"How many numbers are there to choose from?" she asked. "Three hundred and sixty-five. The number of days in the year." 66 Well, then, I'll take the number of the day; the last, no, I forgot, - the first of all." Nobody before had chosen this, and Margaret read, in a clear, gentle voice, not untouched with the grave beauty of its own words, and the sweet, earnest, listening look of the young face that bent toward her to take them in, "Rouse to some high and holy work of love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know; --- Ten minutes later, and all else were absorbed in other things again,-leave-takings, parting chat, and a few waltzing a last measure to a specially-accorded grace of music. Faith stood, thoughtfully, by the table where the book was closed and left. She quietly reopened it at that first page. Unconscious of a step behind her, her eyes ran over the lines again, to make their beautiful words her own. "And that was your oracle, then?" asked a kindly voice. Glancing quickly up, while the timid color flushed her cheek, she met a look as of a wise and watchful angel, though it came through the eye and smile of a gray-haired man, who laid his hand upon the page as he said, CHAPTER III. AUNT HENDERSON. "I never met a manner more entirely without frill." SYDNEY SMITH. LATE into the morning of the New Year, Faith slept. Through her half consciousness crept, at last, a feeling of music that had been wandering in faint echoes among the chambers of her brain all those hours of her suspended life, and were the first sensations to stir there, when that mysterious Life flashed back along its channels, and brought a light more subtle than the mere sunshine that through the easterly windows was flooding all her room with its silent arousal. Light, and music, and a sense of an unexamined, halfremembered joy, filled her being and embraced her at her waking on this New Year's Day. A moment she lay in a passive, unthinking delight; and then her first, full, and distinct thought shaped itself, as from a sweet and solemn memory, "Rouse to some high and holy work of love, An impulse of lofty feeling held her in its ecstasy; a noble longing and determination shaped itself, though vaguely, within her. For a little, she was touched in her deepest and truest nature; she was uplifted to the threshold of a great resolve. But generalities are so grand, - details so commonplace and unsatisfying. What should she do? What "high and holy work" lay waiting for her? And, breaking in upon her reverie, bringing her down. with its rough and common call to common duty, — the second bell for breakfast rang. "Oh, dear! It is no use! Who'll know what great things I've been wishing and planning, when I've nothing to show for it but just being late to breakfast? And father hates it so, - and New Year's morning, too!" Hurrying her toilet, she repaired, with all the haste possible, to the breakfast-room, where her consciousness of shortcoming was in nowise lessened when she saw who occupied the seat at her father's right hand, — Aunt Henderson! Aunt Faith Henderson, who had reached her nephew's house last evening just after the young Faith, her namesake, had gone joyously off to "dance the Old Year out and the New Year in." Old-fashioned Aunt Faith, - who believed most devoutly that "early to bed and early to rise" was the only way to be "healthy, wealthy, or wise!" Aunt Faith, who had never quite forgiven our young heroine for having said, at the discreet and positive age of nine, that" she did n't see what her father and mother had called her such an ugly name for. It was a real old-maid's name!" Whereupon, having asked the child what she would have preferred as a substitute, and being answered, "Well, Clotilda, I guess; or Cleopatra," Miss Henderson had told her that she was quite welcome to change it for any heathen woman's that she pleased, and the worse behaved perhaps the better. She would n't be so likely to do it any discredit! Aunt Henderson had a downright and rather extreme fashion of putting things; nevertheless, in her heart she was not unkindly. So when Faithie, with her fair, fresh face, a little apprehensive trouble in it for her tardiness, came in, there was a grim bending of the old lady's brows; but, below, a half-belying twinkle in the eye, that, long as it had looked out sharply and keenly on the things and people of this mixed-up world, found yet a pleasure in anything so young and bright. 66 Why, auntie! How do you do?" cried Faith, cunning culprit that she was, taking the "bull by the horns," and holding out her hand. "I wish you a Happy New Year! Good morning, father, and mother! A Happy New Year! I'm sorry I'm so late." "Wish you a great many," responded the great-aunt, in stereotyped phrase. "It seems to me, though, you've lost the beginning of this one." "Oh, no!" replied Faithie, gayly. "I had that at the party. We danced the New Year in." "Humph!" said Aunt Henderson. Breakfast over, and Mr. Gartney gone to his countingroom, the parlor-girl made her appearance with her mop and tub of hot water, to wash up the silver and china. "Give me that," said Aunt Henderson, taking a large towel from the girl's arm as she set down her tub upon the sideboard. "You go and find something else to do." Wherever she might be, to be sure, her round of visitAunt Henderson never let any ing was not a large one, one else wash up breakfast-cups. This quiet arming of herself, with mop and towel, stirred up everybody else to duty. Her niece-in-law laughed, withdrew her feet from the comfortable fender, and departed to the kitchen to give her household orders for the day. Faith removed cups, glasses, forks, and spoons from the table to the sideboard, while the maid, returning with a tray, carried off to the lower regions the larger dishes, and the remnants of the meal. I have n't told you yet, Elizabeth, what I came to town for," said Aunt Faith, when Mrs. Gartney came back into the breakfast-room. "I'm going to hunt up a girl." "A girl, aunt! Why, what has become of Prudence?" "Mrs. Pelatiah Trowe. That's what's become of her. More fool she." 66 But why in the world do you come to the city for a servant? It's the worst possible place. Nineteen out of twenty are utterly good for nothing." "I'm going to look out for the twentieth." "But are n't there girls enough in Kinnicutt who would be glad to step into Prue's place?" "Of course there are. Plenty. But they're all well enough off where they are. When I have a chance to give away, I want to give it to somebody that needs it." "I'm afraid you'll hardly find any efficient girl who will appreciate the chance of going twenty miles into the country." 'I don't want an efficient girl. I'm efficient myself, and that's enough." "Going to train another, at your time of life, aunt?"," asked Mrs. Gartney, in surprise. 66 'I suppose I must either train a girl, or let her train |