MRS. STERLING.

IT was an April day when Christie went to her new home. Warm rainshad melted the last trace of snow, and every bank was full ofpricking grass-blades, brave little pioneers and heralds of theSpring. The budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays screamedamong the apple-trees; and robins chirped shrilly, as if rejoicingover winter hardships safely passed. Vernal freshness was in the airdespite its chill, and lovely hints of summer time were everywhere.

These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as she walked down thelane, and, coming to a gate, paused there to look about her. Anold-fashioned cottage stood in the midst of a garden just awakeningfrom its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over the low roof,sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every window flowers' bright facessmiled at the passer-by invitingly.

On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the other stood abarn, with a sleek cow ruminating in the yard, and an inquiringhorse poking his head out of his stall to view the world. Manycomfortable gray hens were clucking and scratching about thehay-strewn floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.

A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred its peace, andthe hopeful, healthful spirit of the season seemed to haunt thespot. Snow-drops and crocuses were up in one secluded nook; a plumpmaltese cat sat purring in the porch; and a dignified old dog camemarching down the walk to escort the stranger in. With a brighteningface Christie went up the path, and tapped at the quaint knocker,hoping that the face she was about to see would be in keeping withthe pleasant place.

She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little Quaker ladiesopened to her, with such an air of peace and good-will that theveriest ruffian, coming to molest or make afraid, would have foundit impossible to mar the tranquillity of that benign old face, ordisturb one fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her breast.

"I come from Mr. Power, and I have a note for Mrs. Sterling," beganChristie in her gentlest tone, as her last fear vanished at sight ofthat mild maternal figure.

"I am she; come in, friend; I am glad to see thee," said the oldlady, smiling placidly, as she led the way into a room whoseprincipal furniture seemed to be books, flowers, and sunshine.

The look, the tone, the gentle "thee," went straight to Christie'sheart; and, while Mrs. Sterling put on her spectacles and slowlyread the note, she stroked the cat and said to herself: "Surely, Ihave fallen among a set of angels. I thought Mrs. Wilkins a sort ofsaint, Mr. Power was an improvement even upon that good soul, and ifI am not mistaken this sweet little lady is the best and dearest ofall. I do hope she will like me."

"It is quite right, my dear, and I am most glad to see thee; for weneed help at this season of the year, and have had none for severalweeks. Step up to the room at the head of the stairs, and lay offthy things. Then, if thee is not tired, I will give thee a littlejob with me in the kitchen," said the old lady with a kindlydirectness which left no room for awkwardness on the new-comer'spart.

Up went Christie, and after a hasty look round a room as plain andwhite and still as a nun's cell, she whisked on a working-apron andran down again, feeling, as she fancied the children did in thefairy tale, when they first arrived at the house of the little oldwoman who lived in the wood.

Mrs. Wilkins's kitchen was as neat as a room could be, wherein sixchildren came and went, but this kitchen was tidy with theimmaculate order of which Shakers and Quakers alone seem to possessthe secret, - a fragrant, shining cleanliness, that made even blackkettles ornamental and dish-pans objects of interest. Nothing burnedor boiled over, though the stove was full of dinner-pots andskillets. There was no litter or hurry, though the baking of cakeand pies was going on, and when Mrs. Sterling put a pan of apples,and a knife into her new assistant's hands, saying in a tone thatmade the request a favor, "Will thee kindly pare these for me?"Christie wondered what would happen if she dropped a seed upon thefloor, or did not cut the apples into four exact quarters.

"I never shall suit this dear prim soul," she thought, as her eyewent from Puss, sedately perched on one small mat, to the dog dozingupon another, and neither offering to stir from their own dominions.

This dainty nicety amused her at first, but she liked it, and verysoon her thoughts went back to the old times when she worked withAunt Betsey, and learned the good old-fashioned arts which now wereto prove her fitness for this pleasant place.

Mrs. Sterling saw the shadow that crept into Christie's face, andled the chat to cheerful things, not saying much herself, butbeguiling the other to talk, and listening with an interest thatmade it easy to go on.

Mr. Power and the Wilkinses made them friends very soon; and in anhour or two Christie was moving about the kitchen as if she hadalready taken possession of her new kingdom.

