r on the virtue of humility, roused her pride and ire by
his reminder of the lowly occupations to which her early patronesses had
destined her. She laughed to herself, but she blushed too, for the
recollection was not altogether agreeable.

As they drew near to Beechhurst one familiar spot after another called
her attention. Then the church-bells began to ring for morning service,
and they were at the entrance of the town-street, with its little
bow-windowed shops shut up, and its pretty thatched cottages half buried
in flowery gardens that made sweet the air. Bessie's heart beat fast and
faster as she recognized one old acquaintance after another. Some looked
at her and looked again, and did not know her, but most of those she
remembered had a nod, a smile, or a kind word for her, and she smiled on
all. They all seemed like friends. Now Miss Wort rushed out of her gate
and rushed back, something necessary forgotten--gloves or prayer-book
probably. Then the school-children swarmed forth like bees from a hive,
loudly exhorted to peaceable behavior by jolly Miss Buff, who was too
much absorbed in her duty of marshalling them in order to walk the
twenty yards to church to see her young friend at first, but cried out
in a gust of enthusiasm when she did see her, "Oh, you dear little
Bessie! who would have thought it? I never heard you were coming. What a
surprise for them all! They will be delighted."

"I am staying at Fairfield," said Bessie. "There had been so many
disappointments before that I would not promise again. But here I am,
and it seems almost too good to be true."

"Here you are, and a picture of health and beauty; you don't mind my
telling you that? Nobody can say Woldshire disagrees with you."

They walked on. They came in sight of the "King's Arms"--of the doctor's
house. "There is dear old Jack in the porch," said Bessie; and Miss
Buff, with a kind, sympathetic nod, turned off to the church gate and
left her. Jack marched down the path and Willie followed. Then Mrs.
Carnegie appeared, hustling dilatory Tom before her, and leading by the
hand Polly, a little white-frocked girl of nine. As they issued into the
road Bessie stepped more quickly forward. The boys stared at the elegant
young lady in mourning, and even her mother gazed for one moment with
grave, unrecognizing scrutiny. It was but for one moment, and then the
flooded blue eyes and tremulous lips revealed who it was.

"Why, it is our Bessie!" cr