[Illustration:  "A sudden dash of rain had driven the child there for shelter."]

The child found ready entrance to the lonely heart; children will, you know, they are so “queer,” as wise old heads sometimes affirm.

“What in the world makes you visit that old hermit?” said Eliza Ray, her schoolmate, one morning.  “Bridget, our hired girl, says she is sure such a looking old hag must be a witch.”

“Witch or not, I like her;” and Bessie Lane tossed up her hat, and pranced off after a fox squirrel just down the road.

So Bessie kept up her visits, and the two would sit and talk together by the hour, Aunt Ruth showing her long-treasured trinkets, relics of years gone by, and detailing their history, till Bessie’s eyes would dilate with wonder.

On this wintry morning, in which we have introduced her to you, sitting by the dull fire, and looking from the dingy window, the time of Bessie’s absence had been longer than usual.  The sky was leaden, and the wind whistled down the chimney and shook the casements.

Suddenly Aunt Ruth starts and peers through the window.  There is a bright little hood and blue cloak approaching; she sees that, but not the carefully wrapped parcel Bessie is carrying, for she hurries to brighten the fire and brush the hearth.

“Good morning, Aunt Ruth.  It has been ever so long since I have been here, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, a long time for a lonesome old body like me; but this is no place for the young and happy, I know.”

“Oh, yes it is, dear Aunt Ruthie.  You must not say so.  I like to come real well.  But Uncle Jake has been so sick; he sent for pa and ma, and I went with them.  It is such a long way off, I thought we never would get there.  And Oh, Aunt Ruth, I have not told you yet”—­and the chubby face sobered.

“What is it, child?” picking up bits of litterings from the floor.  Somehow she always did so when Bessie was around, the hands involuntarily moved in little touches of order and neatness.  The room was good enough for her:  for the child it seemed dismal and must be brightened a little.  But Aunt Ruth was unconscious that she was being called to a better life, or that a love for light and beauty was awakening in her weary heart.

“Well, I will tell you; we are going to move away.  I declare, I think it’s too bad to leave all the girls just as I began to like them, and you, too, Aunt Ruth.  I don’t want to go one bit;” tears rolling down her face.

“Going away, my little girl going off?” said Aunt Ruth seriously.

“Yes; and mamma said we couldn’t move Chip, it would be such a bother, so I have given poor birdie away to Allie Smith;” tears flowing afresh.  “I let Amy Wells have my kitten, but I haven’t found a place for my poor little rose.  See,” said Bessie, going to the table and removing the wrapper from her parcel, “isn’t it a beauty?  You will keep it to remember me by, and take care of it always, won’t you, Aunt Ruth?”