"Thee likes housework I think," said Mrs. Sterling, as she watchedher hang up a towel to dry, and rinse her dish-cloth when thecleaning up was done.

"Oh, yes! if I need not do it with a shiftless Irish girl to driveme distracted by pretending to help. I have lived out, and did notfind it hard while I had my good Hepsey. I was second girl, and canset a table in style. Shall I try now?" she asked, as the old ladywent into a little dining-room with fresh napkins in her hand.

"Yes, but we have no style here. I will show thee once, andhereafter it will be thy work, as thy feet are younger than mine."

A nice old-fashioned table was soon spread, and Christie keptsmiling at the contrast between this and Mrs. Stuart's. Chubbylittle pitchers appeared, delicate old glass, queer china, and tinytea-spoons; linen as smooth as satin, and a quaint tankard thatmight have come over in the "May-flower."

"Now, will thee take that pitcher of water to David's room? It is atthe top of the house, and may need a little dusting. I have not beenable to attend to it as I would like since I have been alone," saidMrs. Sterling.

Rooms usually betray something of the character and tastes of theiroccupants, and Christie paused a moment as she entered David's, tolook about her with feminine interest.

It was the attic, and extended the whole length of the house. Oneend was curtained off as a bedroom, and she smiled at its austeresimplicity.

A gable in the middle made a sunny recess, where were stored bagsand boxes of seed, bunches of herbs, and shelves full of those tinypots in which baby plants are born and nursed till they can growalone.

The west end was evidently the study, and here Christie took a goodlook as she dusted tidily. The furniture was nothing, only an oldsofa, with the horsehair sticking out in tufts here and there; anantique secretary; and a table covered with books. As she whiskedthe duster down the front of the ancient piece of furniture, one ofthe doors in the upper half swung open, and Christie saw threeobjects that irresistibly riveted her eyes for a moment. A brokenfan, a bundle of letters tied up with a black ribbon, and a littlework-basket in which lay a fanciful needle-book with "Letty"embroidered on it in faded silk.

"Poor David, that is his little shrine, and I have no right to seeit," thought Christie, shutting the door with self-reproachfulhaste.

At the table she paused again, for books always attracted her, andhere she saw a goodly array whose names were like the faces of oldfriends, because she remembered them in her father's library.

Faust was full of ferns, Shakspeare, of rough sketches of the menand women whom he has made immortal. Saintly Herbert lay side byside with Saint Augustine's confessions. Milton and Montaigne stoodsocially together, and Andersen's lovely "Märchen" fluttered itspictured leaves in the middle of an open Plato; while several booksin unknown tongues were half-hidden by volumes of Browning, Keats,and Coleridge.

In the middle of this fine society, slender and transparent as thespirit of a shape, stood a little vase holding one half-opened rose,fresh and fragrant as if just gathered.

Christie smiled as she saw it, and wondered if the dear, dead, orfalse woman had been fond of roses.

Then her eye went to the mantel-piece, just above the table, and shelaughed; for, on it stood three busts, idols evidently, but veryshabby ones; for Göthe's nose was broken, Schiller's head crackedvisibly, and the dust of ages seemed to have settled upon Linnæus inthe middle. On the wall above them hung a curious old picture of amonk kneeling in a devout ecstasy, while the face of an angel isdimly seen through the radiance that floods the cell with divinelight. Portraits of Mr. Power and Martin Luther stared thoughtfullyat one another from either side, as if making up their minds toshake hands in spite of time and space.

"Melancholy, learned, and sentimental," said Christie to herself, asshe settled David's character after these discoveries.

The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more curious than ever tosee if this belief was true.

"Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son. Sometimes he doesnot hear the bell when he is busy. Thee will find my garden-hood andshawl behind the door," said Mrs. Sterling, presently; forpunctuality was a great virtue in the old lady's eyes.

Christie demurely tied on the little pumpkin-hood, wrapped the grayshawl about her, and set out to find her "master," as she had afancy to call this unknown David.

From the hints dropped by Mr. Power, and her late discoveries, shehad made a hero for herself; a sort of melancholy Jaques; sad andpale and stern; retired from the world to nurse his wounds insolitude. She rather liked this picture; for romance dies hard in awoman, and, spite of her experiences, Christie still indulged indreams and fancies. "It will be so interesting to see how he bearshis secret sorrow. I am fond of woe; but I do hope he won't be toolackadaisical, for I never could abide that sort of blighted being."

