“Gracious! what an indefatigable, old-fashioned little thing you are, May,” said Helen, obeying her directions, and, after all, rather enjoying the novelty of the thing, than otherwise.  May’s cheerful face flitting about; the bright sunshine gushing in; the warmth of the room, and the feeling that she had really done something useful, inspired her with a healthful sentiment of enjoyment which she had never experienced before.  Breakfast was ready; the rolls were light, and nicely browned; the coffee was clear and fragrant, and the idea of a good breakfast was no mean consideration with Helen.

“My uncle has not yet returned from market, and we can run in and arrange the sitting-room,” said May.

And they flitted round, dusting, brushing, and polishing up, until they were both as merry as crickets.  The morning paper was opened, and spread on the back of a chair to air; the cushioned arm-chair was wheeled into its accustomed corner; and, just as every thing was complete in their arrangements, Mr. Stillinghast came in.  Helen was in the hall when he came in with a well-filled basket on his arm.

“Shall I help to draw off your coat, sir?” she asked, timidly.

He looked up a moment, and she seemed such a vision of loveliness that his cold, dull eye, opened and brightened with astonishment.  It was the first time he had really looked at her.  A low, chuckling laugh, burst from his lips, which Helen thought frightful, and he handed her the basket, saying, “I can do it myself; take this to the kitchen.”  She dared not excuse herself, but holding it with both hands, and feeling as if her wrists were breaking, she passed through the sitting-room with such a doleful countenance, while a red angry spot burned on her forehead, that May could not forbear laughing even while she went to assist her.

Mr. Stillinghast’s humor was not quite so rasping as usual that morning, although he cast more than one angry look towards May, and scarcely noticed the remarks she made to him.  When she told him that Helen had made the coffee, he nodded towards her, and with a grim smile told her that “she had made a good beginning;” but to May, never a word was uttered.  Notwithstanding which, it was very evident that a pleasant thought, by some rare chance, had taken possession of his bleak heart, like birds, which, sometimes in flying, drop from their beaks the seeds of beauteous and gorgeous flowers into the crevice of some bare grey rock.  He did not again advert to May’s adventure down town, and she hoped he had forgotten it; but he was one of those who never forget.