e from her German one in the huts of the
wood-cutters, carters, and charcoal-burners in the Black Forest.

"Have you heard, Ada," said Lady Stanford one morning at breakfast,
"that the old woman who has lately come to the pretty picturesque
cottage at the Glen is very ill? I wish you and Frida would go and see
her, and take her some beef-tea and jelly which the housekeeper will
give you. I understand she requires nourishing food; and try and
discover if there is anything else she requires."

"Certainly, mother," answered Ada; "we will go at once and see what can
be done for her.--That Glen is a lovely spot, Frida, and you have never
been there. What say you--shall we set off at once? The poor woman is
very old, and her memory is a good deal affected."

"I shall be pleased to go, Ada; but I have a letter from Miss
Drechsler, received this morning, which I must answer by the first post.
She tells me that her friend Miss Warden is in great distress about the
illness of a friend of hers. She wishes to know how soon I can join her
in London; and now that you are so well, Ada, I really think I ought to
go."

"Ah, well," said Ada with a laugh, "time enough to think of that, Frida.
We are not prepared to part with you yet; but seriously, mother talks of
carrying us all off to London by another fortnight, and that must
suffice you. But after you have written your letter we will set off to
the Glen."

It was a lovely walk that the girls took that summer day through green
lanes and flowery meadows, till they came to a beautiful glen
overshadowed with trees in their fresh summer foliage of greenery,
through which the sunbeams found their way and touched with golden light
the green velvety moss and pretty little woodland flowers which so
richly carpeted the ground.

"How beautiful it is here!" said Frida, "and yet how unlike the sombre
appearance of the trees in the dear Black Forest!"

"Ah," said Ada, "that Forest, where I do believe your heart still is,
Frida, always seemed to me to be so gloomy and dark, so unlike our
lovely English woods with their 'leafy tide of greenery.'"

As they spoke they neared the cottage where dwelt the old woman they
were going to see. It was thatch-covered and low, but up the walls grew
roses and ivy, which gave it a bower-like appearance.

"She is a strange old woman," said Ada, "who has only lately come here,
and no one seems to know much about her. A grandchild of fourteen or
fifteen yea