Thinking thus, she peeped here and there, but saw no one in yard orbarn, except a workman scraping the mould off his boots near theconservatory.

"This David is among the flowers, I fancy; I will just ask, and notbolt in, as he does not know me. "Where is Mr. Sterling?" addedChristie aloud, as she approached.

The man looked up, and a smile came into his eyes, as he glancedfrom the old hood to the young face inside. Then he took off hishat, and held out his hand, saying with just his mother's simpledirectness:

"I am David; and this is Christie Devon, I know. How do you do?"

"Yes; dinner's ready," was all she could reply, for the discoverythat this was the "master," nearly took her breath away. Not thefaintest trace of the melancholy Jaques about him; nothinginteresting, romantic, pensive, or even stern. Only abroad-shouldered, brown-bearded man, with an old hat and coat,trousers tucked into his boots, fresh mould on the hand he had givenher to shake, and the cheeriest voice she had ever heard.

What a blow it was to be sure! Christie actually felt vexed with himfor disappointing her so, and could not recover herself, but stoodred and awkward, till, with a last scrape of his boots, David saidwith placid brevity:

"Well, shall we go in?"

Christie walked rapidly into the house, and by the time she gotthere the absurdity of her fancy struck her, and she stifled a laughin the depths of the little pumpkin-hood, as she hung it up. Then,assuming her gravest air, she went to give the finishing touches todinner.

Ten minutes later she received another surprise; for David appearedwashed, brushed, and in a suit of gray, - a personable gentleman,quite unlike the workman in the yard.

Christie gave one look, met a pair of keen yet kind eyes with asuppressed laugh in them, and dropped her own, to be no more liftedup till dinner was done.

It was a very quiet meal, for no one said much; and it was evidentlythe custom of the house to eat silently, only now and then saying afew friendly words, to show that the hearts were social if thetongues were not.

On the present occasion this suited Christie; and she ate her dinnerwithout making any more discoveries, except that the earth-stainedhands were very clean now, and skilfully supplied her wants beforeshe could make them known.

As they rose from table, Mrs. Sterling said: "Davy, does thee wantany help this afternoon?"

"I shall be very glad of some in about an hour if thee can spare it,mother."

"I can, dear."

"Do you care for flowers?" asked David, turning to Christie,"because if you do not, this will be a very trying place for you."

"I used to love them dearly; but I have not had any for so long Ihardly remember how they look," answered Christie with a sigh, asshe recalled Rachel's roses, dead long ago. "Shy, sick, and sad;poor soul, we must lend a hand and cheer her up a bit" thoughtDavid, as he watched her eyes turn toward the green tilings in thewindows with a bright, soft look, he liked to see.

"Come to the conservatory in an hour, and I'll show you the bestpart of a 'German,'" he said, with a nod and a smile, as he wentaway, beginning to whistle like a boy when the door was shut behindhim.

"What did he mean?" thought Christie, as she helped clear the table,and put every thing in Pimlico order.

She was curious to know, and when Mrs. Sterling said: "Now, my dear,I am going to take my nap, and thee can help David if thee likes,"she was quite ready to try the new work.

She would have been more than woman if she had not first slippedupstairs to smooth her hair, put on a fresh collar, and a black silkapron with certain effective frills and pockets, while a scarletrigolette replaced the hood, and lent a little color to her palecheeks.

"I am a poor ghost of what I was," she thought; "but that's nomatter: few can be pretty, any one can be neat, and that is morethan ever necessary here."

Then she went away to the conservatory, feeling rather oppressedwith the pity and sympathy, for which there was no call, andfervently wishing that David would not be so comfortable, for he atea hearty dinner, laughed four times, and whistled as no heart-brokenman would dream of doing.

No one was visible as she went in, and walking slowly down the greenaisle, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely place. Thedamp, sweet air made summer there, and a group of slender, orientaltrees whispered in the breath of wind that blew in from an opensash. Strange vines and flowers hung overhead; banks of azaleas,ruddy, white, and purple, bloomed in one place; roses of every hueturned their lovely faces to the sun; ranks of delicate ferns, andheaths with their waxen bells, were close by; glowing geraniums andstately lilies side by side; savage-looking scarlet flowers withpurple hearts, or orange spikes rising from leaves mottled withstrange colors; dusky passion-flowers, and gay nasturtiums climbingto the roof. All manner of beautiful and curious plants were there;and Christie walked among them, as happy as a child who finds itsplaymates again.

