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As they turned away from the grave, Mr. Rodman observed the slender form of Jims in the snow, holding his horse by the head. "Thank you, my lad," said he, "I am sorry that I can't talk with you a little, but we must all hurry away. Will you come up and see me some one of these days, eh?"

Jims rolled up his hat from off his eyes and said, "I'll come when the next one goes off, if the Cap'n says so."

"Eh?"

"I say, when the next one of us tips the bucket, I'll come and tell you."

"Oh, ho! I suppose I understand you. But I should like to see you any other time, so good-bye; come if you can."

Jims put his hands in his pockets, and was staring after him, when he felt himself seized by the collar and jerked violently backwards into the snow, at the same time the voice of Captain Bunce, like a bull bellowing in a tornado, rung in his ears. "Don't stand there with your hands in your breeches, boy, but help fill up this grave! There now, pull in the gravel with that hoe. Here, Dan; work nimbly, boys, or we shall get covered up by this tremendous snow-storm. Hang her -- die in such a storm as this! It costs more to bury her than two of her are worth. But she's done with -- she's made us a world of trouble, and this closes the account. There, boys, that'll do for aunt Dorothy. Now bring round the team. It's a mile home, and I don't see but we must make a new track, every foot of it. Nimble, now!" And so they moved away, leaving there poor old aunt Dorothy Brinsmade in her winding-sheet, the deep, cold snow fast gathering on her grave.

CHAPTER XX.
NORTHERN Human Chattels. Where is Aunt Dodge?

A MONTH now wore away. The grave had been again opened, but this time to receive all that was mortal of Mrs. Bunce, whom we mentioned as cut down by sickness soon after the conclusion of the arson examination. Boyce was tending the same way, and the constitution of Mrs. Boyce, as it was found, had received so great a shock by her shipwreck and subsequent trials, as to leave small hope that her life would not be the forfeiture. Every day Jims came in to inquire how they did, and his heart trembled for the little Alice, lest she also should become a pauper, after her parents had left the world.

The care of their little daughter greatly troubled both of her parents. It was true that she had many a friend and relative in England, but none nearer than uncles and aunts, and the difficulty of returning her there at so early an age seemed to them almost insurmountable. But if they did not, she would most positively be left in the hands of those strangers to whom they were themselves indebted for their present comforts; who could tell what misfortunes or the changes of life might compel them to do with her?

But those friends were tried friends, whose charities were not stimulated by the uprisings of a mere transient emotion of pity, or the desire of applause from the world. They had in them the true convictions of duty, and they obeyed them. Conscience and reason spoke to them, and they listened. Religion shewed them her paths of benevolence and self-denial only to inspire them with a determination to walk in them at every sacrifice. They knew from the Gospel, and from their own experience, it was "more blessed to give than to receive."

Mrs. Rodman, Mrs. Haddock, and Mrs. Phillips now frequently held sessions together, in which they consulted for the good of the poor in general, and in which they made an arrangement for the little Alice in particular. It was the earnest desire of Mrs. Rodman that the child might be given into her care, and she would undertake to educate and provide for her in the future. To the two friends, Mrs. Haddock and Mrs. Phillips, this arrangement was entirely desirable. To Mr. and Mrs. Boyce it was melancholy pleasing, their hearts yearning over their dear one, and the wish yet living in their hearts that she should once more be permitted to see her native land.

And it was finally stipulated that when she was eighteen years of age, she should be allowed to make a visit to her relatives in England, and look after any legacies or property that might have in the meantime fallen to her there, provided she herself was anxious to go, and there were no insurmountable obstacles in the way.

And thus the orphaned one found a home and friends.

But who can tell us where the red-capped widow Dodge has gone? It is now February, and she has been away for a fortnight; no one knows where, no one seems to consider it of much importance. When Captain Bunce was asked what he thought of it, he replied that he thought very little of it, unless that she had got into some other poor-house, and the town there would be sending him a bill soon for keeping her. As for looking after her, the Captain never thought of that. He said the paupers always came back as soon as he cared to see them.

And so she remains off a long time -- probably doing well in some other habitation of God's poor!

But her place is somewhat missed by the widow Prescott, for she is a sensible old lady of piety, and the two have long been acquainted. Mrs. Dodge was raised in affluent circumstances. Her young life was one of almost unalloyed happiness. Her father and mother moved among the highly influential of the town, her two brothers and three handsome sisters were her unselfish admiration and constant companions, and they all moved in the first society of the place.