her the idea was quite a new one. To her mind Hetty had been a good-tempered, and somewhat uncertainly obliging elder sister, except as a general favourite almost a nonentity in the house. Barbara could not but feel that she herself already possessed a more substantial claim to such a title than Henrietta had ever done. At least she had stitched shirt fronts and collars whilst Hetty embroidered or thought she was doing so; read German and history whilst Hetty read novels or nothing at all; helped David night after night with his lessons whilst Hetty joked and played with Frank and Hargrave; tidied the sitting-rooms and mended her clothes, whilst Hetty was littering book or work about wherever she went, if she did take out a needle to sew on a piece of braid or darn a rent, the general finale being that all the working materials were left about, and the dress itself for Hannah to do what was necessary when she took it off at night.

How then had Henrietta been her mother's right hand? Poor Barbara! perhaps she was not wrong in feeling that it was in a way in which she could never be such. In the comfort that one so active and energetic experienced in having one so gentle and sweettempered beneath her. In the pride and pleasure with which a mother eyed and thought of all one so graceful, refined and pretty said or did,—or even left undone.

This place plain-faced, comparatively awkward Barbara could never take, and however pretty she had been, her quicker, rougher temper would of itself have prevented her ever doing so. But God helping her, she would try to take it in another, surely a higher way try honestly to do her duty to the many around her who all had claims of one kind or another upon her love, activity, sympathy and patience.

She went down stairs, however, wondering how she who had but a few weeks before been so eager to substitute a fairer and better rule in their mother's absence

than the easy, pleasant one which Hetty had exereised, shrank now from the very thought of the task before her. Fortunately for her, all care of her brothers had for the time been forestalled; she found the hall and parlour alike deserted, and learnt from Elizabeth that Paul had carried off the boys with him to the forest.

D

CHAPTER IV.

"How full of thorns is this work-a-day_world!"

SHAKSPERE.

"How late the postman is," said Mr. Wynne, looking at his watch for the tenth time the next morning, as they sat at breakfast; "Gordon, go and see if you cannot catch him."

Gordon began to grumble,-whereupon his mother pulled his chair from under him, and sent him off at

once.

"Jones always will go round the other side first," she said, "but you can run across and ask for our letters."

"It's raining," remonstrated Gordon, sulkily.

"Well, will that hurt you? Now be quick.' Instead of which, Gordon went so slowly, that Paul longed to throw the butter dish after him.

In five minutes he came back, a little wet and very sullen, but the letter which Mr. Wynne wanted in his hand.

"It is your's, mamma."

'Well, take it to your father; his time is more precious than mine; and then come to your breakfast."

In his absence Mrs. Wynne had not forgotten her boy, and Gordon's brow somewhat cleared at the sight of the ham on his plate, and the egg by its side.

Mr. Wynne meanwhile had read the letter, and looked up with a smile.

"So like Hetty, our own child still! She has actually signed her name, 'H. H. Wynne.'"

Mrs. Wynne smiled too. "Careless girl," she said fondly; "but a wife ought not to make such mistakes."

"How jealous Cradock would be if he knew it," said Hargrave.

But here the breakfast-party broke up.

"Don't come into the hall after me, my love," said Mr. Wynne to his wife, "such a raw wretched morning. Well, I am glad our Hetty was married before this miserable month came on!"

Mrs. Wynne did not follow him, to Barbara's surprise, but the next moment Paul called herself out. "See that mother rests and does nothing," he said, "I am sure she ought to be in bed now."

"I can't say anything."

"You must, she will kill herself keeping up as she always will do for papa's sake; I am sure she is feeling the old pain."

Mr. Wynne called to his son, and they started, leaving Barbara not well knowing what to do, and longing for a Hetty to relieve her of the responsibility of headdaughter. She was returning to the dining-room, when Mrs. Wynne met her.

"My dear," she said, kindly; "I am sorry to leave you alone the first day dear Hetty is gone, but I think I must rest to-day. I am going up stairs now, and shall scarcely be down to dinner. Will you take Gordon's lessons ?"

"Yes, mamma," answered Barbara, wishing her mother had asked her to walk to London rather than this. "Thank you; of course it is too wet for any of you to think of going to the service," and Mrs. Wynne passed on.

Barbara watched her creeping up step after step, and yet could not venture to offer help which was not asked. The first turn given to her thoughts was the sound of the front bell. She looked out, and saw Miss Barnard, the daily governess, standing under a dripping umbrella at the gate.

"How tiresome that lock is, I daresay it has slipped again. Gordon," the other boys were gone to school, and he was passing through the hall,-"run down and open it."

"Go yourself."

Gordon, you should do as you are told," answered Barbara, kindling at once.

"Not what I'm told by you. I've been out once in the rain, that's enough."

Barbara seized her own brown hat, and pattered down the wet steps herself, opened the gate, let her old governess in, and had the satisfaction of having reached the hall again before Louisa appeared to answer the bell at all.

"Thank you, my dear," said Miss Barnard, warmly, "I must not stop to talk, I am a little late already, I fear; but how is Mrs. Wynne, and have you heard from Mrs. Cradock ?"

Barbara smiled and sighed.

"Mamma is pretty well-no, not at all well, I am afraid,-Henrietta very happy, her letter to mamma is so amusing, I am sure she will let me show it to you, and there is a message about you.'

"Me?" asked the poor governess, her face bright and grateful.

Yes, that we are to be sure to send as much wedding-cake as James can carry for your little nephews and nieces, and that she does not know what she should have done yesterday without your travellingbag."

"Dear Hetty! she was always a favourite of mine,” said Miss Barnard, forgetting readily all the trouble and disappointment which such an idle wayward pupil had for ten years nearly daily caused her.

"You will come up stairs and put down your bonnet," resumed Barbara, "and are you wet ? can I lend you shoes? or anything?"

"No, thank you, my dear, your galoshes, and dea Mrs. Wynne's waterproof cloak make me as weather