me.

I went into the castle, and found that Miss Ella was as comfortable as the circumstances would permit. I put some pitch wood on the fire, which made the room light enough to enable one to read in any part of it. I prepared some supper, of which she ate very sparingly, though when, like an accomplished housekeeper, I apologized for the fare, she declared that it was very good.

I had to unload the wagon; but the barrel of flour was still too much for me, and I asked Mr. Mellowtone to help me, and he came to the front of the castle for that purpose. I lighted a pitch-wood torch, and went out. Miss Ella followed me, and insisted upon holding the torch, when I began to thrust one end of it into the ground. Mr. Mellowtone could not help seeing her; and when I was ready to roll down the barrel of flour on the skids, I saw that he was gazing at her very intently. "What is this young lady's name, Phil Farringford," he asked, in a low tone.

"Ella Gracewood," I replied.

"My daughter!" exclaimed he, with deep emotion, as he sprang towards her.

"I suppose, if I wore my black clothes, you would see no change at all in me," replied the father. "But I will help you unload your flour, Phil Farringford."

"I am in no hurry," I answered. "Let us do it at once."

I handed the torch to Ella again, and we rolled the heavy barrel to the ground. "How funny it looks to see you doing such work, father!" said she, laughing.

"But I am my own cook and my own servant. I chop my own wood, and shoot my own dinner. You shall go to my island home to-morrow, and I think we shall be very happy there."

“You needn't do anything more, Mr. Mellowtone," I interposed, when he was going to help unload the rest of the goods. "You can go into the house, and talk with your daughter."

"Why do you call him Mr. Mellowtone?" asked Ella. "That is not his name."

"It is the name by which I am known here in the forest," added he.

"But your name is Henry Gracewood." "And you may call me so, Phil Farringford, in future," said Mr. Mellowtone. "My Own name sounds strange to me now. I changed it to escape impertinent questions, which might possibly be put to me."

Father and daughter entered the castle, and seated themselves before the blazing fire. I rolled the barrel of flour into the store-room, between the house and the barn. Disposing of the rest of the articles I had bought in

I took the torch from her hand, utterly confounded by the scene. I could not see how Mr. Mellowtone could be the father of Miss Gracewood, for I knew enough of the customs of society to be aware that the daughter bore the parent's name. They wept and sobbed in each other's arms, and I was so touched that I could not help crying, too.

"You are but little changed, Ella," said the father. "Only a little taller."

He stepped back and gazed at her, as if to note the change which time had wrought in

her.

"And you don't look any older than when we parted; how well I remember it!" replied Ella, her pretty face lighted up with joy. "Only your clothes are different."

Mr. Mellowtone wore the costume of the woods -a blue hunting-shirt, or frock, over

the night.

"I will go to the block house now, Mr. Gracewood," I remarked, not wishing to intrude myself upon the happy father and child in the castle.

"No, Phil Farringford," replied he; "I shall have no secrets from you after this, for you have learned enough to make you desire to know more."

"I don't wish to intrude, sir."

"Sit down, Phil Farringford. Now Matt Rockwood is gone, I shall regard you both as my children," continued Mr. Gracewood, with more sprightliness than I had ever seen him exhibit before.

I put some more pitch wood on the fire, and seated myself opposite the father and daughter, where I could see the glowing faces of both.

"Now, Ella, tell me how you happen to

be so far from St. Louis," said Mr. Gracewood.

"We were going to Portland, Oregon. Mr. Sparkley failed in business, and lost all his property," replied she.

"Mr. Sparkley is my brother-in-law, Phil," added Mr. Gracewood. "And you are going with him, Ella?"

"Yes; Mr. Sparkley has a good chance to go into business there."

“Is your — is your mother with him?" asked Mr. Gracewood, with some embarrassment. "She is."

I was not a little puzzled by what I heard. My good friend spoke of the mother of Ella, and I knew that she was his daughter. The mother, therefore, was his wife, as I reasoned out the problem; but I could not understand how he happened to be living in the backwoods, away from her and his child. Mr. Gracewood was silent for a time, and I began to realize that there was something unpleasant in his family relations, though the matter was incomprehensible to me.

"I suppose your mother does not speak very kindly of me," said the father, at last, with considerable emotion.

"I never heard her speak an unkind word of you, father," replied Ella, promptly; and at the same time her eyes filled with tears. "I am glad to hear that."

“I was, sir, and I felt very bad when your daughter wept."

"I am afraid, from what Ella says, that I am quite as much to blame as her mother. Indeed, I had begun to think before that the fault was not all on her side. When my father died, he left a handsome fortune, which was divided between my brother and myself. I was educated at one of the best colleges in the west, and intended to study the profession of law; but the death of my father placed sufficient wealth in my possession to enable me to live in luxury without any exertion. I was married, and for a few years lived very happily.

