rs old lives with and takes care of her. Her memory is much
impaired, but she often talks as if she had friends who if they knew
where she lived and how ill-off she was would help her; but when
questioned as to their name, she shakes her head and says she can't
remember it, but if she could only see the young lady she would know
her. They fancy the friends she speaks of must have been the family with
whom she lived as nurse, for her grandchild says she used often to speak
of having had the charge of a little girl to whom she was evidently much
attached. But here we are, Frida, and yonder is little Maggie standing
at the door."

When they entered the room, Frida was amazed to see how small it was and
how dark; for the ivy, which from the outside looked so picturesque,
darkened the room considerably. Ada, who had seen the old woman before,
went forward to the bed where she lay and spoke some kind words to her.
The old woman seemed as if she hardly understood, and gave no answer.

"Ah, madam," said the grandchild, "she knows nothing to-day, and when
she speaks it is only nonsense."

Frida now came forward and laid her hand kindly on the poor woman,
addressing a few words of sympathy to her. The invalid raised her eyes
and looked around her, giving first of all a look of recognition to Ada,
and holding out her thin hand to her, but her eyes sought evidently to
distinguish the face of the stranger who had last spoken. "She knows,"
explained Maggie, "yours is a strange voice, and wishes to see you,
which she can't do, miss, for you are standing so much in the shade."

Frida moved so that the glimmer of light which entered the little room
fell on her face. As she did so, and the old woman caught a glimpse of
her, a look of joy lit up the faded face, and she said in a distinct
voice: "'Bless the Lord, O my soul;' my dear has come to see me. Oh, but
I am glad! It's a long time since I saw you, Miss Hilda--a long, long
time. I thought you were dead, or you would never have forgotten your
old nurse you loved so dearly; but now you've come, my lamb, and old
nurse can die in peace." And seizing Frida's hand, the old woman lay
back as if at rest, and said no more.

Frida was startled, and turning to her friend, said, "O Ada, whom does
she take me for? Can it be that she knew my mother, whose name was
Hilda, and that she takes me for her? Miss Drechsler says I am
strikingly like the picture I have of her. Perhaps she can tell me w