All day long, she had that feeling common to those who go to stay at a fresh house among comparative strangers:  a feeling of the necessity that she should become accustomed to the new atmosphere in which she was placed, before she could move and act freely; it was, indeed, a purer ether, a diviner air, which she was breathing in now, than what she had been accustomed to for long months.  The gentle, blessed mother, who had made her childhood’s home holy ground, was in her very nature so far removed from any of earth’s stains and temptation, that she seemed truly one of those

“Who ask not if Thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth.”

In the Bensons’ house there was the same unconsciousness of individual merit, the same absence of introspection and analysis of motive, as there had been in her mother; but it seemed that their lives were pure and good, not merely from a lovely and beautiful nature, but from some law, the obedience to which was, of itself, harmonious peace, and which governed them almost implicitly, and with as little questioning on their part, as the glorious stars which haste not, rest not, in their eternal obedience.  This household had many failings:  they were but human, and, with all their loving desire to bring their lives into harmony with the will of God, they often erred and fell short; but, somehow, the very errors and faults of one individual served to call out higher excellences in another, and so they reacted upon each other, and the result of short discords was exceeding harmony and peace.  But they had themselves no idea of the real state of things; they did not trouble themselves with marking their progress by self-examination; if Mr. Benson did sometimes, in hours of sick incapacity for exertion, turn inwards, it was to cry aloud with almost morbid despair, “God be merciful to me a sinner!” But he strove to leave his life in the hands of God, and to forget himself.

Ruth sat still and quiet through the long first day.  She was languid and weary from her journey; she was uncertain what help she might offer to give in the household duties, and what she might not.  And, in her languor and in her uncertainty, it was pleasant to watch the new ways of the people among whom she was placed.  After breakfast, Mr. Benson withdrew to his study, Miss Benson took away the cups and saucers, and leaving the kitchen-door open, talked sometimes to Ruth, sometimes to Sally, while she washed them up.  Sally had upstairs duties to perform, for which Ruth was thankful, as she kept receiving rather angry glances for her unpunctuality as long as Sally remained downstairs.  Miss Benson assisted in the preparation for the early dinner, and brought some kidney-beans to shred into a basin of bright, pure spring-water, which caught and danced in the sunbeams as she sat near the open casement of the parlour, talking to Ruth of things and people which as yet the