"I send my best respects to Master Gerald and yourself; your pa says one of these days he may bring you up to town, and he has promised we shall meet." "I am, dear Miss Angel," "Your old friend and well-wisher," "MARIA STEER" There were amused smiles on the faces of the listeners as Mrs. Mickle read the above epistle; but the moment her voice ceased, Gilbert exclaimed, with some indignation in his tones— "She evidently doesn't properly appreciate your father's talent, Angel! She must be a very ignorant old woman! Does she always speak of Mr. Willis as 'your pa'?" "Always," Angel and Gerald responded together. "It is a very kind letter," Mrs. Mickle said, "and if she does not appreciate Mr. Willis' talent—and I agree with you, Gilbert, that she does not—she appreciates his character, nevertheless. She remarks, you see, that he is as kind a man as she ever knew, and a perfect gentleman." "Yes," Angel cried brightly. "I am very fond of Mrs. Steer; she was always good to me, and used to take me out shopping with her sometimes; and if she was not too busy, she would often come into our sitting-room and talk to me when father was at work in his studio, and Gerald was at school. Then, too, she used to lend me story-books to read. I hope father will take us to London to see her some day. Mrs. Steer was my friend when I had no others." "You have a faithful heart, my dear," Mrs. Mickle said, as she drew the little girl to her side and kissed her; "you have many friends now, I am sure." "Oh, yes!" Angel responded quickly; "and so has Gerald." Her eyes rested contentedly on her brother, who was discussing the prospects of the cricket season with Tom; then she felt a light touch upon her arm, and turned to meet Miss Goodwin's gentle glance. "Do you know, my dear, sometimes you remind me of myself when I was your age?" the old lady said seriously. "Do I?" Angel exclaimed in surprise. "Yes. I, too, had a brother whom I dearly-loved, and—" "Oh, I never knew that!" Dora interposed quickly. "Oh," she cried, meeting her mother's reproving look, "do forgive me for so rudely interrupting you, but—I was so astonished! Is your brother dead, Miss Goodwin?" "Yes, dear child. He died—a great while ago—in India." "In India!" Dora repeated, her wondering blue eyes scanning the old lady's withered face, which wore a pensive expression, that presently gave place to a look of trouble and doubt. "It was long, long ago," Miss Goodwin said slowly, after a short pause. She sat with her thin little hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I was trying to remember the other day how old my brother would be if he was alive now," she continued, "but I forget—I have lost count of time." "Never mind," said Mrs. Mickle gently. "don't worry about it. Time only affects the things which perish; love is for eternity. I am sure you love your brother now as much as you ever did."