CHAPTER II.
THANKSGIVING DAY.
Slowly the feeble light of a stormy morning broke over the village of S----.

Lucy's fears had been verified, for Thanksgiving's dawn was ushered in by a fierce, driving storm.

Thickly from the blackened clouds the feathery flakes had fallen until the earth far and near was covered by a mass of white, untrodden snow.
Lucy had been awake for a long time, listening to the sad song of the wind, which swept howling by the casement.

At length, with an impatient frown at the snow which covered the window pane, she turned on her pillow, and tried again to sleep.

Her slumbers, however, were soon disturbed by her sister, who arose, and putting aside the curtain, looked out upon the storm, saying half-aloud, "Oh, I am sorry, for Lucy will be disappointed." "I disappointed!" repeated Lucy; "now, Lizzie, why not own it, and say you are as much provoked at the weather as I am, and wish this horrid storm had stayed in the icy caves of Greenland ?" "Because," answered Lizzie, "I really care but little about the party.
You know Harry will not be there, and besides that, the old, ugly pain has come back to my side this morning;" and even as she spoke a low, hacking cough fell on Lucy's ear like the echo of a distant knell.
Lucy raised herself up, and leaning on her elbow looked earnestly at her sister, and fancied ('twas not all fancy), that her cheeks had grown thinner and her brow whiter within a few weeks.