ht be
uneasy. So they had a very delightful 'afternoon tea' in the garden, for
afternoon teas were just coming into fashion, and Rosalys and Bride
walked half-way home with Celestina, parting with invitations and
promises on both sides. Celestina was to spend at least _half_ of her
half-holidays at the Rectory, and Alie was to drive to Calton to fetch
Mrs. Fairchild the very next Saturday, and the sisters were to pay
Celestina a long visit the following week, to see the dear little house
and all her treasures.

'You shall have tea in the sweet little French tea-cups Madame d'Ermont
gave me,' said she joyfully. 'They are a _little_ bigger than my doll
ones long ago.'

'Oh dear,' said Biddy, 'that reminds me of the time I invited myself to
tea to your house, and Alie was so shocked at me. I _was_ a horrid
little girl.'

'No, you _weren't_', said both the others. 'And any way,' added Alie
fondly, 'isn't she nice now, Celestina?'

'I've never had any friends, if I may call you so,' was Celestina's
indirect reply, 'that I have cared for as for you two,' and there was a
dewy look in her gentle eyes which said even more than her words.

* * * * *

A _real_ friendship--a friendship to last through the changes that
_must_ come; a friendship too firmly based to be influenced by the fact
that none of us, not even the sweetest and truest, are 'perfect,' that
we _must_ 'bear and forbear,' and gently judge each other while in this
world--such friendships are very rare. We are not _bound_ to our
friends, not obliged to make the best of them, as with relations, and
so, too often, we throw each other off hastily, take offence in some
foolish way, and the dear old friendship is a thing of the past, one of
those 'used to be's' that are so sad to come across in our memory. But
it is not always so. Some friendships wear well, sending down their
roots ever deeper and more firmly as the years go on, spreading out
their gracious branches ever more widely overhead for us to find shelter
and rest beneath them in the stormy as in the sunny days of life. And
oh, dear children, such friendship is something to thank God for!

My little girls, whose friendship began in the old back parlour at
Seacove, are not even young women now--they are getting down into the
afternoon of life--but they are still friends, true and tried. Friends
whom sorrow and trials only join together still more closely; whose love
for and