---

"I had always been very fond of fishing and hunting, and while in college I spent all my vacations in camp, on the prairie or in the forest. After I was graduated, I used to devote two or three months of the year to these pursuits. When I was married, I was not willing to forego this luxury, - for such it was to me, and without going into the painful details, this subject became a source of difference between us. I thought my wife was unreasonable, and she thought the same of me. Six years ago she told me, if I went on my usual excursion, she would leave me, never to return. I could not believe she was in earnest. I had reduced the period of my absence to six weeks, and when I returned I found my house

in the steamer she.

"She may not wish to see me." "I know she will be glad to see you." Mr. Gracewood was moody and agitated again. I saw that he was struggling with his feelings, and I hoped that the gentle words of his daughter would lead to a reconciliation. She seemed like an angel of peace to me, as she threw oil upon the troubled waters. But I felt like an intruder in such a scene, and I left the castle on the pretence of attending to the horses. I did not return, feeling that I was not needed in such an interview. I made up a bed in the block house, and was about to turn in, when Mr. Gracewood joined me. He told me he had attended to all the wants of his daughter, and that she would sleep in the castle.

"I know you were astonished at what you heard, Phil Farringford," said he, as we lay down in the block house.

"She wrote me in reply, that if I would promise to abandon my annual hunting trip, or take her with me, she would come back. I replied that I would travel with her wherever she desired to go, and at any time except in June and July, and that a woman was out of place in a camp of hunters. She positively refused to return or to see me on any other than her own conditions. I met Ella every week at my own house, where she came in charge of a servant. Neither of us would yield, and life was misery to me. The next spring I placed all my property in the hands of my brother, with instructions to pay my wife an annuity of three thousand dollars a year, and made a will in favor of my child.

"I had been to this region before, and hunted upon the island where I now live. To me it was a paradise, and I determined to spend the rest of my days there. I felt that I had been robbed of all the joys of existence in the love of my wife and child. Taking the materials for my house, furniture, a piano, and my library, with a plentiful supply of

"Very much; but I was afraid that the sight of her would break down my resolution, and induce me to yield the point for which I had contended. A kind Providence seems to have sent my child to me, to open and warm my heart."

"Do you still think you were right?" I asked.

"I do; my annual hunt was life and strength to me for the whole year. I thought my wife's objections were unkind and unreasonable; but I believe now, since I have seen Ella, that my manner was not conciliatory; that I was arbitrary in my refusal. Perhaps, if I had been kind and gentle, and taken the pains to convince her that my health required the recreation, she would have withdrawn her objections. Quarrels, Phil Farringford, oftener result from the manner of the persons concerned than from irreconcilable differences."

I went to sleep, but I think it was a long night to Mr. Gracewood. When I waked, he had left the block house; but I found him with Ella, at sunrise, on the bank of the river. He had called her up, and was going to start at that early hour for Paradise, as he called his island. He invited me to go up as soon as I could, declaring that there was no danger from the Indians so long as Kit did not return. I was sorry to lose my pretty visitor so soon; but she was as impatient to see the home of her father as he was to have her do so.

I watched the beautiful boat as Mr. Gracewood pulled up the stream; but I trembled when I considered the danger of losing my neighbors, for Ella would not think of remaining long in such a lonely region. I took care of the horses, and turned them out to feed on the new grass, believing that they would be better able to take care of themselves in my absence if the Indians visited the clearing. After breakfast, I walked down to the landing, where I had a boat, as starting from there would save me the labor of paddling a mile against the current. I soon reached the island, and landed upon the lower end. I had taken my rifle with me, so as to bring down any game I happened to see.

As I walked up the slope of the hill, I discovered in the water, on the north side of the island, a couple of Indian dugouts. I was alarmed, and hastened with all speed to the house of my good friend. I heard the music

wood sat at the instrument. with his pipe in his mouth, inspired by the melody he was producing. At the same instant, I perceived the head of an Indian at a window behind the pianist. I saw him raise a rifle, as if to take aim. As quick as my own thoughts, I elevated my own piece and fired.

IT

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE STORY OF A VIOLET.

BY HALEY MAY.

was on a bright, smiling April morning that I first opened my blue eyes upon the earth. My home was on the sunny side of a hill; and, as I peeped up from my bed of mossy green, I found that I was not alone, for several little companions were blooming around me. A gentle south wind kissed my cheek, a little babbling brook ran murmuringly by just below me, the merry birds were twittering on every hand, and an oriole, with its golden plumage, was sweetly singing on a neighboring elm.

"How beautiful is life!" I exclaimed to my companions, as I drank in the glories of this bright spring morning.

