ALICE JOHNSON The Sabbath dawned at last.

The doctor had not yet made his appearance in the village, and Saturday had been spent by him in rehearsing to his sisters and the servants the wonderful things he had seen abroad, and in lounging listlessly by a window which overlooked the town, and also commanded a view of the tasteful cottage by the riverside, where they told him Mrs.Johnson lived.

One upper window he watched with peculiar interest, from the fact that, early in the day, a head had protruded from it a moment, as if to inhale the wintry air, and then been quickly withdrawn.
"Does Miss Johnson wear curls ?" he asked, rather indifferently, with his eye still on the cottage by the river.
"Yes; a great profusion of them," was Mrs.Richards' reply, and then the doctor knew he had caught a glimpse of Alice Johnson, for the head he had seen was covered with curls, he was sure.
But little good did a view at that distance afford him.

He must see her nearer ere he decided as to her merits to be a belle.

He did not believe her face would at all compare with the one which continually haunted his dreams, and over which the coffin lid was shut weary months ago, but fifty thousand dollars had invested Miss Alice with that peculiar charm which will sometimes make an ugly face beautiful.