“He told me to feed it, and take care of it, and not let it get hurt, if he did give it to you,” I replied, doggedly, “and I did what he told me.  You are a born tyrant, Evelyn.  Constance told you so a month ago, when you twisted Laura Stanbury’s arm for not teaching you that puzzle; and there is a wicked word I know that suits you to-day, only I am afraid to say it—­Constance would be angry—­but it begins with an L and ends with an R, and has only four letters in it.  There, now!”

I well deserved the slap, no doubt, that rang down with such lightning speed and force on my cheek, and, fortunately, Mrs. Austin arrested my panther-like spring toward Evelyn, or the nails I held in rest might have brought blood from her waxen face, and marred its symmetry for a season.  As it was, I screamed wildly, until Miss Glen came in, attracted by my cries, and, receiving no satisfactory explanation as to their cause, led me to her own apartment to compose, question, and rebuke me in that firm but gentle manner that ever calmed my spirit like oil poured upon troubled waters.  The end of the matter was that, when I met Evelyn again, I went up to her in a spirit of conciliation, and mutely kissed her as a sign of peace and penitence.

It was a matter of indifference to me that this advance was carelessly received, since it satisfied my conscience and her who stirred its depths—­nor did my cheek flush at the derisive taunt that followed me from the room after this obligation to self was discharged—­“Now tattle again, little prophetess,” for thus she often alluded to my Hebrew name and its signification, “and produce my squirrel, or look well to your wounded mole!”

This threat was not without its effect.  In a deep, leafy covert I concealed my poor dying patient, “earthy, and of the earth”—­literally, in every sense—­but the squirrel still enjoyed its sequestered home on the topmost branch of an English walnut-tree, from which it cheerfully, but cautiously, descended at my call when I went out to carry it almonds or filberts from the dessert (invariably served with wine to my father, who, in observance of his English custom, sat alone some moments after the ladies of his household had withdrawn from table), nor did Evelyn have the despotic pleasure of abbreviating his right of tail.

CHAPTER II.

My father’s marriage was solemnized very quietly in that old gray church with its fairy chime of bells, all alive on that occasion, which stood in the busy street not far from our quiet house.  An aged and reverend bishop, who had administered the sacred communion to Washington and his wife when the city we dwelt in had been the temporary residence of that chief, performed the ceremony, which, with the exception of my father’s immediate household and neighbors, none were invited to witness.  When the solemn rite was ended, I made my way to Constance, so fair that day in her pearl-gray robes and simple white bonnet, and clasped her hand.  She stooped down and kissed me many times, to conceal her tears, probably.