during the evening, that it would have been so nice if Halbert and her son Louis Robert could have been companions here in “Cosy Nook,” as she called our house.  It seemed anything but a nook to me, situated as it was on high ground, while about us on either side, lay the seventy-five acres which was my father’s inheritance, when he attained his majority; but, to her, this living aside from the dusty streets and exciting novelties of the city, was, I suppose, like being deposited in a little quiet nook.  When we said “good night,” all of us were of one mind regarding our new-found friend.  I was perfectly at ease that first evening, and felt no inclination to make an unlucky speech until the next day, which was Sunday, came, and with it the question, “Are you going to church?” It was always our custom to go to the village church each Sabbath, and I enjoyed the sermons of Mr. Davis, then our minister, very much.  He was a man of broad soul and genial spirit, and very generally liked.  His sermons were never a re-hash but were quickened and brightened by new ideas originally expressed.  Now, however, when this little lady asked, “Are you going to church?” I did not think at all of a good sermon, but of the shabbiness of my best bonnet, and I bit my tongue to check the speech which rose to my lips—­“We generally go, but I’d rather not go with you”—­while mother answered,

“Yes, Mrs. Desmonde” ("Clara, if you please,” the lady interposed), “we always go; would you like to go with us?”

“Oh, yes, thank you, it is a delightful day.”

I kept thinking about those shabby ribbons and wondering if I could not cover them up with my brown veil, and after breakfast was over, I actually did re-make an old lemon-colored bow to adorn myself with.  I felt shabby enough, however, when we were all ready to start and my poor cotton gloves came in contact with the delicate kids of our guest, when she grasped my hand to say, “You cannot know, Emily dear, how happy I am.”

Somehow she made me forget all about how I looked, but the sermon that day was all lost.  My eyes divided their light between herself and Halbert, and my heart kept thumping heavily, “Hal goes away to-morrow.”  I think Hal knew my thoughts, for he sat next to me in our pew, and once when tears were in my eyes, tears which came with thoughts of his departure, he took my hand in his and held it firmly, as if to say, “I shall come back, Emily, don’t feel badly.”  I looked him the grateful recognition my heart felt, and I crowded back the tears that were ready to fall, and when we drove home, our little lady chatting all the way, I was happier than before I went.