Grandma is so queer, and the things in the house so fussy and countrified,--and cooks by a _fireplace_, and washes in a tin basin, and wipes on a crash towel that hangs on a roller!" Mr.Lincoln could hardly repress a smile at Rose's reasoning, but perceiving that he must be decided, he said, "We think it best for you to go, and shall accordingly make arrangements to take you in the course of a week or two.

Your mother will stay with you, and Jenny, too, will be there a part of the time;" then, not wishing to witness the effect of his words, he hastily left the room, pausing in the hall to wipe away the tears which involuntarily came to his eyes, as he overheard Rose angrily wonder, "why she should be turned out of doors when she wasn't able to sit up!" "I never can bear the scent of those great tallow candles, never," said she; "and then to think of the coarse sheets and patchwork bedquilts--oh, it's dreadful!" Jenny's heart, too, was well-nigh bursting, but she forced down her own sorrow, while she strove to comfort her sister, telling her how strong and well the bracing air of the country would make her, and how refreshing when her fever was on would be the clear, cold water which gushed from the spring near the thorn-apple tree, where in childhood they so oft had played.

Then she spoke of the miniature waterfall, which not far from their grandmother's door, made "fairy-like music;" all the day long, and at last, as if soothed by the sound of that far-off falling water, Rose forgot her trouble, and sank into a sweet, refreshing slumber, in which she dreamed that the joyous summer-time had come, and that she, well and strong as Jenny had predicted, was the happy bride of George Moreland, who led her to a grass-grown grave,--the grave of Mary Howard, who had died of consumption and been buried in Glenwood! While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down the stairs, and throwing on her shawl and bonnet, went across the street, to confide her troubles with Mary Howard; who, while she sympathized deeply with her young friend, was not surprised, for, from her slight acquaintance with Mrs Lincoln, she could readily believe that one so ambitious and haughty, would seek for her daughter a wealthier alliance than a poor lawyer.

All that she could say to comfort Jenny she did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the best.
"You are blue and dispirited," said she, "and a little fresh air will do you good.

Suppose we walk round a square or two; for see, the rain is over now." Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the length of a street when William himself joined them.