A cordial invitation to visit his family and take tea with them followed, and was accepted.  I must own, that I prepared to go to the Wightmans with some misgivings as to the pleasure I should receive.  Almost every one of their old acquaintances, to whom I had addressed inquiries on the subject, spoke of them with commiseration, as “very poor.”  If Wightman could bear the change with philosophy, I hardly expected to find the same Christian resignation in his wife, whom I remembered as a gay, lively woman, fond of social pleasures.

Such were my thoughts when I knocked at the door of a small house, that stood a little back from the street.  It was quickly opened by a tall, neatly-dressed girl, whose pleasant face lighted into a smile of welcome as she pronounced my name.

“This is not Mary?” I said as I took her proffered hand.

“Yes, this is your little Mary,” she answered.  “Father told me you were coming.”

Mrs. Wightman came forward as I entered the room into which the front door opened, and gave me a most cordial welcome.  Least of all had time and reverses changed her.  Though a little subdued, and rather paler and thinner, her face had the old heart-warmth in it—­the eyes were bright from the same cheerful spirit.

“How glad I am to see you again!” said Mrs. Wightman.  And she was glad.  Every play of feature, every modulation of tone, showed this.

Soon her husband came in, and then she excused herself with a smile, and went out, as I very well understood, to see after tea.  In a little while supper was ready, and I sat down with the family in their small breakfast room, to one of the pleasantest meals I have ever enjoyed.  A second daughter, who was learning a trade, came in just as we were taking our places at the table, and was introduced.  What a beautiful glow was upon her young countenance!  She was the very image of health and cheerfulness.

When I met Wightman in the street, I thought his countenance wore something of a troubled aspect—­this was the first impression made upon me.  Now, as I looked into his face, and listened to his cheerful, animated conversation, so full of life’s true philosophy, I could not but feel an emotion of wonder.  “Very poor!” How little did old friends, who covered their neglect of this family with these commiserating words, know of their real state.  How little did they dream that sweet peace folded her wings in that humble dwelling nightly; and that morning brought to each a cheerful, resolute spirit, which bore them bravely through all their daily toil.

“How are you getting along now Wightman?” I asked, as, after bidding good evening to his pleasant family, I stood with him at the gate opening from the street to his modest dwelling.

“Very well,” was his cheerful reply.  “It was up hill work for several years, when I only received five hundred dollars salary as clerk, and all my children were young.  But now, two of them are earning something, and I receive eight hundred dollars instead of five.  We have managed to save enough to buy this snug little house.  The last payment was made a month since.  I am beginning to feel rich.”