The New Mamma.

      "What eyes! so like your dear father's! How we shall love each other—shan't we, darling? For his sake!"

      "I'll try," said Molly, bravely; and then she could not finish her sentence.

      "And you've just got the same beautiful black curling hair!" said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, softly lifting one of Molly's curls from off her white temple.

      "Papa's hair is growing grey," said Molly.

      "Is it? I never see it. I never shall see it. He will always be to me the handsomest of men."

      Mr. Gibson was really a very handsome man, and Molly was pleased with the compliment; but she could not help saying,—

      "Still he will grow old, and his hair will grow grey. I think he will be just as handsome, but it won't be as a young man."

      "Ah! that's just it, love. He'll always be handsome; some people always are. And he is so fond of you, dear." Molly's colour flashed into her face. She did not want an assurance of her own father's love from this strange woman. She could not help being angry; all she could do was to keep silent. "You don't know how he speaks of you; 'his little treasure,' as he calls you. I'm almost jealous sometimes."

      Molly took her hand away, and her heart began to harden; these speeches were so discordant to her. But she set her teeth together, and "tried to be good."

      "We must make him so happy. I'm afraid he has had a great deal to annoy him at home; but we will do away with all that now. You must tell me," seeing the cloud in Molly's eyes, "what he likes and dislikes, for of course you will know."

      Molly's face cleared a little; of course she did know. She had not watched and loved him so long without believing that she understood him better than any one else: though how he had come to like Mrs. Kirkpatrick enough to wish to marry her, was an unsolved problem that she unconsciously put aside as inexplicable. Mrs. Kirkpatrick went on,—"All men have their fancies and antipathies, even the wisest. I have known some gentlemen annoyed beyond measure by the merest trifles; leaving a door open, or spilling tea in their saucers, or a shawl crookedly put on. Why," continued she, lowering her voice, "I know of a house to which Lord Hollingford will never be asked again because he didn't wipe his shoes on both the mats in the hall! Now you must tell me what your dear father dislikes most in these fanciful ways, and I shall take care to avoid it. You must be my little friend and helper in pleasing him. It will be such a pleasure to me to attend to his slightest fancies. About my dress, too—what colours does he like best? I want to do everything in my power with a view to his approval."

      Molly was gratified by all this, and began to think that really, after all, perhaps her father had done well for himself; and that if she could help towards his new happiness, she ought to do it. So she tried very conscientiously to think over Mr. Gibson's wishes and ways; to ponder over what annoyed him the most in his household.

      "I think," said she, "papa isn't particular about many things; but I think our not having the dinner quite punctual—quite ready for him when he comes in, fidgets him more than anything. You see, he has often had a long ride, and there is another long ride to come, and he has only half-an-hour—sometimes only a quarter—to eat his dinner in."

      "Thank you, my own love. Punctuality! Yes; it's a great thing in a household. It's what I've had to enforce with my young ladies at Ashcombe. No wonder poor dear Mr. Gibson has been displeased at his dinner not being ready, and he so hard-worked!"

      "Papa doesn't care what he has, if it's only ready. He would take bread-and-cheese, if cook would only send it in instead of dinner."

      "Bread-and-cheese! Does Mr. Gibson eat cheese?"

      "Yes; he's very fond of it," said Molly, innocently. "I've known him eat toasted cheese when he has been too tired to fancy anything else."

      "Oh! but, my dear, we must change all that. I shouldn't like to think of your father eating cheese; it's such a strong-smelling, coarse kind of thing. We must get him a cook who can toss him up an omelette, or something elegant. Cheese is only fit for the kitchen."

      "Papa is very fond of it," persevered Molly.

      "Oh! but we will cure him of that. I couldn't bear the smell of cheese; and I'm sure he would be sorry to annoy me."

      Molly was silent; it did not do, she found, to be too minute in telling about her father's likes or dislikes. She had better leave them for Mrs. Kirkpatrick to find out for herself. It was an awkward pause; each was trying to find something agreeable to say. Molly spoke at length. "Please! I should so like to know something about Cynthia—your daughter."

      "Yes, call her Cynthia. It's a pretty name, isn't it? Cynthia Kirkpatrick. Not so pretty, though, as my old name, Hyacinth Clare. People used to say it suited me so well. I must show you an acrostic that a gentleman—he was a lieutenant in the 53rd—made upon it. Oh! we shall have a great deal to say to each other, I foresee!"

      "But about Cynthia?"

      "Oh, yes! about dear Cynthia. What do you want to know, my dear?"

      "Papa said she was to live with us! When will she come?"

      "Oh, was it not sweet of your kind father? I thought of nothing else but Cynthia's going out as a governess when she had completed her education; she has been brought up for it, and has had great advantages. But good dear Mr. Gibson wouldn't hear of it. He said yesterday that she must come and live with us when she left school."

      "When will she leave school?"

      "She went for two years. I don't think I must let her leave before next summer. She teaches English as well as learning French. Next summer she shall come home, and then shan't we be a happy little quartette?"

      "I hope so," said Molly. "But she is to come to the wedding, isn't she?" she went on timidly, not knowing how far Mrs. Kirkpatrick would like the allusion to her marriage.

      "Your father has begged for her to come; but we must think about it a little more before quite fixing it. The journey is a great expense!"

      "Is she like you? I do so want to see her."

      "She is very handsome, people say. In the bright-coloured style,—perhaps something like what I was. But I like the dark-haired foreign kind of beauty best—just now," touching Molly's hair, and looking at her with an expression of sentimental remembrance.

      "Does Cynthia—is she very clever and accomplished?" asked Molly, a little afraid lest the answer should remove Miss Kirkpatrick at too great a distance from her.

      "She ought to be; I've paid ever so much money to have her taught by the best masters. But you will see her before long, and I'm afraid we must go