of life is made--a flimsy stuff that vanishes before the investigation
of reason more surely than the stuff of our evanescent joys. There was
nothing that could be called incompatibility of temper between these
two; no one saw more clearly than Sophia the generosity and courage of
Mrs. Rexford's heart; no one else sympathised so deeply with her
motherly cares, for no one else understood them half so well; and yet it
might have been easier for Sophia Rexford to have lived in external
peace with a covetous woman, able to appreciate and keep in steady view
the relative importance of her ideas.

Meantime Mrs. Rexford went on talking. She was generally unconscious of
the other's intellectual disdain. Pretty soon they heard bells and
horses' feet that slackened at the gate. Sophia stood up to look.

There was a comfortable sleigh, albeit somewhat battered and dingy,
turning in at the gate. A good-looking girl was driving it; a thin, pale
lady sat at her side. Both were much enveloped in faded furs. Over the
seats of the sleigh and over their knees were spread abundant robes of
buffalo hide. The horse that drew the vehicle was an old farm-horse, and
the hand that guided the reins appeared more skilful at driving than was
necessary. The old reins and whip were held in a most stylish manner,
and the fair driver made an innocent pretence of guiding her steed up
the road to the back-yard with care. The animal the while, having once
been shown the gate, trotted quietly, with head down, up the middle of
the sleigh track, and stopped humbly where the track stopped, precisely
as it would have done had there been no hand upon the rein.

Sophia, standing in the middle of the sitting-room, watched the visitors
through the windows of that room and of the kitchen, with unwonted
animation in her handsome face. The girl, who was now evidently coming