erved in his blandest
tones, and slightly bowing as she drew back in surprise at his sudden
appearance. "A widow was once the occupant of this dwelling--the Widow
White she was usually called; is she still living, and a resident
here? and if so, will you be so kind as to inform her of my presence."

Mary replied briefly in the affirmative, and hastened out to call her
mother from an out-house, a new building which had lately been erected
to subserve the two-fold purpose of kitchen and dairy, where they both
had been busily engaged at the time of his arrival, while he sauntered
familiarly to his seat by the fire, and commenced drumming a tune upon
the head-board of the mantle-piece. In a few moments the widow made
her appearance, and politely requested her guest to be seated.

He flung himself carelessly into the chair he had occupied, and
slightly turning in his seat, fixed his dark eyes on her face, and
remarked, "You seem to be quite comfortably situated, Mistress White;
this pleasant fire and comfortable apartment contrast finely with the
cold and dreariness without doors."

"Yes, thanks to Providence! things have gone especially well with me
for many years, indeed, much more so perhaps than I really deserve.
Though this world often requires much care and toil from us frail
mortals, it also yields many blessings for which to be thankful."

"That is true," replied he; and then breaking off suddenly from the
topic of conversation, remarked, "But I perceive, Mistress White, that
you do not recognize your quondam friend. I hope you do not suffer
prosperity to dampen your recollection of old times."

The widow stopped her knitting for a few moments, leaned slightly
forward, and scrutinized the features of the stranger; then recovering
her former position, answered, "I have a faint, a dream-like
recollection of your countenance. It seems that I have seen it before,
yet I cannot distinctly remember where."

"Look again!" exclaimed he, divesting himself of a pair of false
whiskers, and again bending his dark eyes searchingly upon her face.
"Now do you know me?"

She gazed but an instant, a deathly pallor sprung to her cheeks, and
extending her arms as if to embrace, she tottered toward him,
exclaiming, "It is!--I cannot be mistaken!--it is my long lost son,
David White! Oh, David! David!" and she fell upon his neck, and twined
her arms around him, sobbing aloud in her ecstasy of enjoyment.

"Tut-tut, mother--what's