“So you might have been my Mamita!” exclaimed Floracita, impetuously.

“No, not your Mamita, dear,” replied Mrs. Delano, smiling.  “You call me the Java sparrow, and Java sparrows never hatch gay little humming-birds or tuneful mocking-birds.  I might tell you a long story about myself, dear; but the sun is declining, and you ought not to be out after dusk.  My father was angry about our love, because Alfred was then only a clerk with a small salary.  They carried me off to Europe, and for two years I could hear nothing from Alfred.  Then they told me he was married; and after a while they persuaded me to marry Mr. Delano.  I ought not to have married him, because my heart was not in it.  He died and left me with a large fortune and the little daughter I told you of.  I have felt very much alone since my darling was taken from me.  That void in my heart renders young girls very interesting to me.  Your looks and ways attracted me when I first met you; and when you told me Alfred Royal was your father, I longed to clasp you to my heart.  And now you know, my dear child, that you have a friend ever ready to listen to any troubles you may choose to confide, and desirous to remove them if she can.”

She rose to open the boxes of shell-work; but Flora sprung up, and threw herself into her arms, saying, “My Papasito sent you to me,—­I know he did.”

After a few moments spent in silent emotion, Mrs. Delano again spoke of the approaching twilight, and with mutual caresses they bade each other adieu.

Four or five days later, Floracita made her appearance at the Welby plantation in a state of great excitement.  She was in a nervous tremor, and her eyelids were swollen as if with much weeping.  Mrs. Delano hastened to enfold her in her arms, saying:  “What is it, my child?  Tell your new Mamita what it is that troubles you so.”

“O, may I call you Mamita?” asked Flora, looking up with an expression of grateful love that warmed all the fibres of her friend’s heart.  “O, I do so need a Mamita!  I am very wretched; and if you don’t help me, I don’t know what I shall do!”

“Certainly, I will help you, if possible, when you have told me your trouble,” replied Mrs. Delano.

“Yes, I will tell,” said Flora, sighing.  “Mr. Fitzgerald is the gentleman who married my sister; but we don’t live at his plantation.  We live in a small cottage hidden away in the woods.  You never saw anybody so much in love as he was with Rosa.  When we first came here, he was never willing to have her out of his sight a moment.  And Rosa loves him so!  But for these eight or ten weeks past he has been making love to me; though he is just as affectionate as ever with Rosa.  When she is playing to him, and I am singing beside her, he keeps throwing kisses to me behind her back.  It makes me feel so ashamed that I can’t look my sister in the face.  I have tried to—­keep out of his way.  When I am in the house I stick to