mistake them for pinchbeck and colored glass," she added, with her low musical laugh, as she threw the chain about Mildred's neck, and slipped the rings upon her fingers.
The girl's cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled.
"O, Aunt Wealthy," she cried, "how can you trust such treasures to my keeping? Old fashioned indeed! They are all the more delightful for that, as showing that one does not belong to the mushroom gentry, but to a good, substantial old family. But you must not let me use them, lest they should be lost or stolen. I should be frightened out of my wits in either case."
"Nonsense, child! You would have no need; for the loss would be more yours than mine; I shall never wear them again, and they will all belong, some day, to you or your sisters," Miss Stanhope said, turning to her bureau once more.
Lifting out something carefully wrapped in a towel, she laid it in Mildred's lap, saying, "This, too, you must take with you. You will want a handsome wrap in Philadelphia, before you can go out to buy, and this will answer the purpose even better than anything you would feel able to purchase. Won't it?" she queried with another of her sweet, silvery laughs.
Mildred fairly caught her breath in delighted surprise.
"O, Aunt Wealthy! your beautiful India shawl! you can't mean to lend that to me!"
"That is just what I mean, Milly; stand up a minute, dear," she answered gayly, taking it from its wrappings and draping it about the slender girlish figure. "There! nothing could be more becoming. I can only lend, not give it, because it is already willed to your mother. But it is to descend always to the eldest daughter."
"Aunt Wealthy, I'm afraid to borrow it; afraid something might happen to it. So please put it away again."
"Tut, child! something might happen to it at home. Suppose the house should burn down with everything in it; wouldn't I be glad the shawl was saved by being far away in your keeping?"
It was very rich and costly, and highly prized by Miss Stanhope as the gift of a favorite brother, long since dead. He had been a wanderer, lived many years in China and India, whence he had sent her, from time to time, rare and beautiful things, of which this was one, then at length he came home to die in her arms, leaving her the bulk of his fortune, enough to make her very comfortable.
Her means were ample for her own needs, but not for her abundant charities; for she spent little on herself, but gave with a liberal hand.
"Yes, I know you would, auntie," Mildred said, passing her hand caressingly over the soft, rich folds; "but in my wildest dreams I never supposed you would lend this to me. And if I were in your place I don't think I'd do it," she concluded with an arch look and smile.
"You are a careful little body and I'm not afraid to trust you. You must carry it with you, my child, and wear it too; as a favor to me; for you can't suppose I feel willing to have Mrs. Dinsmore's aristocratic nose turn up at niece of mine for lack of a little finery that lies idle in my bureau drawer?"
"Ah, if you put it on that score I can't refuse," laughed Mildred, her face sparkling with pleasure, "and oh, but you're good to let me have it! It is so handsome, auntie! it seems like a whole outfit in itself," she went on, dancing about the room in almost wild delight.
Then sobering down a little and standing before the glass to note the effect, "I don't think," she said, "that I had seen it over half a dozen times before—when worn on some grand occasion by you or mother—and it has always inspired me with a kind of awe, as something to be looked at from a respectful distance and by no means handled. So it seems almost beyond belief that I am actually to wear it."
The few days Mr. Dinsmore had apportioned to their visit to Lansdale flew rapidly by; all too rapidly for Miss Stanhope, who was loath to part with them, Mildred especially; but the young girl, full of youthful eagerness to see the world, was hardly sorry to go, spite of her sincere affection for her aunt.
They returned to the Ohio River as they had come, striking it at the nearest point, where they once more embarked in a steamboat; taking passage for Pittsburgh.
They were again favored with pleasant weather, for the most of the time, and Mildred enjoyed the trip. Mr. Dinsmore was very kind and attentive to her comfort, and she made some agreeable acquaintances among her fellow passengers.
They dined and spent some hours at a hotel in Pittsburgh, then took the cars for Philadelphia.
It was a new mode of travel to Mildred, and not what she would have chosen; she had read newspaper accounts of railroad accidents and felt in going upon the train, that she was risking life and limb.
But she kept her fears to herself, determined not to be an annoyance to her uncle, and he never suspected how her heart was quaking as she took quiet possession of the seat he selected for her.
"We are early," he remarked with a glance about the almost empty car, as he sat down beside her; then looking at his watch, "Yes, fully fifteen minutes to wait before the train starts. Well, that's a good deal better than being too late.
"Mildred, there's something I want to say to you before we join your aunt, and perhaps this is as good a time for it as any. There! don't be alarmed," as she gave him a startled look, "it's nothing unpleasant; only that I would rather you would not say anything to Mrs. Dinsmore about your father's circumstances. My dear, I am not meaning to wound your feelings," he added hastily, for she was blushing painfully and her eyes had filled.
"I think quite as much of him, and of you all as if you were rolling in wealth. But my wife is—well, does not always see things precisely as I do, and it will make us more comfortable all round if she is left to suppose that your mother is still in possession of the fortune she once had."
He paused and Mildred, understanding that some answer was expected from her, said, a little tremulously, for she was hurt, "I cannot act a lie, Uncle Dinsmore, and poverty ought not to be considered a disgrace."
"Of course it shouldn't and I am not asking you to practice deceit any more than just to keep things to yourself which others have no right to pry into. It need not be difficult; for Mrs. Dinsmore is not one of the prying kind; and Horace and I will regard it as a favor to us, if you will simply leave it to me to take care of your expenses without question or remark."
This last was spoken with such winning kindness of tone and manner that even Mildred's pride was disarmed: grateful tears shone in her eyes as she turned them upon him.
"My dear good uncle," she whispered, laying her hand upon his with a gesture of confiding affection, "I don't know how to thank you and Cousin Horace, and I cannot refuse to do as you wish, but indeed you must not let me be any more expense to you than if I were but an ordinary guest; instead of the extraordinary one I am," she added, laughing to hide her emotion.
"I shall have my own way about it, you may depend, whatever that may chance to be," he answered with mock severity of tone.
Mildred laughed again, this time a really mirthful, happy laugh; feeling her heart grow strangely light.
After all she could not help being glad that Mrs. Dinsmore was not to know their comparative poverty; that she herself was not to be looked upon as a poor relation who might be snubbed at pleasure and perhaps twitted with her lack of means: or worse still, treated with lofty, or with pitying condescension.
"Yes," Mr. Dinsmore went on, half to himself, half to her, "wealth is but a secondary matter after all; family is the main thing. I believe in blood, and want nothing to do with
