drifting heaps on the sidewalk. Her eyes glanced
upward at the sky. There are four immense clouds, of a very light gray,
with silver edges, trying to meet over a speck of blue. They tumble and
clamber, and press all for the same point; but whether the wind is too
variable for them to gather in one mass, or for whatever meteorological
reason, she does not guess, but she is attracted to the sky and gazes at
it as she walks rapidly on.

Fred recognizes the blue eyes and glowing face, as they go past the
window. It is only Sister Minnie. Not coming here, after all! No. And
the clouds could not overcome and hide the blue sky. It shone out
serenely and hopefully, like Minnie's own encouraging spirit. She
breasts the storm gallantly. If she can only get round the corner into
C-- Street! But here all the tempest seems collected to battle with
her--She wraps herself a little closer, and holds her breath. A few
steps more,--she turns round,--places her back full at the driving
storm,--and draws a long breath. Now for it! The flakes stop suddenly,
as if awed by the quiet determination in the young face. They fall to
the ground, stilly. The blue sky looks out, the sun shimmers white for
five minutes. Minnie walks rapidly, runs up the steps,--rings, and takes
into the house with her a full, fresh life, that vibrates from cellar to
attic in harmonious energy.

The afternoon wanes. Fred has dined. He takes his meerschaum from the
teapoy by his side and examines it critically. How for the color? Is it
just the right shade to stop? No. A very little darker. This is growing
quite beautiful. Almost like an agate. Which of those six is the
prettiest, after all? He thinks a seventh, which he remembers lying
on Little's mantel-piece, outdoes the whole. That of Little's was not
carved, nor silver-mounted even, and yet connoisseurs pronounced it
worth a hundred and fifty dollars. Not one of these is worth ten. He
smokes again, and looks at the cannel coal as it leaps into flame. The
room is very still; not a footfall can be heard in the house;--partly
because the doors are hung with a view to silence and the floors thickly
carpeted, and partly because there are only two servants in-doors, and
those men. The cook cannot speak English, and Fred's own man, a jewel in
his way, is taciturn to a fault. If Fred would be honest with himself,
he would acknowledge that the third-hand chatter of anybody's kitchen
would often be a delightful relief to h