sadness in it. "Why, Jenny!" said she, rousing herself, but not
before her eyes were swimming in tears, "own, now, that you never
saw those dismal, hateful, tumble-down old houses there look half
so--what shall I call them? almost beautiful--as they do now,
with that soft, pure, exquisite covering; and if they are so
improved, think of what trees, and grass, and ivy must be on such
a night as this."

Jenny could not be persuaded into admiring the winter's night,
which to her came only as a cold and dismal time, when her cough
was more troublesome, and the pain in her side worse than usual.
But she put her arm round Ruth's neck, and stood by her, glad
that the orphan apprentice, who was not yet inured to the
hardship of a dressmaker's workroom, should find so much to give
her pleasure in such a common occurrence as a frosty night.

They remained deep in separate trains of thought till Mrs.
Mason's step was heard, when each returned supperless, but
refreshed, to her seat.

Ruth's place was the coldest and the darkest in the room,
although she liked it the best; she had instinctively chosen it
for the sake of the wall opposite to her, on which was a remnant
of the beauty of the old drawing-room, which must once have been
magnificent, to judge from the faded specimen left. It was
divided into panels of pale sea-green, picked out with white and
gold; and on these panels were painted--were thrown with the
careless, triumphant hand of a master--the most lovely wreaths of
flowers, profuse and luxuriant beyond description, and so
real-looking, that you could almost fancy you smelt their