e mistress of that solemn, old-fashioned drawing-room.
Miss Sydney had had a re-action from the pleasure her charity had given
her, and was feeling bewildered, unhappy, and old that day. "What can
she wish to see me for, I wonder?" thought she, as she closed her book,
and looked at Miss Thorne's card herself, to be sure the servant had
read it right. But, when she saw the girl herself, her pleasure showed
itself unmistakably in her face.

"Are you really glad to see me?" said Bessie in her frankest way, with
a very gratified smile. "I was afraid you might think it was very odd
in me to come. I used to like so much to call upon you with mamma when
I was a little girl! And the other day I saw you in your conservatory,
and I have wished to come and see you ever since."

"I am very glad to see you, my dear," said Miss Sydney, for the second
time. "I have been quite forgotten by the young people of late years.
I was sorry to miss Mrs. Thorne's call. Is she quite well? I meant to
return it one day this week, and I thought only last night I would ask
about you. You have been abroad, I think?"

Was not this an auspicious beginning? I cannot tell you all that
happened that afternoon, for I have told so long a story already. But
you will imagine it was the beginning of an intimacy that gave great
pleasure, and did great good, to both the elder woman and the younger.
It is hard to tell the pleasure which the love and friendship of a
fresh, bright girl like Bessie Thorne, may give an older person. There
is such a satisfaction in being convinced that one is still interesting
and still lovable, though the years that are gone have each kept some
gift or grace, and the possibilities of life seem to have been realized
and decided. There are days of our old age when there seems so little
left in life, that living is a mere formality. This busy world seems
done with the old, however dear their memories of it, however strong
their claims upon it. They are old: their life now is only waiting and
resting. It may be quite right that we sometimes speak of second
childhood, because we must be children before we are grown, and the
life to come must find us, ready for service. Our old people have
lived in the world so long; they think they know it so well: but the
young man is master of the trade of living, and the man only his
blundering apprentice.

Miss Sydney's solemnest and most unprepared servant was startled to
find