But if to others Clarice seemed to have passed the boundary line of their dominion, to herself the bond of neighborhood was strengthened.  The missionary told her all he had a right to expect of her now, as a fellow-worker, and pointed out to her the ways in which she might second his labors at the Bay.  It was but a new form of the old work to which she had been accustomed her life long.  Never, except in the dark summer months when all her life was eclipsed, had Clarice lived unmindful of the old and sick and helpless, or of the little children.  Her kindliness of heart could surprise no one; her generosity was nothing strange; her caution, her industry, her courage, her gentleness, were not traits to which her character had been a stranger hitherto.  But now they had a brighter manifestation.  She became more than ever diligent in her service; the Sunday-school was the result of old sentiments in a new and intelligent combination; and the neighbors, who had always trusted Clarice, did not doubt her now.  Novelty is always pleasing to simple souls among whom innovation has not first taken the pains to excite suspicion of itself.

For a long time, more than usual uncertainty seemed to attend the chances of Gabriel’s life.  In the close watching and constant care required of Clarice, the child became so dear to her, that doubtless there was some truth in the word repeated in her hearing with intent to darken any moment of special tenderness and joy, that this stranger was dearer to her than her “born relations.”

As much as was possible by gentle firmness and constant oversight, Clarice kept him from hurtful influences.  He was never mixed up in the quarrels of ungoverned children; he never became the victim of their rude sport or cruelty.  She would preserve him peaceful, gentle, pure; and in a measure her aim was accomplished.  She was the defender, companion, playmate of the child.  She told him pretty tales, the creations of her fancy, and strove by them to throw a soft illusion around the rough facts of their daily life.  The mystery surrounding him furnished her not meagrely with material for her imagination; she could invent nothing that seemed to herself incredible; her fairy tales were not more wonderful than facts as she beheld them.  She taught the boy songs; she gave him language.  The clothes he wore, bought with her own money, fashioned by her own hands, were such as became the beauty of the child, and the pure taste and the little purse of Clarice.

Never had a childhood so radiant in beauty, so wonderful in every manifestation, developed before the eyes of the folk of Diver’s Bay.  He became a wonder to the old and young.  His sayings were repeated.  Enchantment seemed added to mystery;—­anything might have been believed of Gabriel.