AGATHA'S VOCATION.

BY ANNETTE LYSTER, AUTHOR OF GRANNIE, THE WHITE GIPSY,'
DULL BOY,' 'FAITHFUL,' ETC. ETC.

CHAPTER I.

SCHOOL DAYS.

THERE is a certain rambling town in the north of England, which was once of considerable importance; for standing in the midst of a fine fertile country, a great market has been held here once a month from time immemorial, and for many a day after that market farmers in the neighbouring districts would price their corn-oats, wheat, or barley-according to the ruling of the market at MarketYoredale.

The river from which the place takes its name runs through the town, passing the fine old market hall, and then, leaving the busy haunts of men, pursues its rapid course between steep, picturesque banks, on which stand many pretty cottages, villas, and larger mansions. In these lived, at the time when my story begins, many of the thriving tradesmen of Market-Yoredale and here, too, lived, in a pretty little place called Sunnybank, Agatha Seymour and her aunt, Mrs. Browning.

When this pair first came to Market-Yoredale there was much speculation amongst the older inhabitants as to Mrs. Browning's reason for selecting this particular town as her place of residence. Agatha, being then only ten years old, was supposed to have had no choice in the matter; but this was a great mistake, as the child had really been the person to select Market-Yoredale as her future home. Circumstances, which shall be made known in due time, had left these two without any local ties-without ties of any kind, in fact. All that Mrs. Browning cared for, was to get away from scenes where she had suffered much, and to settle down quietly in some retired place where she could educate her niece according to her own ideas, without interference, and rest, mind and body, after a somewhat stormy experience. In order to find a suitable place, she procured various lists of houses to let in different parts of England, and it was in looking over one of these lists that the name 'MarketYoredale' took Agatha's fancy, as a name sometimes does take a child's fancy, for some reason which neither the child itself nor any one else can discover.

'Sunnybank, Market-Yoredale,' exclaimed Agatha, oh, what a nice name! It's sunny, of course, and I do love a sunny place! And see, Aunt Mary, it's on the bank of a river, and there's a good garden, and it's an old-fashioned house, but well-built and in good order, and I can have a boat on the river. Oh, do go there, Aunt Mary!'

Poor Aunt Mary-in all the world she had no one to please but the eager little brown maiden by her side; so having made a few inquiries, she went to Market-Yoredale to have a look at Sunnybank. And as the quiet little place pleased her as much as the name pleased Agatha, she took it at once, purchased furniture in the town, and made the few rooms she required very pretty and comfortable. She seemed to have money enough to live in a quiet way; but, indeed, she must have lived quietly in any case, for she was in very bad health. The neighbours called upon her, and though after a time but few visits were exchanged, Mrs. Browning was not unpopular; her wretched health was a sufficient excuse for her, and she was always courteous and kind when any one sought her out. The worthy ladies of the neighbourhood, indeed, said among themselves that Mrs. Browning, though she had no pride about her, was not one of their sort. You never felt that you really got to know her-she did not seem to care about the little chit-chat of the place, and when she was able to exert herself to talk, she talked about books and politics -whereas the good mothers and wives of Market-Yoredale probably did not know the name of the then Prime Minister, and books were considered idle luxuries. My Hannah is the idlest girl I ever knew,' one excellent, happy-looking matron said to Mrs. Browning; 'she never would be without a book in her hand if she could help it.. I tell her she'll never be of any use to me.' Mrs. Browning smiled; yet, although she gave Agatha lessons at home when her strength allowed it, she sent her every day to the Miss Anderson's school for young ladies,' to and from which the little girl went with a whole troop of girls from the riverside houses.

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The little one was a bright, energetic creature, full of vigour and vitality, and undoubtedly she would have been neither so well nor so happy as she was, if she had been forced to keep apart from all the young life around her, and to spend all her time with her aunt, though she loved her dearly, and was the deftest and tenderest of attendants. So things settled down, and people began to forget that the dwellers at Sunnybank were strangers. So quiet and uneventful were the next few years that Mrs. Browning never dreamed that Agatha was growing up, until she awoke to the fact that the girl was grown up, and wanted to leave off going to school. 'But why, dear; you always seem to enjoy it?' 'Yes, Aunt Mary, so I have. But now you see all the girls of my age are leaving off going. Hannah Phillips is going to France, or Germany, as a pupil-teacher. Fanny Morton must stay at home to

help her mother. Lucy, my own dear Lucy Winstanley, is to be married almost at once--and Anna Shirley'

No doubt Agatha would have completed the list of her class-fellows, but that Mrs. Browning, who hardly ever interrupted any one, actually interrupted her, exclaiming

Lucy Winstanley! Impossible, dear child. She is younger than you, surely.'

One year older, auntie. She will be eighteen her next birthday, and she has been engaged these six months to Mr. Lisle, a young Scotchman who is learning farming at Crossley Farm.

They are

going to Canada; I don't know what I shall do without Lucy.'

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That little fair-haired girl! Are you sure, Agatha, that you have made no mistake? May it not be an elder sister?'

'Lucy has no sister-only a brother, who is at school-or college, I don't remember which. I have never seen him yet.'

'How long have you known anything about this marriage?' said Mrs. Browning anxiously.

'I have known that she is engaged this long time-ever since it happened, you know. But she told me not to tell-and then, they were to be engaged for years and years. Now they mean to go to Canada, or to the States, I believe it is. I was not listening to that part much, because Lucy asked me to be her bridesmaid, if you will let me; and then I really must leave school-a school-girl bridesmaid would be too absurd!'

'Not half so absurd as a school-girl bride-and this poor little Lucy still goes, does she not?'

'She has gone until these holidays; but she will not go when she is a bride, you know. It was her father, he said it might keep her out of mischief.'

