desire to explore the place, attracted rather than repelled by its forlorn look of falling age; for I came from a part of the country where the most ancient relic dates back only forty years, and the aspect of everything old and quaint in the place had a charm for me which I suspect it offers to few of the natives.  The front door was locked, but I obtained an entrance without difficulty at the back, and made my way through a little shed, which was evidently of more modern construction than the main part of the building.  I came first into the kitchen, where was a large fireplace blackened with the smoke of long-dead fires, and a narrow, high mantelpiece.  A little cupboard was let into the side of the great chimney, which projected far across the floor.