In one thing was Mr. Dayton rather peculiar. Owing to the death of his wife, he had always been in the habit of dictating to his daughters in various small matters, such as dress, and so forth, about which fathers seldom trouble themselves. And even now he seemed to forget that they were children no longer, and often interfered in their plans in a way exceedingly annoying to Lucy, the eldest of the girls, who was now twenty-two and was as proud, selfish, and self-willed as she was handsome and accomplished. Old maids she held in great abhorrence, and her great object in life was to secure a wealthy and distinguished husband. Hitherto she had been unsuccessful, for the right one had not yet appeared. Now, however, a new star was dawning on her horizon, in the person of Hugh St. Leon, of New Orleans. His fame had preceded him, and half the village of S---- were ready to do homage to the proud millionaire, who would make his first appearance at the Thanksgiving party. This, then, was the reason why Lucy felt so anxious to be becomingly dressed, for she had resolved upon a conquest, and she felt sure of success. She knew she was beautiful. Her companions told her so, her mirror told her so, and her sweet sister Lizzie told her so more then twenty times a day.

Lizzie was four years younger than her sister, and wholly unlike her, both in personal appearance and disposition. She had from childhood evinced a predisposition to the disease which had consigned her mother to an early grave. On her fair, soft cheek the rose of health had never bloomed, and in the light which shone from her clear hazel eye, her fond father read but too clearly "passing away--passing away."

If there was in Lucy Dayton's selfish nature any redeeming quality, it was that she possessed for her frail young sister a love amounting almost to adoration. Years before, she had trembled as she thought how soon the time might come when for her sister's merry voice she would listen in vain; but as month after month and year after year went by, and still among them Lizzie stayed, Lucy forgot her fears, and dreamed not that ere long one chair would be vacant--that Lizzie would be gone.

Although so much younger than her sister, Lizzie, for more than a year, had been betrothed to Harry Graham, whom she had known from childhood. Now, between herself and him the broad Atlantic rolled, nor would he return until the coming autumn, when, with her father's consent, Lizzie would be all his own.

Alas! alas! ere autumn came How many hearts were weeping For her who 'neath the willow's shade Lay sweetly, calmly sleeping.

CHAPTER II.

THANKSGIVING DAY.

Slowly the feeble light of a stormy morning broke over the village of S----. Lucy's fears had been verified, for Thanksgiving's dawn was ushered in by a fierce, driving storm. Thickly from the blackened clouds the feathery flakes had fallen until the earth far and near was covered by a mass of white, untrodden snow.

Lucy had been awake for a long time, listening to the sad song of the wind, which swept howling by the casement. At length, with an impatient frown at the snow which covered the window pane, she turned on her pillow, and tried again to sleep. Her slumbers, however, were soon disturbed by her sister, who arose, and putting aside the curtain, looked out upon the storm, saying half-aloud, "Oh, I am sorry, for Lucy will be disappointed."

"I disappointed!" repeated Lucy; "now, Lizzie, why not own it, and say you are as much provoked at the weather as I am, and wish this horrid storm had stayed in the icy caves of Greenland?"

"Because," answered Lizzie, "I really care but little about the party.

You know Harry will not be there, and besides that, the old, ugly pain has come back to my side this morning;" and even as she spoke a low, hacking cough fell on Lucy's ear like the echo of a distant knell.

Lucy raised herself up, and leaning on her elbow looked earnestly at her sister, and fancied ('twas not all fancy), that her cheeks had grown thinner and her brow whiter within a few weeks. Lizzie proceeded with her toilet, although she was twice obliged to stop on account of "the ugly pain," as she called it.

"Hurry, sister," said Lucy, "and you will feel better when you get to the warm parlor."

Lizzie thought so, too, and she accelerated her movements as much as possible. Just as she was leaving the room Lucy detained her a moment by passing her arm caressingly around her. Lizzie well knew that some favor was wanted, and she said, "Well, what is it, Lucy? What do you wish me to give you?"

"Nothing, nothing," answered Lucy; "but do not say anything to father about the pain in your side, for fear he will keep you at home, and, worse than all, make me stay, too."

Lizzie gave the required promise, and then descended to the breakfast parlor, where she found her grandmother, and was soon joined by her sister and father. After the usual salutation of the morning the latter said "There is every prospect of our being alone to-day, for the snow is at least a foot and a half deep, and is drifting every moment."

"But, father," said Lucy, "that will not prevent Lizzie and me from going to the party to-night."

"You mean, if I choose to let you go, of course," answered Mr. Dayton.

"Why," quickly returned Lucy, "you cannot think of keeping us at home.

It is only distant a few rods, and we will wrap up well."

"I have no objections to your going," replied Mr. Dayton, "provided you dress suitably for such a night."

"Oh, father," said Lucy, "you cannot be capricious enough to wish us to be bundled up in bags."

"I care but little what dress you wear," answered Mr. Dayton, "if it has what I consider necessary appendages, viz., sleeves and waist."

The tears glittered in Lucy's bright eyes as she said, "Our party dresses are at Miss Carson's, and she is to send them home this morning."

"Wear them, then," answered Mr. Dayton, "provided they possess the qualities I spoke of, for without those you cannot go out on such a night as this will be."

Lucy knew that her dress was minus the sleeves, and that her father would consider the waist a mere apology for one, so she burst into tears and said, rather angrily, "I had rather stay at home than go rigged out as you would like to have me."

