st sense. Do you know why he is called Neighbour Tomlin? It is
because he loves his neighbours as he loves himself. There is no
sacrifice that he will not make for them. The poorest and meanest person
in the world, black or white, can knock at Neighbour Tomlin's door any
hour of the day or night, and obtain food, money or advice, as the case
may be. If his wife or his children are ill, Neighbour Tomlin will get
out of bed and go in the cold and rain, and give them the necessary
attention. To me, there never was a more beautiful countenance in the
world than Neighbour Tomlin's poor scarred face. But for that misfortune
we should probably never have known what manner of man he is. The
Providence that urged Margaret Gaither to fly from this house was
arranging for the succour of many hundreds of unfortunates, and Pulaski
Tomlin was its instrument."

"If I had been Margaret Gaither," said Nan, clenching her hands
together, "I never would have left that door. Never! They couldn't have
dragged me away. I've never been in love, I hope, but I have feelings
that tell me what it is, and I never would have gone away."

"Well, we must not judge others," said Gabriel's grandmother gently.
"Poor Margaret acted according to her nature. She was vain, and lacked
stability, but I really believe that Providence had a hand in the whole
matter."

"I know I'm pretty," remarked Nan, solemnly, "but I'm not vain."

"Why, Nan!" exclaimed Mrs. Lumsden, laughing; "what put in your head the
idea that you are pretty?"

"I don't mean my own self," explained Nan, "but the other self that I
see in the glass. She and I are very good friends, but sometimes we
quarrel. She isn't the one that would have stayed at the door, but my
own, own self."

Mrs. Lumsden looked at the girl closely to see if she was joking, but
Nan was very serious indeed. "I'm sure I don't understand you," said
Gabriel's grandmother.

"Gabriel does," replied Nan complacently. Gabriel understood well
enough, but he never could have explained it satisfactorily to any one
who was unfamiliar with Nan's way of putting things.

"Well, you are certainly a pretty girl, Nan," Gabriel's grandmother
admitted, "and when you and Francis Bethune are married, you will make a
handsome pair."

"When Francis Bethune and I are married!" exclaimed Nan, giving a swift
side-glance at Gabriel, who pretended to be reading. "Why, what put such
an idea in your head, Grandmother Lumsden?"

"Why, it