hardwood trees enclosed the upper end of the church-yard, and extended
to the back of the rector's garden, quite concealing his many-gabled
dwelling. In a still, summer evening, the brook could be heard from
the parlour windows of the rectory, dancing merrily along to its own
music; and at those less pleasant seasons when the foliage was scanty,
it could be seen here and there between the boles of the trees,
sparkling in the sunshine as it rippled on, while glimpses of the rich
plain beyond added to the harmony of the prospect.

The society of the village and its immediate neighbourhood was of a
humble kind--neither the rich nor the great were members of it; yet
there were wisdom, and prudence, and talent, and good faith to be
found in this little community, where all inclined to live as
brethren, kindly together. It was not a bad school this for the young
to grow up in. The rector's family had here been trained; and when
they grew to rise beyond it, and then passed out upon the wider world,
those of them that were again heard of in their birthplace, did no
discredit to its name: and all passed out, all but two--our two
sisters. It is said adversity must at some time reach us all: it had
been late in visiting them, for they had passed a happy youth in that
quiet parsonage. At last, sorrow came, and they were left alone, the
two extremes of the chain which had bound the little household
together--all the intermediate links had broken; and when, upon their
father's death, they had to quit their long-loved home, they found
themselves verging upon old age, in circumstances that natures less
strictly disciplined would have felt to have been at the least dreary.
The younger sister was slightly deformed, and very delicate; the
elder, though still an active woman, was quite beyond the middle of
life; the income of the two, just L.30--no great elements these of
either usefulness or happiness. Let us see, then, what was made of
them. Some relations pressed the sisters to share their distant home,
but they would not leave the village. They felt as if their work lay
there. The friends they knew best were all around them; the
occupations they had been used to still remained to them; the memory
of all they had loved there clung to them, in the old haunts so doubly
dear to the bereaved who bear affliction patiently. So they moved only
to a cottage a little higher up the hill, yet within view of the
church, and of the dear old house,