getting through a drowsy afternoon in spring; and these young idlers look much at their ease as they stand there, in the free, lazy attitudes natural to a people who live much out of doors and have a genius for repose. They have been talking in a desultory sort of way, not having come to any subject to set their tongues going in earnest; as riders let their horses wander slowly through country lanes, before reaching a long stretch of road and striking spurs for a gallop. Their names were Betty Page, Mary Barton, and Blythe Herndon. This last young lady, it may be remarked, had been christened Emma Blythe; but the first name had been dropped, after a common Southern fashion, and she herself, except in moments of extreme dignity, scarcely remembered her right to a double signature.

"It is perfectly fascinating to watch that moss," said Miss Page, resting her hands on the twisted railing of the bridge, and peering into the water. "Doesn't it look as if the wind were blowing it behind plates of glass?

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"I can't look at it long without a shudder," said Mary Barton. "I always fancy that snakes are winding in and out through those waving stems."

"Your fancy doesn't go as far as mine," said Blythe, dreamily. "What are they but awakening serpents-these lithe, darting tendrils all quivering with life, tipped with palest green, like little venomous mouths?"

"How absurd, Blythe!" cried Betty. "I'm glad I haven't a poetic turn of mind—particularly as I want some of the moss to take home."

"It's very ugly out of water."

"I don't think so. It would look lovely hanging from those tall vases by the parlour fireplace-ugly cracked things! they ought to be covered over with something. But how shall I get the moss? Mary, do look about you and see if there are any little darkies playing around here."

Mary gave the use of her eyes with cheerful readiness.

"Yes, there are half a dozen standing on their heads over yonder."

"Call one of them for me."

"I can't make out who they are, so far off."

"Never mind; just call Peter. It's a handy sort of name to exercise the lungs on, and some one of them will be sure to come."

"Wait a moment," said Mary, making a telescope of her two hands. "I think one of them is Willy Tolliver- Civil Rights Bill,' you know."

"But I don't know. How did he ever get that ridiculous nickname?"

"How queer that Van didn't tell you! He thought it such a good hit."

Betty tossed her head. "Van and I have had better things to talk of."

"It was a good while ago," said Mary, with a slight flush, "when Willy was about three years old-pert and meddlesome as a monkey, ready to talk back to a king, if one came in his way. Colonel Dixon, from Hollywell, came to Yariba for a visit, and was staying at the Tollivers'. It was when the Civil Rights Bill was just before the public. Colonel Dixon favoured it as a measure of policy, but Mr. Tolliver opposed it, and they argued until everybody in the house was sick of the subject. One day they were playing croquet, and Willy, who was always under foot, took an unused ball and began a game of his own. In knocking it about, it rolled into the lines, and Colonel Dixon gave it a stroke that sent it flying. Willy was furious. He rushed up, with his mallet raised, crying, 'You lem my ball alone! I'll knock you down if you fools wid my ball any mo'!' The Tollivers only laughed-you know what easy-going people they are-but Colonel Dixon flushed up, and said, 'What's your name, you little rascal?' Then Mrs. Tolliver came out an her sweet, drawling voice: His name is Willy, but I think

we'll have to call him " Civil Rights Bill."

he has been known by from that day to this."

So that's the name

Betty laughed moderately. It was too great an exertion to do more.

"I wish you would call him," said she; "it hurts my throat

to scream.

Mary and Blythe exchanged a smile. Miss Page's selfishness was usually of this naïve character.

Willy was called, and Willy soon came, panting from his run, his lean figure showing through his ragged clothes like a dew-covered bronze. He was a lad about ten years old, with laughing black eyes, arched by eyebrows the shape of thin moons, flashing teeth, and a peculiar startled expression, due apparently to the fact that a lock of his crisp hair, wrapped with a white string, was drawn up tight from the centre of his head and pointed heavenward like an index-finger. This meant that Bill had a cold in the head; for when small darkies have colds their grandmothers say that their palates have dropped; and the lock of crisp hair tied up from Bill's crown-piece was supposed-on the principle of the potato-vine and the potato-to pull his palate up and afford entire relief.

Bill beamed expectantly on the young ladies, and Miss Page made her wishes known.

"Don't send him into the water while he is so warm," said Mary Barton.

"Lor, Miss Mary," cried Bill, "don't you be in no ways consarned about me. Nothin' don't never hurt me. I'm one o' dem dat fire can't burn an' water can't drown. I stayed in de spring onct half a day, and dey pulled me out 's lively as a spring frog."

"Mind what I say, Bill!" said Miss Page, authoritatively; go and sit down somewhere, and cool off before you go into the water. Then bring me the moss over to the stone bench. Come, girls, let us go. We've been dawdling on this bridge

all the afternoon, and you know it's against my principles to stand up so long."

"Perhaps your feet are too small to bear your weight," said Mary Barton, with quiet mischief.

Betty's eyes flashed. She cultivated small tempers, as she had been told that she never looked so well as when in a passion. Any allusion to her size, however, called out real anger. The fear of being fat was, if I may so express it, the skeleton in this young lady's closet. She was a pretty creature, with a large and shapely figure, but she took no joy in her charming outlines, and never let herself be weighed. She had not heard of the Banting system, or beef and dry bread would have been "the chief of her diet."

"I was brought up to think personal remarks vulgar," said she to Miss Barton.

"What a vulgar set we must be," said Mary, frankly, "for Yariba people all talk to each other as if they were members of one family. But really, Betty, you are the first girl that ever objected to a compliment to her small foot."

This happy turn restored Betty's complacency. Two little dimples showed themselves at the corners of her mouth.

"Here we are!" said she, sinking down on the stone bench. "Now let's talk about our church-money. How much have you, Blythe?"

"Three dollars."

"I have five. I told mother I must have it; and there's nothing like being determined."

"So I think," said Mary Barton. "I knew when I joined the society that I would have to make what 1oney I put into it, and I determined. I sent off to Altmann's for materials, and set to work crocheting sacks and baby-socks. I gave them to one of our old darkies to sell for me, and I've clearedguess how much?"

"Two bits," said Betty, with a shrug.

"Fifteen dollars," said Mary, with calm triumph. "Fifteen dollars! Impossible! Mary Barton, you are joking!"

"I cannot tell a lie," said Mary, laughing.

"I did it with my little fingers ;" and she spread them apart for inspection.

"You wonderful girl! But how you will cast the rest of us into the shade!"

"Oh, I sha'n't give it all to the church. I shall buy me a hat."

"How much you think of hats, Mary!" said Blythe, rather loftily.

"I own it. Visions of hats are for ever floating about in my mind-sometimes brightly, sometimes dimly seen

'Like silver trout in a brook ;'

or according to the length of my purse. It is positive pain to me to look shabby, Blythe."

"Why, you dear little smooth-feathered Molly Barton! you never look shabby. I have always thought you the freshest, daintiest girl in our set."

"Thank you, dear. But my old hat won't stand another making over; and I like to be particularly neat in the summer, when the army people are here.”

"What are the army people to you?" said Betty Page. "If you are going to spend your church-money to dress for the Yankees, then I've my opinion of you."

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"It's my own money, and I've a right to spend it as I please. I can say my prayers better if I know that the people in the choir are not criticising the top of my head. for the army people-well, they have eyes, if they are Yankees. Besides, they say that nearly all the officers in both regiments are Democrats."

"And what if they are not?" said Blythe Herndon, indolently. "I am tired of this eternal harping on one string. I