At the table, Mr. Wyman was talkative and gay, touching lightly here and there, upon subjects, without argument.  It was conversation, not discussion, or an array of opinions, which flowed from the minds of those around the board, and of such a nature that all could join, from young to old.

Miss Vernon delighted in watching him as his eyes rested tenderly on his child.  It was charming to witness such a tender relation existing between father and daughter.

CHAPTER III.

The days flew swiftly by, and the still, peaceful Sabbath dawned.

How tranquil, and yet how full of life it seemed to Miss Vernon as she sat at her window and gazed on the scene of beauty before her.  A lovely spring morning-the distant hills soft and mellow; the emerald fields glittering with dew-the tasseled pines nodding in the gentle breeze-and the whole atmosphere vibrating with the tones of the Sabbath bells.

“Surely,” she said, “I need no form of worship.  God is in all this.  I wonder if I must go from all these beauties to a temple made with hands.”

“Is n’t this pleasanter than sitting in a bare walled church?” said Dawn, who had entered the room so softly that Miss Vernon was only made aware of her presence by this inquiry.

“I think it is.  Do you go to church?”

“No.  Papa does sometimes, but he never makes me go.”

“I hope not.”

“Shall you go to-day, Miss Vernon?”

“Not if I can act my pleasure.”

“I am so glad, for papa said if you did not go, we would all take a walk, but if you wished to go, he would harness Swift and take you.

“I had much rather take the walk to-day.  Some day, I shall want to go to your church.”

“There, papa is ready, I hear him in the hall.  Get your hat, Miss Vernon.”

“But you forget he has not yet invited me.”

“Dawn, ask Miss Vernon whether she will take a walk with us, or go to church?” said Mr. Wyman, at that moment calling from the foot of the stairs.

Miss Vernon was not long in making known her choice, for she sprang and put on her hat, and in a few moments the three were walking through the garden towards the woods and fields.

“Which direction, Miss Vernon, shall we take?”

“Any; it’s all lovely.”

“Then lead the way, Dawn, and mind you act as a good pilot, and do not get us into any brooks.”

She ran gaily on before, and they soon found themselves on the verge of a rich, mossy dell.

“O, is it not beautiful, papa?  I shall carry all this lovely moss home.”

“No, Dawn, let it remain.  Gather a few specimens from here and there, but do not mar the general beautiful effect.  It is ours now; we can not make it more so by carrying it home to fade and die.  Can we, darling?”

“No.  You are always right and good, papa.”