“Perhaps these little children may do them good, dear,” returned the minister gravely.  “It would not be the first time God has used the influence of little children to do what no other power on earth could.  We will pray it may be so.”

“Yes,” returned Carrie Goldthwaite; and the shade deepened on her sweet face as she added again, “Poor little things! it will be a sore change from the tender care of a mother.  We must do what we can, Frank, to make their home at Thankful Rest as happy as possible.  We had such a happy one ourselves, I feel an intense pity for those who have not.  There is Judge Keane on horseback at the gate.  He wants either you or me to go out and speak with him.”

The minister rose, and both stepped out to the veranda, and down the steps to the garden.  The judge had alighted, and fastening his bridle to the gate-post, came up the path to meet them.  He was an old man, with white hair and beard; but his fine figure was as erect and stately as it had been a quarter of a century before.  He shook hands cordially with the minister, touched Carrie Goldthwaite’s brow with his lips, and then said, in a brisk, cheerful voice,—­

“My wife heard you were going to Newhaven for a couple of days, and sent me down to say she would expect you, miss,” (he nodded to Carrie,) “at the Red House to-morrow, to stay till he comes back.  I may say yes, I suppose?”

“Yes, and thank you, Judge Keane,” said Miss Goldthwaite with a little grateful smile.  “Even with Abbie’s company, it is very dull when Frank is away.  Won’t you come in?”

The judge shook his head, and turned to the gate again.  “Not to-night, my dear.  Good-night, and good-bye, Frank.”

“Have you no commissions, judge?” asked the minister.  “I shall have plenty of time at my disposal; my own business is very little.”

“No, I think not,” returned the judge.  “But, let me see.”

Miss Goldthwaite moved to the gate, and laid her hand caressingly on Beauty’s glossy neck.

“I only envy you one thing, Judge Keane,” she said; “and this is it.  What a beauty she is!”

The judge laughed, and his eyes lingered on the slim, girlish figure in its dainty muslin garb; and on the sweet, unclouded face, which was a true index to the happy heart within.

“Beauty shall be yours by-and-by,” he laughed; and a swift wave of colour swept across her face, and she hid it in the animal’s glossy mane.—­“Safe journey, Frank.  Come to the Red House for your sister when you want her.—­Steady, Beauty.”  He sprang to the saddle, and held out his hand to Carrie.

“I’m glad you’ve said yes, my dear,” he whispered, with a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes, “or a certain young man would have thought nothing of coming to take you by main force.  Shall I tell him of that sweet blush?  Or—­”

But Miss Goldthwaite had fled, and Beauty flew off like an arrow.

III.