motherly heart could have been made to give out its inmost secret--
which however, it could not have been made to give out in any way
painful to dear Hetta--perhaps it might have been found that Susan
was loved with the closest love. She was taller than her sister,
and lighter; her eyes were blue as were her mother's; her hair was
brighter than Hetta's, but not always so singularly neat. She had a
dimple on her chin, whereas Hetta had none; dimples on her cheeks
too, when she smiled; and, oh, such a mouth! There; my allowance of
pages permits no more.

One piercing cold winter's day there came knocking at the widow's
door--a young man. Winter days, when the ice of January is refrozen
by the wind of February, are very cold at Saratoga Springs. In
these days there was not often much to disturb the serenity of Mrs.
Bell's house; but on the day in question there came knocking at the
door--a young man.

Mrs. Bell kept an old domestic, who had lived with them in those
happy Albany days. Her name was Kate O'Brien, but though
picturesque in name she was hardly so in person. She was a thick-
set, noisy, good-natured old Irishwoman, who had joined her lot to
that of Mrs. Bell when the latter first began housekeeping, and
knowing when she was well off; had remained in the same place from
that day forth. She had known Hetta as a baby, and, so to say, had
seen Susan's birth.

"And what might you be wanting, sir?" said Kate O'Brien, apparently
not quite pleased as she opened the door and let in all the cold
air.