took the simple method of lifting the great chest in her strong arms and turning it just upside down, upon the cover; safe in the knowledge that it would take two men to put it back again, before meddling hands could get a chance to "mux" her treasures.

Sancho, whose character Aunt Rosy had slightly aspersed, was like and yet unlike the chevalier Bayard; being unfailingly sans peur, but unfortunately never sans reproche. He had been in the kitchen a year or two, to run of errands, pick up chips, black the boots, and roll round under foot generally, and had recently been promoted to the office of waiter, in place of Dick, retired, superannuated. But Dick had only retired as far as the pantry, where he watched over the best china, and rubbed the silver, and whence he darted forth twenty times a day, like a big black spider from his lair, to pounce upon the unwary Sancho, and drag him to justice for his pranks; and Sancho, in return, tormented Dick almost to the disrupture of soul and body. It was soon found out by the higher powers, that it was of no manner of use to punish Sancho for his tricks. While you were tutoring him for one, he was cutting up three more under your very nose. Just when you thought one piece of mischief fairly dead and buried, up sprang a host of others from that prolific soil; as if, like Cadmus and his dragon's teeth, every one that was sowed produced an army.

But Dick, on the other hand, was the very genius of deportment. He He had a high sense of duty, immense personal dignity which never relaxed, and a stiffness of manner beyond the primness of pokers, beyond the rigidity of ramrods, beyond everything but his own ideal of "de fust manners of de fust waiter in a fust fambly." Sank was one long agony to him. No one but a pompous master of ceremonies, yoked in abhorred and perpetual fellowship with the court fool, could possibly appreciate Dick's sufferings.

The much esteemed chest stood in a little room opening out of the

nursery, where Aunt Rosy slept, and where she might be said to hold her court; for large and sunny as the nursery was, whenever there were narrations going on, or Scripture renderings after Aunt Rosy's own fashion, we all liked to crowd into her little room and sit along on the edge of the chest, like a row of chickens at roost. She was considered a great speaker and exhorter, in the meetings held at Unk Steve's little cabin. In fact, she stood next in renown to Unk Steve himself, who was esteemed second to none but those who were called "pinted ministers." He could not read one blessed word, but he had faith as a little child; and then, too, there were open visions vouchsafed him, which counterbalanced all small external deficiencies.

We used to want Aunt Rosy to take us to these meetings sometimes, but she never approved the plan.

"Go to yer own church, chillen," she would say. "Them that goes a gaddin' from meetin' to meetin', is jist like butterflies; they sniff at a powerful sight of things, but they don't gather no honey. Go to yer own meetin', and 'tend to yer own minister. It takes larnin' to edify quality. White preachin' for white folks, and culled preachin' for culled folks."

"Then why is n't there a white Bible and a colored Bible?" I asked one day.

66

Wal now, ducky," ," she answered, "don't you know the word of God is clar like crystal; but when you put that crystal in the sun you see all the colors of the rainbow in it; every one finds his own color there if he's a mind to look for it. And jes so with God's word, all colors and all kinds. have got a share into it."

"But how will it be when we come to go to heaven, Aunty?”

"Wal, chile, you can't understand 'bout that now very easy. You see we're all like so many snails now, each into his own shell, some white on the outside, some black, some stripedlike, and some pretty much mixed;

