“Your picture is all shadow.  George; and, even if it were not, she is the best judge of what will promote her happiness.  Do not discourage her.  Ah, humble as the place is, I know how her heart aches for a spot she can call ‘home.’  These three rooms will be a haven of rest for her when the day is done.  My dear Beulah, I trust you may be very happy here, or wherever you decide to live; you deserve to be.”

“Thank you, madam, for your friendly sympathy.  I am glad you approve my design.”

“Well, well; if you soon weary of this freak you can easily give up the house, that is all.  Now, Beulah, if you determine to take it, rest assured I will gladly make any additions or alterations you may suggest.  I dare say I shall like you for a tenant.  But see here, Mrs. Asbury, I have patients to look after.  Please to remember that I am a professional character, consequently can call no moment my own.  What! another row of shelves round that side?  This building houses for rent is a ruinous speculation!  Come, it is too late now to go over the rooms again; to-morrow will do as well.  Beulah, are you going to play cook, too?”

“No, indeed!  Mrs. Williams will find us a servant.  Good-by.  I will decide about the house as soon as possible.”

The following day she dispatched a note to the matron with information concerning the house; and at the close of the week all arrangements were completed, so that they might take possession as soon as a new matron was secured.  Thus the last of October glided swiftly away, and one cold, clear day in November Beulah was notified that Mrs. Williams was comfortably settled in the new home.  She went to school as usual, and when the recitations were ended, started out with a glad heart and springing step.  In half an hour she reached the little white gate, and found Mrs. Williams waiting there to welcome her.  Everything was new and neat; the tastefully selected carpets were not tapestry, but cheap ingrain; the snowy curtains were of plain dimity, with rose-colored borders, and the tea table held, instead of costly Sevres, simple white china, with a band of gilt.  A bright fire crackled and glowed in the chimney, and, as Beulah stood on the hearth and glanced round the comfortable little room, which was to be both parlor and dining room, she felt her heart thrill with delight, and exclaimed: 

“This is home! at last I feel that I have a home of my own.  Not the Rothschilds, in their palaces, are so happy as I!”

For years she had been a wanderer, with no hearthstone, and now, for the first time since her father’s death she was at home.  Not the home of adoption; nor the cheerless room of a boarding house, but the humble home which labor and rigid economy had earned for her.  Her heart bounded with joy; an unwonted glow suffused her cheeks, and her parted lips trembled.  The evening passed quickly, and when she retired to her own room she was surprised to find a handsome rosewood bookcase and desk occupying one corner.  She opened the glass doors and saw her books carefully arranged on the shelves.  Could her guardian have sent it?  No; since her refusal of the watch, she felt sure he would not have offered it.  A small note lay on the shelf, and, recognizing the delicate handwriting, she read the lines, containing these words: