cackled merrily, and scarcely stirred from
their tracks, as her dress brushed their shining feathers.

The care of these creatures was a kind of company, and on frosty
mornings Aunt Ruth might be seen watching them eating so greedily,
while her own breakfast was yet untasted, and her feet and fingers
benumbed with cold.

Though none shared her heart or home, yet there was sometimes one bright
presence within those dim walls, a childish, questioning voice, and
sweet laughter.

It was Bessie Lane. One June day, on her way to school, a sudden dash of
rain had driven the child there for shelter. And ever since, the happy
little girl, with flaxen hair and clear eyes, would go to the forsaken
old house to chat with Aunt Ruth. As that springing step was heard, and
the latch lifted, there would come a gleam of brightness to the faded
eyes, and a smile to the thin mouth.

[Illustration: _"A sudden dash of rain had driven the child there for
shelter."_]

The child found ready entrance to the lonely heart; children will, you
know, they are so "queer," as wise old heads sometimes affirm.

"What in the world makes you visit that old hermit?" said Eliza Ray,
her schoolmate, one morning. "Bridget, our hired girl, says she is sure
such a looking old hag must be a witch."

"Witch or not, I like her;" and Bessie Lane tossed up her hat, and
pranced off after a fox squirrel just down the road.

So Bessie kept up her visits, and the two would sit and talk together by
the hour, Aunt Ruth showing her long-treasured trinkets, relics of years
gone by, and detailing their history, till Bessie's eyes would dilate
with wonder.

On this wintry morning, in which we have introduced her to you, sitting
by the dull fire, and looking from the dingy window, the time of
Bessie's absence had been longer than usual. The sky was leaden, and the
wind whistled down the chimney and shook the casements.

Suddenly Aunt Ruth starts and peers through the window. There is a
bright little hood and blue cloak approaching; she sees that, but not
the carefully wrapped parcel Bessie is carrying, for she hurries to
brighten the fire and brush the hearth.

"Good morning, Aunt Ruth. It has been ever so long since I have been
here, hasn't it?"

"Yes, a long time for a lonesome old body like me; but this is no place
for the young and happy, I know."

"Oh, yes it is, dear Aunt Ruthie. You must not say so. I like to come
real well. But Uncle Jake has been so s