seen better days. Her toil-worn hands and care-marked face could not
disguise the gentle, refined spirit within, which expressed itself in her
every word and action. Two little graves in the Churchyard, lying side by
side, and marked by a small cross of white marble, told how the silent
messenger had entered that home. Often the husband and wife were seen
standing by those little mounds, while tears coursed down their rugged,
honest cheeks.

"No father could have been kinder than Parson John," she had frequently
remarked when speaking about their loss, "and no sister more sympathetic
than dear Nellie. They loved our little ones as if they were their very
own. On that bright summer day when we laid our lambs to rest the parson's
voice faltered as he read the Burial Service, and tears glistened in his
eyes."

Since then whatever happened of joy or sorrow at the Rectory was of the
deepest interest to the lonely two over the way. So on this bright
afternoon as Mrs. Larkins sat by the window her thoughts were busy with
the events of the past night.

A knock upon the door broke her reverie. Opening it, what was her surprise
to find there a woman, with an old-fashioned shawl about her shoulders,
and a bright, jolly face peering forth from a capacious grey hood.

"Mrs. Stickles!" she exclaimed. "Is it really you? Why, I haven't seen you
for such a long time! Come in at once, and lay off your wraps, while I
make you a cup of tea, for you must be chilled through and through."

"Indeed, I am," Mrs. Stickles replied, bustling into the room, and untying
her hood. "Sammy hed to bring the old mare to the blacksmith shop to git