Aunt Rosy was very fond of telling us Bible stories; and as she could not read, notwithstanding the spellingbook enshrined in the chest, the chapters that some of us read to her one week would come forth from her lips the next in so new a dress and so fresh a light, that they both astonished and fascinated her young hearers. She had her own ways of illuminating dark meanings, but she was as scrupulous as St. Paul, when he said, "Now the rest speak I, not the Lord; yet I give my judgment." "Chillen," she would honestly explain, "this is my 'pinion 'bout it, recolleck; I don't say its Scripter, but I do say it's my 'pinion." She quite agreed with St. Paul too on the subject of marriage, except that she applied it to one sex only. "When yer Aunt Rosy's dead and gone to glory, chillen," she used to say, "and yer all grown up massas and mistises, then you must 'member what she tells yer. Massa Freddy and Massa Georgy, they must git married jes as soon as they find a good wife, for a good wife is from the Lord. And my little young ladies, they must stick to their father and mother; for don't you see, the angels don't marry nor give in marriage, and some of these 'ere fine pious little ladies, as knowin' as grown-up babies, they're too much like the angels to be mixin' theirselves up in such a despit bad mux of troubles as mankind have made it. 'T was meant to be the best thing for all, married life was, I should n't wonder; but Lord, chillen! men have spiled it, till it's lost all the color and shape it had when the good Lord fust set it agoin'."

with an unscriptural vagueness as the Probable Son, - and the parable of the Ten Virgins, were two of Aunt Rosy's favorite topics. It is possible that circumstances had somewhat prejudiced her mind, for she always insisted that the five wise virgins were five righteous females well prepared to meet their Lord; while the five foolish ones were five reckless men, who counted upon getting into Heaven on the merits of their sisters and cousins.

"Them five scatter-brains," she would say, "they spent their time a eatin', and drinkin', and smokin', and like nuff pitchin' pennies or playin' picky-puey, and the time was come for to start, and sure nuff, their lights was all out and they wanted to borrer! That's jes like some folks, - borrer, borrer all their lives and on their dyin'-beds! If they should any way git to Heaven, they'd be bound to snap a string in a jiffy, and want to borrer somebody else's harp! Wal, you see, those five wild young fellers, they wanted to borrer, and those five pious young women, they could n't lend noways. Now I'll tell you why. 'T warnt 'cause they were stingy, 't warnt 'cause they did n't have plenty; 't was 'cause that lamp that lighted them right through the darkness into heaven was jes nothin' but the bright shining love of the Lord Jesus in their hearts, and that's a thing you can't borrer, be you ever so put to it; nor you can't lend, even when yer ready to die, you want to give it so! Each one for hisself, when that great day comes! But 'bout those five scatter-brains, chillen, that's not Scripter, recolleck, but it's my 'pinion."

Aunt Rosy had been telling us about old times one day, and of a terrible storm that had raged once when she was a child, - -a storm that had cast a ship ashore, thrown down the east chimney, and uprooted a great oak that stood nearly in front of the house on the lawn.

"You look in the old, old massa's picter, chillen," she concluded, "that hangs to the end of the hall, and way

behind him you'll see that tree all painted out green. Then you can tell jes' whar it used to stand."

We scampered down stairs in a string, to look at great-grandfather's picture, and see how the oak stood, and meeting Fred on the stairs, took him with us.

"O dear," said Lucy, gazing up at the stern old portrait, “I'm so glad our papa don't look in that cross way! I'd be afraid to sit on his lap, or pull his curls, or anything."

"O but Lucy," said Fred, "men had to look stern in those days when he lived they were patriots and soldiers, and they fought for their country."

But you had to be not only a soldier, but an officer and a gentleman, before you could belong to that society, and that's why I'm proud of it."

66

66

If you 're going to have that pretty bird, where is he now?" asked Lucy. "I'll show it to you!" cried Fred eagerly, jumping down from his chair; I know just where father keeps it, in the little drawer of the desk in the secretary," And darting away he returned again in a minute with the badge swinging from his fingers, and held it up before our admiring eyes.

It was a lovely thing enough to childish fancies; a golden eagle, brilliant with green enamel and fiery red eyes, suspended on a thick blue ribbon with a white edge. There was a chorus of approving voices, and Fred exclaimed,

"It is the Order of the Society of the Cincinnati," said Fred proudly, getting on a chair, to see it better. "It belonged to my great-grandfather, first, and then to my grandfather; it goes from eldest son to eldest son, always; now it's father's, and then it will be mine; and it will go to my eldest son after me, and to his eldest son after him."