Coming to a bed of pansies she sat down on a rustic chair, and,leaning forward, feasted her eyes on these her favorites. Her facegrew young as she looked, her hands touched them with a lingeringtenderness as if to her they were half human, and her own eyes wereso busy enjoying the gold and purple spread before her, that she didnot see another pair peering at her over an unneighborly old cactus,all prickles, and queer knobs. Presently a voice said at her elbow:

"You look as if you saw something beside pansies there."

David spoke so quietly that it did not startle her, and she answeredbefore she had time to feel ashamed of her fancy.

"I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a little facewhen I look at this flower. Sometimes it is a sad one, sometimesit's merry, often roguish, but always a dear little face; and when Isee so many together, it's like a flock of children, all nodding andsmiling at me at once."

"So it is!" and David nodded, and smiled himself, as he handed hertwo or three of the finest, as if it was as natural a thing as toput a sprig of mignonette in his own button-hole.

Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remembering that she camethere to work, not to dream. He seemed to understand, and went intoa little room near by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gayflowers on the table:

"These are to be made into little bouquets for a 'German' to-night.It is pretty work, and better fitted for a woman's fingers than aman's. This is all you have to do, and you can vise your taste as tocolors."

While he spoke David laid a red and white carnation on a bit ofsmilax, tied them together, twisted a morsel of silver foil aboutthe stems, and laid it before Christie as a sample.

"Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much," she said, buryingher nose in the mass of sweetness before her, and feeling as if hernew situation grew pleasanter every minute.

"Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk will soon bespoilt, for the flowers are wet," and David gravely offered her alarge checked pinafore.

Christie could not help laughing as she put it on: all this was sodifferent from the imaginary picture she had made. She wasdisappointed, and yet she began to feel as if the simple truth wasbetter than the sentimental fiction; and glanced up at Davidinvoluntarily to see if there were any traces of interesting woeabout him.

But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-forward lookwhich she liked so much, yet could not meet just yet; and all shesaw was that he was smiling also with an indulgent expression as ifshe was a little girl whom he was trying to amuse.

"Make a few, and I'll be back directly when I have attended toanother order," and he went away thinking Christie's face was verylike the pansies they had been talking about, - one of the sombreones with a bright touch of gold deep down in the heart, for thinand pale as the face was, it lighted up at a kind word, and all thesadness vanished out of the anxious eyes when the frank laugh came.

Christie fell to work with a woman's interest in such a pleasanttask, and soon tied and twisted skilfully, exercising all her tastein contrasts, and the pretty little conceits flower-lovers canproduce. She was so interested that presently she began to hum halfunconsciously, as she was apt to do when happily employed:

There she stopped, for David's step drew near, and she rememberedwhere she was.

"The last verse is the best in that little poem. Have you forgottenit?" he said, pleased and surprised to find the new-comer singingHerrick's lines "To Violets." "Almost; rny father used to say thatwhen we went looking for early violets, and these lovely onesreminded me of it," explained Christie, rather abashed.

DAVID AND CHRISTIE IN THE GREENHOUSE.

As if to put her at ease David added, as he laid another handful ofdouble-violets on the table:

"I always think of them as pretty, modest maids after that, andcan't bear to throw them away, even when faded."

Christie hoped he did not think her sentimental, and changed theconversation by pointing to her work, and saying, in a business-likeway:

"Will these do? I have varied the posies as much as possible, sothat they may suit all sorts of tastes and whirns. I never went to a'German' myself; but I have looked on, and remember hearing theyoung people say the little bouquets didn't mean any thing, so Itried to make these expressive."

"Well, I should think you had succeeded excellently, and it is avery pretty fancy. Tell me what some of them mean: will you?"

"You should know better than I, being a florist," said Christie,glad to see he approved of her work.

"I can grow the flowers, but not read them," and David looked ratherdepressed by his own ignorance of those delicate matters.