"True," said my nearest neighbor, whose drooping petals told me that this was not her first morning upon earth, and that she was fast fading away. "Yes, life is beautiful; but you must wisely improve and enjoy it while you may; for what is life? It is even as a vapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.' This is as true of flowers as of man."

A wise saying for a little violet, but nevertheless true.

Scarcely had my neighbor made this remark, when I heard a sweet voice, softly singing,

"Flowers, wildwood flowers,
In a sheltered dell they grew,"

and I soon saw a beautiful little girl come tripping along. Her tiny straw hat rested on a bed of sunny curls that almost hid her bright blue eyes peeping out from beneath. Her teeth, as she sang, looked like two rows of pearls framed in lips of coral, and the fresh morning air had kissed bright roses into her cheeks. On her arm hung a basket, nearly filled with anemones and violets. I felt, as I looked upon this sweet child, that I would like to nestle in that basket, and be tenderly cared

for by her. But the little brook babbled between us, and I had no hope that she would find me in my bed of green.

So beautiful did this little girl seem to me, I think my eyes must have shone very brightly with delight as I gazed upon her; for she suddenly caught sight of me, and exclaimed, "O, what a beautiful violet!" and, in a trice, her little feet, already wet with dew, had leaped the brook, and her sweet breath, instead of the south wind, now fanned my cheek. I think I must have been larger and more beautiful than my companions, for she plucked me very tenderly, saying, "I shall take you home carefully for my dear sick mamma." And she made a place for me in her basket, by the side of a bunch of lovely little anemones, and then, without gathering any of my companions, she again leaped the brook, and started for home, singing as she went,

“O, little violet, mamma's favorite flower, I know your sweet fragrance will cheer her! She has often told me that the beautiful flowers were tokens of God's love for his children, and she has told me so much about her favorites stars of earth,' as she calls you. She says one can scarcely go where the little violets are not found. And she told me that Humboldt- a great man that you and I know not much about, I guess - says that he gathered violets on the sides of the lofty Andes, and in the valleys of the Amazon, and that at the base of the ice-capped Alps the sweet violet is modestly blooming. I think you must feel quite proud to be a violet. Can you talk, little violet? Do flowers pray? If so, will you, too, ask God to care for my dear mamma?"

I longed to reply to her, but I could not say anything that she could understand; so I looked up as brightly and hopefully as I could, and I think my face cheered her, for she exclaimed,

"O, it seems as though the angels were smiling at me through your face, dear violet! and I feel sure that God will hear my prayer, and spare my dear mamma.”

We soon came in sight of a white cottage, nearly hidden by elms, and, as we reached the gate, a gentleman stood there watching the coming of his darling; and stooping to kiss her bright lips, his eyes fell upon her basket of flowers, and, strangely enough, I at once attracted his attention.

"Has my little pet been among the haunts of the fairies to find such a beautiful violet?” asked he.

"Not among the fairies, papa. I think God grew this beautiful violet expressly for mamma, as a token of his love for her; and it seemed to me that when I prayed him to spare mamma, his angels smiled at me through its happy little face."

"Precious child! Why may not God's angels speak to such little ones through his flowers? sweet ministers of the tenderest truths and holiest hopes? At all events, we will believe in its hopeful face, for mamma is much better this morning, and is impatiently waiting to see her little daughter."

Lillie, whose mamma, it seemed, had been too sick to notice her for several days, hastened with her little basket of flowers to her sick room, which she quietly entered, and placing her basket upon the stand, forgot us for a time, so delighted was she to see her mother so much better able once more to fold her daughter in her arms as she gave her her good-morning kiss. But her thoughts soon returned to her flowers, and taking me up carefully, she gave me to her mamma, telling her all her thoughts concerning me; how much more lovely I was than all the violets that bloomed around me, and how sure she felt that I grew purposely for her.

Her mother smiled sweetly and lovingly upon her darling, and thanked her again and again for this little favorite, telling her that she should carefully treasure this little messenger of hope, and token of a child's pure love.

The other flowers were prettily arranged in a bouquet, and set on the mantel, while I was put in a tiny silver vase, and placed on the stand near Mrs. Lee's bed.

I asked a little sprig of evergreen, which lay on the stand near me, if Mrs. Lee had been very ill, and learned that for three days the doctor had had but little hope of her recovery, but that she was much more comfortable this morning. Just then the doctor came in, and was delighted to find his patient so much better. He told Mr. Lee that the crisis was passed, and that with care Mrs. Lee would soon be well again.

Lillie, who was eagerly listening to the doctor's words, all unnoticed by him, looked gratefully at me, and, stealing up behind the stand, bent her sunny head down to me, and whispered, "Precious little violet!" I think she in some way connected her mamma's recovery with me, and it was pleasing to me to