home—even the beloved "Hillside Farm" was forgotten; she dropped the Scottish dialect which her grandmother still retained, and the little Highland lassie was fast changing into a fair New England maiden. She lived a simple, happy, healthful, wood-*land life; out upon the hills or by the ocean's shore, or deep in the dim forest glades, making free acquaintance with beneficent nature, and gaining health and strength and beauty from the invigorating breezes.
One day she fairly startled her grandmother as she darted in at the open door, like some bright-winged tropical bird; her long, fair hair twined with the pale purple flowers of the wild aster, and her neck and arms encircled with chains of bright crimson berries, whose coral hue set off their dazzling whiteness.
"Luke at me!—luke at me, grannie! am I not bonnie?" she said, as she danced in her childish glee and pretty vanity before the eyes of her grandmother. "Am I not your sonsie Allie now? say, luke at me!"
"Oh, my bairn! my bairn!" cried the grandmother, shuddering as she looked at
