Ten minutes passed, and she said:  “Please go on now, Mrs. Murray, and tell me all he said.  You can have no idea how I have longed to know what you all at home thought of my little book.  Oh!  I have been so hungry for home praise!  I sent the very earliest copies to you and to Mr. Hammond, and I thought it so hard that you never mentioned them at all.”

“My dear, it was my fault, and I confess it freely.  Mr. Hammond, of course, could not write, but he trusted to me to thank you in his name for the book and the dedication.  I was really angry with you for not coming home when I wrote for you; and I was jealous of your book, and would not praise it, because I knew you expected it.  But because I was silent, do you suppose I was not proud of my little girl?  If you could have seen the tears I shed over some of the eulogies pronounced upon you, and heard all the ugly words I could not avoid uttering against some of your critics, you could not doubt my thorough appreciation of your success.  My dear, it is impossible to describe Mr. Hammond’s delight, as we read your novel to him.  Often he would say:  ’St. Elmo, read that passage again.  I knew she was a gifted child, but I did not expect that she would ever write such a book as this.’  When we read the last chapter he was completely overcome, and said, repeatedly, ’God bless my little Edna!  It is a noble book, it will do good—­much good!’ To me it seems almost incredible that the popular author is the same little lame, crushed orphan, whom I lifted from the grass at the railroad track, seven years ago.”

Edna had risen, and was sitting on the edge of the sofa, with one hand supporting her cheek, and a tender, glad smile shining over her features, as she listened to the commendation of those dearer than all the world beside.  Mrs. Murray watched her anxiously, and sighed, as she continued: 

“If ever a woman had a worshipper, you certainly possess one in Huldah Reed.  It would be amusing, if it were not touching, to see her bending in ecstasy over everything you write; over every notice of you that meets her eye.  She regards you as her model in all respects.  You would be surprised at the rapidity with which she acquires knowledge.  She is a pet of St. Elmo’s, and repays his care and kindness with a devotion that makes people stare; for you know my son is regarded as an ogre, and the child’s affection for him seems incomprehensible to those who only see the rough surface of his character.  She never saw a frown on his face or heard a harsh word from him, for he is strangely tender in his treatment of the little thing.  Sometimes it makes me start when I hear her merry laugh ringing through the house, for the sound carries me far back into the past, when my own children romped and shouted at Le Bocage.  You were always a quiet, demure, and rather solemn child; but this Huldah is a gay little sprite.  St. Elmo is so astonishingly patient with her, that Estelle accuses him of being in his dotage.  Oh, Edna! it would make you glad to see my son and that orphan child sitting together reading the Bible.  Last week I found them in the library; she was fast asleep with her head on his knee, and he sat with his open Bible in his hand.  He is so changed in his manner that you would scarcely know him, and oh!  I am so happy and so grateful, I can never thank God sufficiently for the blessing!”