"Very well; you can stay at home," was Mr. Dayton's quiet reply.

In a few moments he left the room, and then Lucy's wrath burst forth unrestrainedly. She called her father all sorts of names, such as "an old granny--an old fidget," and finished up her list with what she thought the most odious appellation of all, "an old maid."

In the midst of her tirade the door bell rang. It was the boy from Miss Carson's, and he brought the party dresses. Lucy's thoughts now took another channel, and while admiring her beautiful embroidered muslin and rich white satin skirt, she forgot that she could not wear it. Grandma was certainly unfortunate in her choice of words, this morning, for when Lucy for the twentieth time asked if her dress were not a perfect beauty, the old Quakeress answered:

"Why, it looks very decent, but it can do thee no good, for thy pa has said thee cannot wear it; besides, the holy writ reads, 'Let your adorning--'"

Here Lucy stopped her ears, exclaiming, "I do believe, grandma, you were manufactured from a chapter in the Bible, for you throw your holy writ into my face on all occasions."

The good lady adjusted her spectacles, and replied, "How thee talks! I never thought of throwing my Bible at thee, Lucy!"

Grandma had understood her literally.

Nothing more was said of the party until dinner time, although there was a determined look in Lucy's flashing eye, which puzzled Lizzie not a little. Owing to the storm, Mr. Dayton's country cousins did not, as was their usual custom, come into town to dine with him, and for this Lucy was thankful, for she thought nothing could be more disagreeable than to be compelled to sit all day and ask Cousin Peter how much his fatting hogs weighed; or his wife, Elizabeth Betsey, how many teeth the baby had got; or, worse than all the rest, if the old maid, Cousin Berintha, were present, to be obliged to be asked at least three times, whether it's twenty-four or twenty-five she'd be next September, and on saying it was only twenty-three, have her word disputed and the family Bible brought in question. Even then Miss Berintha would demur, until she had taken the Bible to the window, and squinted to see if the year had not been scratched out and rewritten!

Then closing the book with a profound sigh she would say, "I never, now! it beats all how much older you look!"

All these annoyances Lucy was spared on this day, for neither Cousin Peter, Elizabeth Betsey, or Miss Berintha made their appearance. At the dinner table Mr. Dayton remarked quietly to his daughters, "I believe you have given up attending the party!"

"Oh, no, father," said Lucy, "we are going, Lizzie and I."

"And what about your dress?" asked Mr. Dayton.

Lucy bit her lip as she replied, "Why, of course, we must dress to suit you, or stay at home."

Lizzie looked quickly at her sister, as if asking how long since she had come to this conclusion; but Lucy's face was calm and unruffled, betraying no secrets, although her tongue did when, after dinner, she found herself alone with Lizzie in their dressing-room. A long conversation followed, in which Lucy seemed trying to persuade Lizzie to do something wrong. Possessed of the stronger mind, Lucy's influence over her sister was great, and sometimes a bad one, but never before had she proposed an open act of disobedience toward their father, and Lizzie constantly replied, "No, no, Lucy, I can't do it; besides, I really think I ought not to go, for that pain in my side is no better."

"Nonsense, Lizzie," said Lucy. "If you are going to be as whimsical as Miss Berintha you had better begin at once to dose yourself with burdock or catnip tea." Then, again recurring to the dress, she continued, "Father did not say we must not wear them after we got there. I shall take mine, anyway, and I wish you would do the same; and then, if he ever knows it, he will not be as much displeased when he finds that you, too, are guilty."

After a time, Lizzie was persuaded, but her happiness for that day was destroyed, and when at tea-time her father asked if she felt quite well, she could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. Lucy, however, came to her relief, and said she was feeling blue because Harry would not be present! Just before the hour for the party Lucy descended to the parlor, where her father was reading, in order, as she said, to let him see whether her dress were fussy enough to suit him. He approved her taste, and after asking if Lizzie, too, were dressed in the same manner, resumed his paper. Ere long the covered sleigh stood at the door, and in a few moments Lucy and Lizzie were in Anna Graham's dressing-room, undergoing the process of a second toilet.

Nothing could be more beautiful than was Lucy Dayton, after party dress, bracelets, curls, and flowers had all been adjusted. She probably thought so, too, for a smile of satisfaction curled her lip as she saw the radiant vision reflected by the mirror. Her bright eye flashed, and her heart swelled with pride as she thought, "Yes, there's no help for it, I shall win him sure;" then turning to Anna Graham, she asked, "Is that Mr. St. Leon to be here to-night?"

"Yes, you know he is," answered Anna, "and I pity him, for I see you are all equipped for an attack; but," continued she, glancing at Lizzie, "were not little Lizzie's heart so hedged up by brother Hal, I should say your chance was small."

Lucy looked at her sister, and a chill struck her heart as she observed a spasm of pain which for an instant contracted Lizzie's fair, sweet face. Anna noticed it, too, and springing toward her, said, "What is it, Lizzie? are you ill?"

"No," answered Lizzie, laying her hand on her side; "nothing but a sharp pain. It will soon be better;" but while she spoke her teeth almost chattered with the cold.

Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie!

For a short time, now, we will leave the young ladies in Miss Graham's dressing-room, and transport our readers to another part of the village.