PLEASANT VISITORS.

Sterling lifted Luke into his wagon, and Rhoda took her place beside him, laughing gleefully at the idea of meeting her best friend once more. They had a delightful ride across the prairie, and at last stopped before the log cabin. Rhoda sprang over the wheel, darted into the house, and threw herself at Mrs. Holt's feet.

"Oh, lady! have I found you—have I found you!"

The bright tears were on her face, her hands were uplifted—the young creature was wild with joy.

Mrs. Holt was greatly affected. She raised the girl in her arms and kissed her again and again.

"Rhoda! little Rhoda! it seems like a miracle to see you here."

"Oh! we have been searching for you so long, traveling everywhere in hopes of finding you. The West is so far off, so wide, so long, it stretches off and off. But we are here at last, Luke and I, to say nothing of father."

"And you are come to stay with me, little Rhoda?" said Mrs. Holt, kindly.

"Till Luke gets better, if you will let us. Luke is sick. I am afraid he is getting worse, for he grows so handsome that it makes my heart ache."

Here the lad, of whom they were speaking, came in. Mrs. Holt was so struck by the ethereal beauty of his face that she stood motionless, gazing upon him as if an angel had started up in her path. Rhoda took him by the hand in her brisk, protecting way, and led him to the lady.

"You don't know Luke yet; but he remembers you, and loves you. Don't you, brother?"

"Ah, yes! I do remember her so well—as well as I remember our mother."

Mrs. Holt took his hand, it was hot and dry.

"You are ill—what can I do for you?" she said, in a voice so sweet with compassion that it brightened the boy's face all over.

"No, lady, I am well now. It seems as if I had got home."

"And so it shall be your home so long as you like it," said the lady; "but you must be hungry."

"Yes, he is hungry," answered Rhoda, taking off her bonnet, and beginning to roll up her sleeves. "But we have got some birds out there, and I am going to cook them. Is that the kitchen I saw back of the house, with a cooking stove in it?"

Before any one could answer, Rhoda ran out to the wagon, took the birds from under the seat, and directly was picking off their feathers in that little summer kitchen as if she had lived there all her life. Sometimes she would pause in her work, and sit motionless, with a bird in one hand, and a handful of feathers in the other; then burst out into a mellow laugh, wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, and fall to work with new vigor.

When her birds were ready for cooking, she proceeded to make a fire, found all the necessary utensils as if by magic; and before Mrs. Holt knew well what she was about, came smiling and bustling into the house, ready to set the table for the whole family.

This was rather pleasant to the lady, who had been husbanding her little means so carefully that she had considered any servant as an extravagance. Besides, the sudden downfall of her hopes had broken her energies, and the fatigue of domestic duties pressed heavily upon her of late. So it was a relief to see bright, active little Rhoda taking the lead, and fluttering about the house like a honey-bee among rose-thickets.

"There," said Rhoda, placing the last dish on the table, and rolling down her sleeves with dainty precision, "the supper is ready. Come, Mrs. Holt, come, Mr. Sterling, and you, Luke. Dear me, how comfortable it is to feel at home again."

She placed one of the cozy chairs at the head of the table, and patronized Mrs. Holt with a gentle pat on the shoulder as she sat down in it. Then settled Luke in his place, and took her own seat, with a little flutter of delight, as a mother-bird sinks down in her nest after the young ones are properly fed.

The next day Luke felt better from the rest and quietude which an idea of home had given him, and wandered off toward the river, plucking the most delicate prairie-flowers from the wild grasses as he went. Over his shoulder, like a troubadour of old, his violin was slung in its case of green cloth. Thus, with the flowers his taste was always longing for, and the instrument which he loved best of any inanimate thing on earth, the boy strolled forth, breathing the brightness of the air with languid pleasure, and feeling almost well again.

On the brink of the river stood a clump of elm-trees, over which a wild grape-vine had tangled and trailed itself, lifted high in the sunshine, and sweeping downward in a bower of rich leafiness. At the foot of this tree, Luke seated himself, and taking out his violin, began to play. At first the wind, as it whispered and sighed along the grass, was not fainter than the strains he drew. The singing of the waters, and the hum of summer insects swelled into harmony with his music, which seemed natural, like the rest.

By degrees the strains swelled out louder and more sustained; the air was thrilled with its sweetness; and the very birds in the vine above him paused, with their heads on one side, to listen, till the inspiration seized upon them, and they began to sing in chorus, jubilant with enthusiasm.

Then the lad's face grew heavenly in its spiritual loveliness; a smile, that seemed born of the music, parted his lips; his eyes were luminous with crowding harmonies; his hands, delicate and white as a child's, shook and quivered with eagerness as they fluttered over the strings. Sometimes he lifted those beautiful eyes to the birds, and mocked their sweetest notes with his genius.

Again the sounds came with a liquid flow from under his fingers, and some unseen brook seemed rippling into the river. Such fantasies occupied the very soul of the boy until the morning shadows were beginning to uplift themselves from the river, and the sun crept in upon him through the trailing grape-vines, making everything around still more beautiful.

Any exertion, save that which sprang out of his genius, would have taxed the boy's strength most painfully; but he had never yet wearied of the glorious strains of which that violin was capable. Like a creature inspired, he filled all the air with melodies, throwing out the genius within him in a wonderful outgush, all the more wild and sweet because no human being was near to disturb him.