Fred looked so funny, standing up with his thirteen-year-old curly head high in the air, talking in that large way about his grandchildren, that we laughed, and he flushed up, displeased for a minute.

"It's nothing to laugh at," he said, "if you only knew what it meant ! The society was named after Lucius Quintus Cincinnatus, a Roman citizen, who left his plough and his peaceful home to go and fight for his country; and when the war was over, and the people wanted to make him something great, dictator, or something else, you'll find out when you get into Robbins's Outlines, bother take it! would n't be made anything of, but just went quietly home again. And that's the way our men did in the Revolution.

he

it"; and then, full of enthusiasm, he

the forming of the society, the meaning of the emblems, the beautiful badge sent by the queen of France to General Washington, and all the stately ceremony of the early meetings, when suddenly, in the very midst of his spirited little oration, we heard the wheels of the carriage that was bringing home our parents from a two days' visit at Aunt Singleton's, and, while Fred hurried away to put the badge in its place, we sped to the piazza to shout our noisy welcome, forgetting Cincinnatus, war, glory, and grandfathers in the joy of seeing the dear faces again, and the fun of pulling open the papers of bonbons that Aunt Singleton had sent.

Fred's vacations always flew by like the flight of a swallow; and almost before we knew it he had gone back to school, and everything was going on again in the old pleasant, quiet way. The year rolled by, and brought no apparent change to any one but poor Aunt Rosy. Her health seemed to fail day by day, till she was only a dark phantom of her former self. She hardly appeared to know what was the matter with herself, and to all inquiries came the inevitable response, "It's a pain across me!"

There never yet was a creature on all the place who did not make exactly that answer about his illnesses. No matter whether he had measles, or fever, or rheumatism, or indigestion, or headache, or chills, that was the invariable statement, “It's a pain across me," and nothing but the closest crossquestioning would elicit anything more definite. Whether there is a sensitive slice across the middle of the corporeal substance of the race; whether their Rerves are all gathered into a belt about them, instead of being generally diffused as in paler nations; or whether the expression has a large vagueness about it that covers many symptoms and has a sound of dignity to their ears, it is impossible to tell: the simple fact remains, that this is their one only and inalienable complaint; and Aunt Rosy's "pain across her" grew worse and worse, till strength and flesh were gone, and her huge frame showed its joints and angles in a way hitherto unknown in her family. With her failing health, her spirits seemed to change too. She was always kind and docile, and patient as an angel, with the mischief and waywardness that spring spontaneously in every nursery; but her serene, childlike faith and cheerful religious views seemed to have vanished. She would sit on her chest, or on the side of her bed, and clasp her big hands and sway to and fro, and sigh as if her heart would break. Sometimes she would speak of herself so despondently, and with such dark forebodings that it made us cry and cling to her.

One day, soon after Fred had come home again, he chanced to be in the nursery and heard Aunt Rosy talking to Lucy, in her little room. "Wal, chile,” she said, "I'm been thinkin' 'bout that sermon Mr. Scott preached two Sundays ago. If there's people 'lected to be lost, I'm feared I'm one on them."

"Don't you, chile? Whyfor, now?" "Because it is n't sensible, it is n't right. God is good and just, and that is about the meanest thing a bad spirit could do. Come, cheer up, Aunt Rosy! If you don't, I'll pull your turban off, or rummage in your chest, or do something bad to excite you! There's going to be company to-day, and we've all got to be jolly, so cheer up!"

Cousin Mary Singleton happened to be staying with us then, and, by way of a mild festivity, mother gave a little dinner for her. Toward its close, unfortunately for Fred, the conversation chanced to turn upon the old Cincinnati Society, and Cousin Mary having never seen the order, father went to get it for her. He returned without it, however, smiling at his own invariable inability to find things, and promising that mother should show it to her by and by. The conversation changed to something else, and we thought no more of it till the guests were gone, when we children were called into mother's room. Father sat there looking very grave. "Children," he said, "the badge of the Cincinnati Society is gone; at least, your mother and I have made a thorough search for it, and cannot find it. Have any of you seen it, or taken it? Do you know anything about it?"