Still with the business-like air, Christie held up one after anotherof the little knots, saying soberly, though her eyes smiled:

"This white one might be given to a newly engaged girl, assuggestive of the coming bridal. That half-blown bud would say agreat deal from a lover to his idol; and this heliotrope be mostencouraging to a timid swain. Here is a rosy daisy for some merrylittle damsel; there is a scarlet posy for a soldier; this delicateazalea and fern for some lovely creature just out; and there is abunch of sober pansies for a spinster, if spinsters go to 'Germans.'Heath, scentless but pretty, would do for many; these Parma violetsfor one with a sorrow; and this curious purple flower witharrow-shaped stamens would just suit a handsome, sharp-tonguedwoman, if any partner dared give it to her."

David laughed, as his eye went from the flowers to Christie's face,and when she laid down the last breast-knot, looking as if she wouldlike the chance of presenting it to some one she knew, he seemedmuch amused.

"If the beaux and belles at this party have the wit to read yourposies, my fortune will be made, and you will have your hands fullsupplying compliments, declarations, rebukes, and criticisms for thefashionable butterflies. I wish I could put consolation, hope, andsubmission into my work as easily, but I am afraid I can't," headded a moment afterward with a changed face, as he began to lay theloveliest white flowers into a box.

"Those are not for a wedding, then?"

"For a dead baby; and I can't seem to find any white and sweetenough."

"You know the people?" asked Christie, with the sympathetic tone inher voice.

"Never saw or heard of them till to-day. Isn't it enough to knowthat 'baby's dead,' as the poor man said, to make one feel forthem?"

"Of course it is; only you seemed so interested in arranging theflowers, I naturally thought it was for some friend," Christieanswered hastily, for David looked half indignant at her question.

"I want them to look lovely and comforting when the mother opens thebox, and I don't seem to have the right flowers. Will you give it atouch? women have a tender way of doing such things that we cannever learn."

"I don't think I can improve it, unless I add another sort of flowerthat seems appropriate: may I?"

"Any thing you can find."

Christie waited for no more, but ran out of the greenhouse toDavid's great surprise, and presently came hurrying back with ahandful of snow-drops.

"Those are just what I wanted, but I didn't know the little dearswere up yet! You shall put them in, and I know they will suggestwhat you hope to these poor people," he said approvingly, as heplaced the box before her, and stood by watching her adjust thelittle sheaf of pale flowers tied up with a blade of grass. Sheadded a frail fern or two, and did give just the graceful touch hereand there which would speak to the mother's gore heart of the tenderthought some one had taken for her dead darling.

The box was sent away, and Christie went on with her work, but thatlittle task performed together seemed to have made them friends;and, while David tied up several grand bouquets at the same table,they talked as if the strangeness was fast melting away from theirshort acquaintance.

Christie's own manners were so simple that simplicity in othersalways put her at her ease: kindness soon banished her reserve, andthe desire to show that she was grateful for it helped her toplease. David's bluntness was of such a gentle sort that she soongot used to it, and found it a pleasant contrast to the politeinsincerity so common. He was as frank and friendly as a boy, yethad a certain paternal way with him which rather annoyed her atfirst, and made her feel as if he thought her a mere girl, while shewas very sure he could not be but a year or two older than herself.

"I'd rather he'd be masterful, and order me about," she thought,still rather regretting the "blighted being" she had not found.

In spite of this she spent a pleasant afternoon, sitting in thatsunny place, handling flowers, asking questions about them, andgetting the sort of answers she liked; not dry botanical names andfacts, but all the delicate traits, curious habits, and poeticalromances of the sweet things, as if the speaker knew and loved themas friends, not merely valued them as merchandise.

They had just finished when the great dog came bouncing in with abasket in his mouth.

"Mother wants eggs: will you come to the barn and get them? Hay iswholesome, and you can feed the doves if you like," said David,leading the way with Bran rioting about him.

"Why don't he offer to put up a swing for me, or get me a doll? It'sthe pinafore that deceives him. Never mind: I rather like it afterall," thought Christie; but she left the apron behind her, andfollowed with the most dignified air.

It did not last long, however, for the sights and sounds thatgreeted her, carried her back to the days of egg-hunting in UncleEnos's big barn; and, before she knew it, she was rustling throughthe hay mows, talking to the cow and receiving the attentions ofBran with a satisfaction it was impossible to conceal.

