GILLIAN, 61
“This is my daughter,” said Bentley.
“Not now. Wd rather look at her in—in the oli house,” almost sobbed the farmer, keeping his heal turned away. ‘I’ve got a gal tuo; not like what she was; but a likely critter enough. I'll ride forard, if you’d just as lief, anu tell her you're a comin’!”
With this, the farmer beat his heels against the sides of his horse, and dashed off, ashamed of the emotion that had beaved his broad chest with a tempest of old recollections.
Gillian louked after him, her lips parted and her eves dilating with wonder. To her there Was something ludicrous in the heavy trot which kept the farmer in consgant motion on his meal- bags, and she broke into a Jaugh when the horse dashed into a skeltering gallop, that threatened to dislodge the whole load at every awkward lesp. Little did she know of the genuine feel- ing which went with that jumbling picture.
Mr. Bentley turned upon her with an angry flash of the eyes, and said, sternly,
“Gillian Bentley, that man is your mother’s only brother, her benefactor. Laugh now, if you have the heart.”
Gilian’s mirth broke into a sob. Never in her life had she been addressed so harshly before. The surprise took away her breath.
“Oh: father.”
“Her brother, girl. A man whom I hold in reverence above all others on the earth.”
‘Father, forgive me!”
Giilian was trembling from head to foot. She could have killed herself for that wanton laugh. Mr. Bentley drew her to his side, and strove to ‘mile upon her. But it was not easy, even for this forgiving caress, to reconcile the sensitive girl to herself.
Meantime the driver had started his horses, Unconscious of the little domestic drama going on behind his back; and every moment drew the travelers nearer home.
Wien Daniel Hart rode up in front of his house, Hannah atood in the door, waiting his approach with some impatience; for it was baking day, her four had given out, the great oven in the back kitchen had burned down, and was getting evid: in short the whole family baking for that week was in danger, for want of @ measure of tour to mould the bread with, and that lay in lhe bags swung acrosa her father’s saddle. So out tue ran at once, with her sleeves tucked up, ler plump, white arms ready for instant work, ula Un basin in ber hand.
“Come, father, jump down and untie the bags; I am in a desperate hurry. Another ten Minuiey and we should have had to heat over again. I’ve got the most splendid pan of beans, all ready for baking, with such a lump of pork on the top, all cut in checkers, and dropping open like a rose; come, hurry up, do!”
Daniel Hart got down. from his horse, and swung one of the bags over his shoulder, and marched into the porch. Somehow he did not feel able to speak on commonplace things, but untied the bag in silence, watching Hannah as she took out the flour in handfuls and filled her basin.
‘‘Hannah,” he said, at last, ‘is aunt Hetty in the kitchen?”
The girl lifted her rosy face, with a look of surprise. There was something unusual in the father’s voice.
‘Aunt Hetty? Yes! father. Where else should she be? I left her raking up the coals with a long shovel.”
‘Hannah, wait a moment. There'll be com- pany here in a few minutes. I met your uncle, Joseph Bentley, and his darter ou the cross- roads; and they’ll be here in a few minutes, without fail.”
“Uncle Joseph Bentley and his daughter from foreign parts!’ cried Hannah, all in a flutter of excitement. ‘Goodness me, what shall we get for supper? The baking won't be out of the oven this two hours. Qh! father, do go kill a chicken, and I'll put down a short-cake; that, with pre- serves and honey, will have to answer.”
Away Hannah ran, bearing the flour between her plump little hands, while her apron streamed behind her, and the bright curls danced and twinkled around her face.
“Aunt Hetty; I say, aunt Hetty—what do you think? Uncle Joseph Bentley and cousin Gillian —what a name—-are coming here to-day. You can hear the wagon coming up the hill. Hetty! Hetty! where have you hid? Aunt Hetty!”
‘‘T am here,” answered a faint, struggling voice, from the back porch; and Mehitable Hart came in, white and still as usual. But a less excited person would have remarked that her face, always colorless, was now almost ghostly, and that her small hands shook like leaves, when she attempted to take the basin from her niece.
“Don’t take it all. Leave me enough for a short-cake. No! that’s not it. Leave cnough out for that, and I'll mould the bread. You look tired out. Here’s the butter, and there lies the rolling-pin. Goodness gracious! how fast they come! you can fairly hear the wheels clatter. But there’s a good deal of work in ten minutes: go now for it!”
Suiting the action to the words, Hannah dusted the table with flour, plunged her arms into the
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