"I guess papa means that pretty chicken Fred showed us," said Georgie.

"Yes," said Fred, "that's it. I had the badge out, last vacation, father, a year ago; I was telling the girls and George about the society."

"Why, chile, pinted by God, chose out by him afore you was born, to go down to torment, whether or no."

"I know it," he answered, blushing, "that is, I meant to; but I'm not sure I did."

"What then?" asked father. "I had it in the dining-room, Sank was there, I remember holding it up for him to see; then I heard the carriage stop, and I laid it down on the table under the glass. I meant to run and just see if it was really you who were coming, and then to hurry back and put it away; but I'm afraid," he stammered, "I do believe — I 've never thought of it from that day to this."

"O Fred!" said mother, "how could you be so careless of a thing your father values so much!"

"I don't know, mother, I'm sure. I'm awfully sorry. I meant to put it back directly."

"That is the last we know of it then," said father; "on the table under the mirror, a year ago! It seems rather hopeless, for a person who would keep it all this time would scarcely give it up now."

The next thing was to question the servants, but all professed their entire ignorance of the matter. Aunt Rosy and Dick, Aunt Dolly and Black Ann, had all lived in the house for years. The only people at all new were Sancho, and Clarissa, who helped Aunt Dolly in the kitchen; and so the suspicion seemed to rest between those two; but Clarissa's work never called her into our part of the house, whereas Sank was the last person seen near the lost badge, so the range of possibility narrowed more and more, till everybody was persuaded that Sank was the culprit, except Aunt Rosy. Mother had sent her to talk with him about it, thinking she might win his confidence by her placid, coaxing ways; but when the conference was over, Aunt Rosy declared her belief in his innocence, and always held to it. Still that did not greatly change the general opinion, for every one knew that she liked always to believe what was good, and was invariably sceptical about evil; so each individual conviction remained the same, and continued to lay the guilt on Sank's shoulders. "Poor ignorant boy," said mother, "what else could one expect of him! I think I had

better talk with him myself, and perhaps I can persuade him to confess the truth.”

So mother and Sank held a secret conclave. Mother began with a short eulogy, in her gentle way, on the beauty of goodness and truth, to which Sank responded, "Yas, 'm," regularly at every tenth word; then she made various encouraging remarks about her feeling sure that Sank wanted to be good and truthful, which he struck off into decimals as before, with a drawling, “Be sure, mistis"; and finally she begged him to tell her the truth about the badge.

"Did you see it, Sank?" she asked. "Yas, 'm, "said Sank, "seen it all to pieces! looked him right in de eye!" "Then what happened?"

"Mars' Freddy laid it on de table." "Well?"

"And run away to see ef you was a comin'."

"Yes." "Yas, 'm."

"Did you take it up?"

"Yas, 'm. Turned him over to see what de oder side was like, and turned him back agin, like a chicken a brilin'." "And what then?"

66 Den, noffink."

"Did you touch it again?" "No I never, mistis!" "Are you sure, Sank?"

66

Lord, mistis, I ain't got that complaint! It's light-headed I be, not light-fingered! I'm so feerd o' gittin' cotched, I durs n't hook noffink!"

"Sank, can't you stop joking for one minute, and be serious?"

"True as I live and breave and draw de breaf o' life, mistis, I don't believe I can! Ef I was swingin' from a galluses or wrigglin' on a eel-spear, I might, p'r'aps! Gwine to try me?"

"No, no; but, Sank, I do hope you have told me the truth. I shall believe you at all events. I can't think you would look me in the face and tell me what was n't true."

"O, bress my heart, mistis, that's easy nuff! I've done it lots of times. O, bress my gizzard! I've told Aunt