The hens gathered about her feet cocking their expectant eyes ather; the doves came circling round her head; the cow staredplacidly, and the inquisitive horse responded affably when sheoffered him a handful of hay.

"How tame they all are! I like animals, they are so contented andintelligent," she said, as a plump dove lit on her shoulder with animpatient coo.

"That was Kitty's pet, she always fed the fowls. Would you like todo it?" and David offered a little measure of oats.

"Very much;" and Christie began to scatter the grain, wondering who"Kitty" was.

As if he saw the wish in her face, David added, while he shelledcorn for the hens:

"She was the little girl who was with us last. Her father kept herin a factory, and took all her wages, barely giving her clothes andfood enough to keep her alive. The poor child ran away, and wastrying to hide when Mr. Power found and sent her here to be caredfor."

"As he did me?" said Christie quickly.

"Yes, that's a way he has."

"A very kind and Christian way. Why didn't she stay?"

"Well, it was rather quiet for the lively little thing, and rathertoo near the city, so we got a good place up in the country whereshe could go to school and learn housework. The mill had left her notime for these things, and at fifteen she was as ignorant as achild."

"You must miss her."

"I do very much."

"Was she pretty?"

"She looked like a little rose sometimes," and David smiled tohimself as he fed the gray hens.

Christie immediately made a picture of the "lively little thing"with a face "like a rose," and was uncomfortably conscious that shedid not look half as well feeding doves as Kitty must have done.

Just then David handed her the basket, saying in the paternal waythat half amused, half piqued her: "It, is getting too chilly foryou here: take these in please, and I'll bring the milk directly."

In spite of herself she smiled, as a sudden vision of the elegantMr. Fletcher, devotedly carrying her book or beach-basket, passedthrough her mind; then hastened to explain the smile, for Davidlifted his brows inquiringly, and glanced about him to see whatamused her.

"I beg your pardon: I've lived alone so much that it seems a littleodd to be told to do things, even if they are as easy and pleasantas this."

"I am so used to taking care of people, and directing, that I do sowithout thinking. I won't if you don't like it," and he put out hishand to take back the basket with a grave, apologetic air.

"But I do like it; only it amused me to be treated. like a littlegirl again, when I am nearly thirty, and feel seventy at least, lifehas been so hard to me lately."

Her face sobered at the last words, and David's instantly grew sopitiful she could not keep her eyes on it lest they should fill, sosuddenly did the memory of past troubles overcome her.

"I know," he said in a tone that warmed her heart, "I know, but weare going to try, and make life easier for you now, and you mustfeel that this is home and we are friends."

"I do!" and Christie flushed with grateful feeling and a littleshame, as she went in, thinking to herself: "How silly I was to saythat! I may have spoilt the simple friendliness that was sopleasant, and have made him think me a foolish stuck-up oldcreature."

Whatever he might have thought, David's manner was unchanged when hecame in and found her busy with the table.

"It's pleasant to see thee resting, mother, and every thing going onso well," he said, glancing about the room, where the old lady sat,and nodding toward the kitchen, where Christie was toasting bread inher neatest manner.

"Yes, Davy, it was about time I had a helper for thy sake, at least;and this is a great improvement upon heedless Kitty, I am inclinedto think."

Mrs. Sterling dropped her voice over that last sentence; butChristie heard it, and was pleased. A moment or two later, Davidcame toward her with a glass in his hand, saying as if ratherdoubtful of his reception:

"New milk is part of the cure: will you try it?"

For the first time, Christie looked straight up in the honest eyesthat seemed to demand honesty in others, and took the glass,answering heartily:

"Yes, thank you; I drink good health to you, and better manners tome."

The newly lighted lamp shone full in her face, and though it wasneither young nor blooming, it showed something better than youthand bloom to one who could read the subtle language of character asDavid could. He nodded as he took the glass, and went away sayingquietly:

"We are plain people here, and you won't find it hard to get on withus, I think."

But he liked the candid look, and thought about it, as he choppedkindlings, whistling with a vigor which caused Christie to smile asshe strained the milk.

After tea a spider-legged table was drawn out toward the hearth,where an open fire burned cheerily, and puss purred on the rug, withBran near by. David unfolded his newspapers, Mrs. Sterling pinned onher knitting-sheath, and Christie sat a moment enjoying thecomfortable little scene. She sighed without knowing it, and Mrs.Sterling asked quickly: "Is thee tired, my dear?" "Oh, no! onlyhappy."

