CHAPTER IX.
NOT AT HOME.
NEVER but once did I venture upon the utterance of that little white lie, "Not at home," and then I was well punished for my weakness and folly.

It occurred at a time when there were in my family two new inmates: a niece from New York, and a raw Irish girl that I had taken a few days before, on trial.
My niece, Agnes, was a young lady in her nineteenth year, the daughter of my brother.

I had not seen her before since her school-girl days; and knew little of her character.

Her mother I had always esteemed as a right-thinking, true-hearted woman.

I was much pleased to have a visit from Agnes, and felt drawn toward her more and more every day.