'Well, dear, for the same reason

'But there's a great difference, Aunt Mary. Lucy has no one at home but her father, and I have you. I shall read and practice, and draw a great deal more than I could if I went on at Miss Anderson's. And I shall work in the garden, and look after you, and have a class in the Sunday-school, and do twenty things that I'm longing to do, and never had time for. And, indeed, I have learned all that they teach there. I am at the top-the head, I mean, of the classes; and Miss Susie nearly had a fit the other day when I played that Capriccio that you taught me. She said she didn't understand that kind of music, and she was not sure that it was proper. I asked her what she meant, and she said, "You know, my dear, you are a private gentlewoman," and she really seemed so unhappy, that I played Rousseau's Dream with variations, to compose her mind.'

Mrs. Browning roused herself, poor woman, to pay a few visits next day; and she found that Agatha was quite correct in saying that if she went back to school after the holidays she would be the only girl of sixteen there. All her class-fellows were leaving, and so

the matter ended in Agatha's leaving school too; and she carried her point about being Lucy Winstanley's bridesmaid as well.

In order to see as much as possible of her friend, Agatha stayed for a few days at Crossley Farm. The wedding was to take place in the Parish Church, St. Germany's as it was popularly called, St. Germain's being the more correct appellation. Mrs. Browning was lying on her couch in the little drawing-room that looked so dull without Agatha, who, without being noisy, or even talkative, was a lassie whose presence was cheering and pleasant. Suddenly a most unusual thing happened; a carriage came down the lane and stopped at the door. The garden lay between the house and the river-the Hall door opened upon the quiet lane. Mrs. Browning's sitting-room looked into the garden, and of course she could not see what or whom the carriage was bringing her, and to judge by her startled face, she did not know of any old and welcome friend likely to find her out in her retirement. However, exclamations in the Hall, 'Oh, miss! Oh, ain't it lovely!' and a light well-known step soon re-assured her, even before the door opened, and Agatha came in.

'Aunt Mary, I have only a moment to stay, but Mr. Winstanley was so kind, when I told him I wished so much that you could see my dress, he actually made the man drive down the lane. Look-is it not pretty? Lucy would have the deep crimson for the ribbons, because she said it would be becoming to me. And Lucy is married, Auntie-just ten minutes ago-and I shall come home this evening. I have brought you my flowers; are they not beauties! Mr. Winstanley got them from London. Kiss me, auntie; I must be off.'

'Stay one moment, love. Well, a long dress does make a change! Is this my little Agatha, I wonder?'

'Just your own little brown Agatha; but, auntie,' said the girl, with the utmost simplicity, do you know I really thought to-day, as I looked in the glass, that I am growing rather pretty. Not pretty like Lucy-oh, she is so lovely in her bride's dress-but pretty in a brown kind of way. Good-bye, Aunt Mary, I promised not to keep Mr. Winstanley waiting.'

A hasty kiss, and Agatha was gone. Mrs. Browning lay and thought about her.

Pretty, no, my little Agatha, but something better than pretty. I suppose nothing would make the child look less distinguished-and she has the brown eyes and russet hair of her race. I pray that she may have nothing else of theirs. A quiet, lowly, useful life-doing a little good to set against all the mischief-that's what I wish for my darling. But if Lady Archer saw her to-day, she would tell me again that I am doing her an injustice.'

Agatha came home in the evening, brilliantly happy. This was not the final parting with her friend, for the young couple were to be at Crossley again before they left England.

They have gone to Scotland, Aunt Mary, to see the place where

his people lived. He is an orphan, and has no near relations, so of course he wanted a wife very badly. Then they come home, and Lucy wants me to spend a few days with her; but I will not go unless you are better. I think you have missed me; have you?' 'Sorely, love; yet I must not be selfish. You must have your pleasant time with your friend, as she is going so far away.' And, Aunt Mary, may I go to Market-Yoredale to-morrow, and buy myself some dresses? Mine are all shabby, besides being short and skimpy. I want to look like other people, now that I am leaving school. And I might as well call on the Miss Andersons and tell them that I am not going back to them; it would be kinder, would it not?'

Mrs. Browning assenting to both requests, Agatha secured Fanny Morton as her companion, and thoroughly did the pair enjoy a day's shopping. Mrs. Browning had given Agatha money enough to purchase three or four summer dresses, and various other articles of attire. She, however, left the choice to Agatha herself, and Fanny Morton was greatly distressed at what she considered her friend's lack of taste. Shopping over, the two girls betook themselves to Miss Anderson's school.

Agatha,' said Fanny, 'is it not funny to think how often you and I, and all of us, have come along this pokey little street, and now we shall perhaps never come here any more-certainly not all together?'

'Well, we have been very happy here,' said cheery Agatha; it is like reading a story-you turn over a page, and this page is finished.'

'Ah!' said Fanny, who was sentimentally inclined, 'I wish we could see what the next page has on it.'

'Oh, I don't wish that! Half the pleasure of life would be gone without its surprises. Don't be silly, Fan, we shall all get on very well. Here's the door-dear old door; they've painted it, and I am sure that never was done since I began to attend school until now, for I scratched my name down there, and it was quite visible only the other day. Is Miss Anderson at home?'

Both Miss Andersons were at home. The two girls announced that they were to leave school; the two Miss Andersons said they were prepared to hear that. A week ago, they would have been permitted to depart as soon as they had delivered their message; but now they were grown-up young ladies, so they were entertained with tea and cake. Agatha told her aunt afterwards that she fancied the cake must have been seasoned with sand, it was so gritty; but I rather think the grittiness was occasioned by extreme old age. As the girls were saying good-bye, Miss Susan said

Agatha, dear, I want to ask you one question. Maria never would allow me to ask it before; but I will now, Maria, so you need not shake your head. Agatha, tell me why you never would try for