time without having one's meagre bit of amusement
taken away."

And Miss Golden, having delivered herself
of these and other kindred sentiments, stood
up, sighed, yawned, gave Hester a sudden
desperate hug, and went away.

Hester, next morning, felt a great leaping
at heart when she folded up Lady Helen's yards
of tabinet and velvet, bombazine and paduasoy,
laid them aside for an interval of rest, and
departed in Mrs. Hazeldean's pony phaeton for
the village. This was the friend who had been
promised her by the Mother Augustine, with
whom she was now going to become more
closely acquainted. Hitherto she had only had
glimpses of a bright dark face, even the
momentary vision of whose strength and sweetness
had made her unaccountably glad.

Mrs. Hazeldean's house stood among its
trees, somewhat backward, high up at the end
of the village street, just where it ascended a
hill with some toil; along the sides of which
hill the houses lagged and straggled, as if
some of them had not had strength or
perseverance for the ascent. It had an ample, dark-
red, comfortable exterior, with expansive
windows well-lined with warm draperies, with a
jovial-looking knocker on the hall door, and
just enough ivy on the gable and chimneys to
soften off the edges of the ruddy walls, and
blend the homely pile into the picturesque
masses of the greenery around it. In the
corners of the mossy lawn, round the boles of the
old trees, the scarlet geraniums wove their
burning hieroglyphics. Showers of vivid amber,
and irregular drifts of rosy brown swept over
branches that still kept a remnant of their
summer draperies; over the tall trees that
looked down upon the chimneys, the lower
foliage of that sanctuary of sweets which was
half garden, half orchard, away to the backward;
and the denser leafiness of the sober
grove that wandered away from the gable,
behind which the sun had a trick of setting
with a particularly fiery glamour of wintry
evenings.

Within, this house was a den of wholesome
comfort, a very nest for repose. Everything
was faultless, regular, in perfect order; yet
nothing stiff, nothing monotonous, nor prim.
"She hath looked well to the paths of her
house, and hath not eaten her bread idle." So
said her glittering table, so the choice pictures
on her walls; so said her shining rooms, with
their subdued glow of colouring and their
gratefully tempered light; so the few servants, in
their good humour with the world and worship
of their mistress. So said the poor; who asked
not in vain for the crumbs that fell from her
board.

It was not easy to persuade Hester that she
had come to this house a great deal more to rest
than to do work. But very soon she began to
realise that this wonderfully fine gown of Mrs.
Hazeldean's, about which there had been some
talk, was little but an excuse to bring her there,
a peg on which to hang a deed of kindness.
True, some dark violet poplin, and some black
velvet were suffered to be at her disposal for
two or three hours every morning, but after
that they were sure to slip through her fingers
in an unaccountable manner, sometimes by one
accident, sometimes by another. And the
reading of choice books, pleasant chat, invigorating
rambles through the frosty glens, refreshing
visits to the friendly poor in the cottages,
together with delicious spells of mere dreamy
idleness, filled up the remainder of the measure of
the days; till Hester began to wonder if she
were still indeed Hester; not rather some other
person who had been born under a lucky star,
to be loved, and petted, and indulged by Mrs.
Hazeldean. Till Lady Helen, from her castle,
began to send messages: to which Mrs.
Hazeldean always replied that the work Hester
had been sent to her to do was still far from
being finished. And till Lady Helen began to
grumble.

"I knew how it would be," she said. "I
knew that dear Margaret would discover the
girl's talent, and set about replenishing her whole
wardrobe. Not that I grudge her the
opportunity I am sure, nor yet that I think it is not
needed. But Christmas is drawing near, and
there is such a great deal to be done!"

Sir Archie Munro had always been in the
habit of paying frequent visits to his aunt. She
shared all his sympathies, she was in all his
secret counsels. This was but natural, since it
was true that there was not a person with an
anxiety, or a trouble, who ever came near Mrs.
Hazeldean without instinctively turning to her
for something, he knew not what, of assistance,
courage, or assuagement, which he felt blindly
but unerringly sure she had to give. Thus
there was not a matter requiring judgment,
especially fine and strong, which Mrs. Hazeldean
was not called upon, somehow, to judge;
not a difficulty which other people gave up in
despair which was not brought to Mrs. Hazeldean
to be solved. Above all, there was not a
sorrow more than usually burthensome to her
neighbour, of which she did not lighten the
load by taking a share upon her shoulders.
But then nobody knew this except the doctor
and his wife; unless the people out of doors
took to telling their own secrets, and to
whispering her holy fame at their firesides, among
their prayers.

So Sir Archie was in the habit of coming to
talk over the affairs of the country with his
aunt, and he did not think it necessary to
discontinue his visits, because it so happened that
Hester was in the house. And so pleasant was
it round that fireside of an evening when the
miseries of the country were laid aside for a
while, so terribly interesting when they were
not, that Hester began to slip naturally into
her place in the family group, to forget for the
time that she was a dressmaker, and to almost
lose her awe of that grand goodly gentleman,
Sir Archie Munro. The only thing that
surprised and disappointed her in him a little was
his anxiety about Mrs. Hazeldean's new dress.