the left and made a broad aisle for her passage through.

Her filmy eyes were wide open, but she did not seem to see any one; she looked as though she were walking in her sleep. And so Becky took her home.

CHAPTER XI.

UPSIDE DOWN.

OME persons are not calculated to bear

SOME

trouble. It blasts and blights them as frost does the flowers. Now, though Mrs. Down could not be compared to anything more delicate in the vegetable line than a cauliflower, or in health to a full-blown peony, yet she drooped as desperately as a wild-wood anemone or a fine-strung harebell under the chilling winds of adversity.

"What a pity," said her neighbors, “that there's no backbone nor gumption to her!”

So it was a pity! And since, from her childhood up, she had never possessed either of these go-ahead qualities, she was more to be pitied than blamed.

Becky did not blame her.

thought of such a thing; but

She never

after she

brought her home, she bathed her head, and undressed her, and watched beside her with tearful eyes and swelling heart, till the stony, meaningless look died out of her face, and she awoke as from a trance.

"You here, Becky?" she said, in a be"What day is it? Why didn't you wake me up before?"

wildered way.

The tall eight-day clock in the next room hammered out twelve strokes.

"So late!" murmured Mrs. Down. "How come I to oversleep myself? And - why, to-day the officers are coming. I must go to the store. Didn't I tell Squire Peters I wouldn't leave till I was put out by force?"

She made an effort to rise; but Becky tried to prevent her.

"Do not get up, mother," she cried, imploringly; "you are not able. Let the store go."

"I don't know as it matters much," said her mother, sinking back wearily upon her pillows; "and my head feels so queer!"

Not a single thing of what had happened

at the store did she remember. She had had a species of cataleptic trance or fit, which had stupefied and dulled her senses to all that had gone on about her. The distress of mind she had been laboring under of late was probably the cause.

This attack weakened and prostrated her for a fortnight. During this time Becky matured her plans.

"Mother," said she one day, coming out of a brown study, "you and the boys have tried your hand at it, and now I'm going to take my chance."

୧୧

What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Down. "I'm going to work the farm," was the reply.

"Work the farm!" repeated her mother, almost too much astonished for speech.

"Why not?" said Becky. "See what a lots of money Farmer Yates makes. I heard him say once that he began with nothing bigger than a potato-patch."

"But Farmer Yates and you are two different folks. I wouldn't try it."

The despondent tone was enough to discourage any one. But Becky's voice was as bright and hopeful as ever, as she said, pointing out the window, "Just look at all the land we've got. I told Miss Riggs about it, and she said it was the very best thing to be done, and that she'd help me all she could."

"What help'll she be, farming, I'd like to know?"

"Well, she wouldn't be much at hoeing, or weeding, or digging potatoes ;" and Becky laughed outright at the idea; "but there's other ways of helping. She's going up to Cherry Farm with me to-night to help me make a bargain with Farmer Yates, and to see about ploughing and planting."

"You talk," exclaimed her mother, "as though you had got things all cut and dried."

ee

So I have, almost. I've been thinking and thinking it over this ever so long. I believe I must have been made for farming, I'm so big, and strong, and full of bones.