ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS.




CHAPTER I.


"There they go!" exclaimed old Mrs. Myles, looking after two
exceedingly beautiful children, as they passed hand in hand down
the street of the small town of Abbeyweld, to the only school,
that had "Seminary for Young Ladies," written in large hand, on a
proportionably large card, and placed against the bow window of an
ivied cottage. "There they go!" she repeated; "and though I'm their
grandmother, I may say a sweeter pair of children than Helen Marsh and
Rose Dillon never trod the main street of Abbeyweld--God bless them!"
She added earnestly, "God Almighty bless them!"

"Amen!" responded a kind voice; and turning round, Mrs. Myles saw the
curate of the parish, the Reverend Mr. Stokes, standing just at the
entry of her own house. To curtsey with the respect which in the "good
old times" was customary towards those who "meekly taught, and led the
way," and invite the minister in, was the work of a moment; the next
beheld Mrs. Myles and her visiter tete-a-tete in the widow's small
parlour. It was a cheerful, pleasant room, such as is often met with
in the clean villages of England. There were two or three pieces of