tle
house where she and her sister-in-law had made a happy home for so many
years. Miss Danforth had left a few hundreds, three or four, to Faith.
It was all she had owned in the world; her principal living having been
an annuity settled upon her by her brother, which reverted to Madame
Danforth.

It was about mid-afternoon when they reached home, and of course the
house held no one but Cindy; except indeed that sort of invisible
presence which books and other inanimate things make known; and Cindy
had to tell of two or three visiters, but otherwise nothing. Very fair
it all looked to Faith,--very sweet to her ear was the sound of the
village clock, although as yet it was only striking three. She did not
say much about the matter. A gleeful announcement that she was glad to
be at home, she made to Mrs. Derrick; but after that she expressed
herself in action. One of her first moves was to the kitchen,
determined that there should be a double consciousness of her being at
home when supper-time came. Then books were got out, and fires put in
wonderful order. Mr. Linden might guess, from the state in which he
found his room, that it had come under its old rule. No such fire had
greeted him there for weeks; no such brushed-up clean hearth; no such
delicate arrangement of table and chairs and curtains and couch. But
the fire burned quietly and told no tales, otherwise than by its very
orderly snapping and sparkling.

And indeed it so happened, that Mr. Linden went first into the
sitting-room,--partly to see if any one was there, partly because the
day was cold, and under Cindy's management there was small reason to
suppose that his room was warm. And once there, the easy-chair reminded
him so strongly that he was tired, that he even sat down in it before
going upstairs,--which combination a long walk through the snowdrifts
since school, made very acceptable. Five minutes after, Faith having
got rid of her kitchen apron, opened softly the door of the
sitting-room. She stopped an instant, and then came forward, her
gladness not at all veiled by a very rosy veil of shy modesty. There
was no stay in his step to meet her,--he had sprung up with the first
sound of her foot on the threshold; and how much she had been missed
and longed for Faith might guess, from the glad silence in which she
was held fast and for a minute not allowed to speak herself. So very
glad!--she could see it and feel it exceedingly as he brought her
forwa