“Amen!” responded a kind voice; and turning round, Mrs. Myles saw the curate of the parish, the Reverend Mr. Stokes, standing just at the entry of her own house.  To curtsey with the respect which in the “good old times” was customary towards those who “meekly taught, and led the way,” and invite the minister in, was the work of a moment; the next beheld Mrs. Myles and her visiter tete-a-tete in the widow’s small parlour.  It was a cheerful, pleasant room, such as is often met with in the clean villages of England.  There were two or three pieces of embroidery, in frames of faded gilding; an old-fashioned semicircular card-table stood opposite the window, and upon it rested a filagree tea-caddy, based by a mark-a-tree work-box, flanked on one side by the Bible, on the other by a prayer-book; while on the space in front was placed “The Whole Art of Cookery,” by Mrs. Glasse.  High-backed chairs of black mahogany were ranged along the white-washed walls; a corner cupboard displayed upon its door the magnificence of King Solomon, and the liberality of the Queen of Sheba, while within glittered engraved glasses, and fairy-like cups and saucers, that would delight the hearts of the fashionables of the present day.  Indeed, Mrs. Myles knew their value, and prided herself thereon, for whenever the squire or any great lady paid her a visit, she was sure, before they entered, to throw the cupboard door slyly open, so as to display its treasures; and then a little bit of family pride would creep out—­“Yes, every one said they were pretty—­and so she supposed they were—­but they were nothing to her grandmother’s, where she remembered the servants eating off real India chaney.”  The room also contained a high-backed sofa, covered with chintz; very stately, hard, and uncomfortable it was to sit upon; indeed, no one except visiters ever did sit upon it, save on Sundays, when Helen and Rose were permitted so to do, “if they kept quiet,” which in truth they seldom did for more than five minutes together.  “Moonlight”—­Mrs. Myles’s large cat—­Moonlight would take a nap there sometimes; but as Mrs. Myles, while she hushed him off, declared he was a “clean creature,” it may be said that Moonlight was the only thing privileged to enjoy the sofa to his heart’s content.  Why he liked it, I could not understand.  Now she invited Mr. Stokes to sit upon it; but he knew better, and took the window seat in preference.

“They are fine children—­are they not, sir?” inquired the good old lady, reverting in the pride of her heart to her young charges.  “Rose, poor thing, will be obliged to shift for herself, for her father and mother left her almost without provision:  but when Helen’s father returns, I do hope he will be able to introduce her in the way she seems born for.  She has the heart of a princess—­bless her!” added Mrs. Myles, triumphantly.

“I hope, my good friend, she will have a Christian’s heart,” said Mr. Stokes.