tman would occasionally bring a letter, book, or paper to the
doctor; and every Christmas a hamper filled with choice meats and other
dainties would find its way to the house, showing that the young
nephews and nieces were not forgotten by the aunts they had never seen.
Those "good fairies," as the little children styled them, were three in
number: Aunt Judith, the bread-winner--though how, Nellie as yet did
not know; Aunt Debby, the Martha of the household, hard-working and
practical; and Aunt Margaret, an invalid, seldom able to leave her
couch.

"I cannot tell you much about them, dear," Mrs. Latimer had said one
night when talking with her eldest daughter over the coming parting.
"They (meaning the aunts) were abroad on account of Aunt Margaret's
health when I first met your father, and did not return home till some
time after our marriage. Aunt Margaret was not any better, and had
settled down into invalid habits, requiring the constant attention and
care of both sisters. Aunt Judith spoke at one time of coming to spend
a few days with us; but Aunt Margaret could not spare her, and so she
never came. Your father says Aunt Judith is a brave, true woman, and
keeps the little household together, besides the many kindnesses she
bestows on us. I trust you will like your aunts, my child, and be
happy with them, even though you are away from us all."

Nellie had been thinking all this over while the cab was quickly
whirling her along the now deserted thoroughfares, and so deeply had
her mind been occupied with these thoughts that she started in
amazement when the driver drew up before the entrance of a small
cottage, and she saw a bright flood of light streaming out from the
hastily opened door.

"Here we are, dear," said Aunt Judith's kind voice breaking in on her
reverie; "this is your new home, and there is Aunt Debby waiting to bid
you welcome. Run! I shall follow you immediately."

Nellie, obeying, hurried up the little gravelled path, and reaching the
door, found herself folded in Aunt Debby's motherly embrace, with Aunt
Debby's arms round her, and Aunt Debby's round, rosy face pressed close
to her own.

"Dear, dear! to think I should be holding one of John's children to my
heart," said the good lady, wiping away an imaginary tear from her
soft, plump cheek. "There, come in, child, you are thrice welcome.
How strange it all seems, to be sure;" and chatting away, Aunt Debby
led her weary niece into the c