into his daughter's room to enjoy the next best pleasure to hearing news, viz.—telling it.
"So, you see," he said, concluding his story, "it was not strange I felt a kind of yearning towards that poor child; and since she's turned to be an orphan-like neglected little body, I hope, gals (to Charlotte and Mrs. Aikin), you'll take her by the hand."
Never were persons more ready to listen to such counsel. Mrs. Aikin had forbidden all intercourse with the forlorn little stranger, but the case now assumed a new aspect; and, when Aikin came home to dinner, their duty to the child was discussed in a committee of the whole family; Uncle Phil, as was his wont, spoke first. His thoughts were all on the surface, and, as soft substances easily melt, they naturally ran into words.
"It's my firm opinion," he said, "that this Miss Smith is not a great deal better than she should be—I always suspect your people that ain't sociable and open-hearted; and what kind of a husband is that she's got, that comes slinking in, his face buried in the cape of his cloak? They'll just bring up that child—and she's a capital child, I tell you—to destruction. I feel as if you ought to do something about it."
"What can we do, Susan?" said Aikin, appealing to his wife.
"I don't know; but, as father says, I feel as if it would be a comfort to do something."
"I have two pairs of nice warm stockings that would about fit her," said Aunt Lottie, "and our children are supplied for the winter."
"Oh, mother!" said Anne, "mayn't she have
