nd square, with a handsome staircase going up from it; but the
parlour, into which we were ushered the next minute, crossed all my
expectations. It was furnished with dark chintz; no satin, red or
blue, was anywhere to be seen; even the curtains were chintz. The
carpet was not rich; the engravings on the walls were in wooden frames
varnished; the long mirror between the windows, for that was there,
reflected a very simple mahogany table, on which lay a large work
basket, some rolls of muslin and flannel, work cut and uncut, shears
and spools of cotton. Another smaller table held books and papers and
writing materials. This was shoved up to the corner of the hearth,
where a fire--a real, actual fire of sticks--was softly burning. The
room was full of the sweet smell of the burning wood. Between the two
tables, in a comfortable large chair, sat the lady we had come to see.
My heart warmed at the look of her immediately. Such a face of genial
gentle benevolence; such a healthy sweet colour in the old cheeks;
such a hearty, kind, and withal shrewd and sound, expression of eye
and lip. She was stout and dumpy in figure, rather fat; with a little
plain cap on her head and a shawl pinned round her shoulders. Somebody
who had never been known to the world of fashion. But oh, how homely
and comfortable she and her room looked! she and her room and her cat;
for a great white cat sat with her paws doubled under her in front of
the fire.

"My sister begged that I would call and see you, Miss Cardigan," Mrs.
Sandford began, "about a poor family named Whittaker, that live
somewhere in Ellen Street."

"I know them. Be seated," said our hostess. "I know them well. But I
don't know this little lady."

"A little friend of mine, Miss Cardigan; she is at school with your
neighbour opposite,--Miss Daisy Randolph."

"If nearness made neighbourhood," said Miss Cardigan, laughing, "Mme.
Ricard and I would be neighbours; but I am afraid the rule of the Good
Samaritan would put us far apart. Miss Daisy--do you like my cat; or
would you like maybe to go in and look at my flowers?--yes?--Step in
that way, dear; just go through that room, and on, straight through;
you'll smell them before you come to them."

I gladly obeyed her, stepping in through the darkened middle room,
where already the greeting of the distant flowers met me; then through
a third smaller room, light and bright and full of fragrance, and to
my surprise, lined with books.