As she approached the door Jessie heard a sound of a soft voice singing, and paused a moment to listen, she could not bear to interrupt.

     “I may not tell the reason,
     ’Tis enough for thee to know
      That I, the Master, am teaching,
      And give this cup of woe.”

The singing ceased for a moment, and Jessie gently knocked at the door.

“Come in,” said the same voice brightly; “open the door, please, and come in.”

Jessie did as she was bid, and stepped into one of the neatest and cleanest and oddest rooms she had ever seen in her life.  The furniture in it was scanty, but what there was was old-fashioned and good, there was a bright rug on the floor, a few pictures on the walls at each end, an old-fashioned wooden bed at one side, a dear little round table before the fire, and a large arm-chair.  The room was a large attic which really stretched over the whole of the top of the house, but though it was so large, there was really not very much available space in it, for the sides sloped steeply.  Miss Patch had curtained off the sides, and out of the long narrow strip down the middle had formed, in Jessie’s opinion, one of the nicest rooms she had ever seen.

The owner of the room looked up at Jessie with a bright smile, a smile which brightened still more when Jessie gave her message.

“Please, Charlie wants to know if you will come down and see his room.  I have been tidying it a little, and I moved the bed, and he is so delighted with it he wants you to see it.”

“I should like to, very much,” said Miss Patch, “but I have rheumatism in my knee to-day, and I can’t get up and down stairs very well.  Perhaps, though,” she added, with sudden thought, “you will help me?”

“Oh yes,” said Jessie, advancing further into the room, “I would like to if I can.  What shall I do?”

“I will ask you to let me lean on your shoulder a little, that is all, dear.  But will you wait just a moment while I finish preparing the potatoes for my dinner?”

“Oh yes.  I will wait, and—­and—­I’d like to help you,” said Jessie, half eager, half shy.  “Thank you, dear, but I’ve nearly done, and it isn’t worth while for you to wet your hands.  Sit down instead and talk to me.  I heard that Mrs. Lang was having a little daughter to help her, and I have been hoping I should see you—­but I haven’t even heard your name yet!”

“It is Jessie.”

“Oh, is it.  I am very glad, for I had a dear little pupil once called by that name, and I have been fond of it ever since.  She was really, though, christened ‘Jessica.’”

“I am only called Jessie.  I was christened Jessamine May,” explained Jessie seriously.  “Grandfather has got a jessamine growing all over the front of his house, and he has ever such beautiful red may-trees in the garden.  They were there when mother was a little girl, and she loved them so dearly she called me after them, to keep her in mind of home.”