she tried her strength. She slipped her feet to the floor, stood up and stole over the floor to that door which her aunt had indicated. She timidly raised the latch, after listening at it, opened and peeped into a small apartment. To her surprise she saw the little bed she had occupied at her dear home, the rectory, her old washstand, her mirror, the old chairs, the framed pictures that had adorned her walls, the common and trifling ornaments that had been arranged on her chimney-piece. Every object with which she had been familiar at the parsonage for many years, and to which she had said good-by, never expecting to have a right to them any more—all these were there, furnishing the room that adjoined her aunt's apartment.
She stood looking around in surprise, till she heard a step on the stair outside, and, supposing it was that of Aunt Dionysia, she ran back to bed, and dived under the clothes and pulled the sheets over her golden head.
Aunt Dunes entered the room, bringing with her a bowl of soup. Her eye at once caught the opened door into the little adjoining chamber.
"You have been out of bed!"
Judith thrust her head out of its hiding-place, and said, frankly, "Yes, auntie! I could not help myself. I want to see. How have you managed to get all my things together?"
"I? I have had nothing to do with it."
"But—who did it, auntie?"
"Captain Coppinger; he was at the sale."
"Is the sale over, aunt?"
"Yes, whilst you have been ill."
"Oh, I am so glad it is over, and I knew nothing about it."
"Oh, exactly! Not a thought of the worry you have been to me; deprived of my sleep—of my bed—of my bed," repeated Aunt Dunes, grimly. "How can you expect a bulb to flower if you take it out of the earth and stick it on a bedroom chair stirring broth? I have no patience with you young people. You are consumed with selfishness."
"But, auntie! Don't be cross. Why did Captain Coppinger buy all my dear crinkum-crankums?"
Aunt Dionysia snorted and tossed her head.
Judith suddenly flushed; she did not repeat the ques-