"I am glad of that: I was afraid thee would find it dull."

"It's beautiful!" then Christie checked herself feeling that theseoutbursts would not suit such quiet people; and, half ashamed ofshowing how much she felt, she added soberly, "If you will give mesomething to do I shall be quite contented."

"Sewing is not good for thee. If thee likes to knit I'll set up asock for thee to-morrow," said the old lady well pleased at theindustrious turn of her new handmaid.

"I like to darn, and I see some to be done in this basket. May I doit?" and Christie laid hold of the weekly job which even the besthousewives are apt to set aside for pleasanter tasks.

"As thee likes, my dear. My eyes will not let me sew much in theevening, else I should have finished that batch to-night. Thee willfind the yarn and needles in the little bag."

So Christie fell to work on gray socks, and neat lavender-coloredhose, while the old lady knit swiftly, and David read aloud.Christie thought she was listening to the report of a fine lecture;but her ear only caught the words, for her mind wandered away into aregion of its own, and lived there till her task was done. Then shelaid the tidy pile in the basket, drew her chair to a corner of thehearth, and quietly enjoyed herself.

The cat, feeling sure of a welcome, got up into her lap, and went tosleep in a cosy bunch; Bran laid his nose across her feet, andblinked at her with sleepy good-will, while her eyes wandered roundthe room, from its quaint furniture and the dreaming flowers in thewindows, to the faces of its occupants, and lingered there.

The plain border of a Quaker cap encircled that mild old face, withbands of silver hair parted on a forehead marked with many lines.But the eyes were clear and sweet; winter roses bloomed in thecheeks, and an exquisite neatness pervaded the small figure, fromthe trim feet on the stool, to the soft shawl folded about theshoulders, as only a Quakeress can fold one. In Mrs. Sterling, pietyand peace made old age lovely, and the mere presence of thistranquil soul seemed to fill the room with a reposeful charm nonecould resist.

The other face possessed no striking comeliness of shape or color;but the brown, becoming beard made it manly, and the broad arch of abenevolent brow added nobility to features otherwise notbeautiful, - a face plainly expressing resolution and rectitude,inspiring respect as naturally as it certain protective kindlinessof manner won confidence. Even in repose wearing a vigilant look asif some hidden pain or passion lay in wait to surprise and conquerthe sober cheerfulness that softened the lines of the firm-set lips,and warmed the glance of the thoughtful eyes.

Christie fancied she possessed the key to this, and longed to knowall the story of the cross which Mr. Power said David had learned tobear so well. Then she began to wonder if they could like and keepher, to hope so, and to feel that here at last she was at home withfriends. But the old sadness crept over her, as she remembered howoften she had thought this before, and how soon the dream ended, theties were broken, and she adrift again.

"Ah well," she said within herself, "I won't think of the morrow,but take the good that comes and enjoy it while I may. I must notdisappoint Rachel, since she kept her word so nobly to me. Dearsoul, when shall I see her again?"

The thought of Rachel always touched her heart; more now than ever;and, as she leaned back in her chair with closed eyes and idlehands, these tender memories made her unconscious face mosteloquent. The eyes peering over the spectacles telegraphed a meaningmessage to the other eyes glancing over the paper now and then; andboth these friends in deed as well as name felt assured that thiswoman needed all the comfort they could give her. But the busyneedles never stopped their click, and the sonorous voice read onwithout a pause, so Christie never knew what mute confidences passedbetween mother and son, or what helpful confessions her traitorousface had made for her.

The clock struck nine, and these primitive people prepared for rest;for their day began at dawn, and much wholesome work made sleep aluxury.

"Davy will tap at thy door as he goes down in the morning, and Iwill soon follow to show thee about matters. Good-night, and goodrest, my child."

So speaking, the little lady gave Christie a maternal kiss; Davidshook hands; and then she went away, wondering why service was solightened by such little kindnesses.

As she lay in her narrow white bed, with the "pale light of stars"filling the quiet, cell-like room, and some one playing softly on aflute overhead, she felt as if she had left the troublous worldbehind her, and shutting out want, solitude, and despair, had comeinto some safe, secluded spot full of flowers and sunshine, kindhearts, and charitable deeds.