Miss Hetty went on preparing the table for dinner. A most delightful odor issued from the oven; one door of which was open, lest the turkey should overdo. Miss Hetty could not help observing the wistful glance cast by the little girl towards the tempting dish as she placed it on the table. “Poor little creature!” thought she. “I suppose it is a long time since she has had a good dinner.” Then the thought struck her, “Here I am alone to eat all this. There is quite enough for half a dozen. How much these poor people would relish it!” By this time the table was arranged. “Sir,” said she, turning to the traveller, “you look as if you were hungry as well as cold. If you and your little daughter would like to sit up, I should be happy to have you.” “Thank you, madam!” was the grateful reply. “We are hungry, and shall be much indebted to your kindness.” It was rather a novel situation for Miss Hetty,—sitting at the head of the table, dispensing food to others beside herself. There was something rather agreeable about it. “Will you have some of the dressing, little girl? I have to call you that; for I don’t know your name,” she added, in an inquiring tone. “Her name is Henrietta; but I generally call her Hetty,” said the traveller. “What!” said Miss Hetty, dropping the spoon in surprise. “She was named after a very dear friend of mine,” said he, sighing. “May I ask,” said Miss Hetty, with excusable curiosity, “the name of this friend? I begin to feel quite an interest in your little girl,” she added, half apologetically. “Her name is Henrietta Henderson,” said the stranger. “Why, that is my name!” ejaculated Miss Hetty. “And she was named after you,” said the stranger, composedly. “Why, who in the world are you?” she asked, her heart beginning to beat unwontedly fast. “Then you don’t remember me?” said he, rising, and looking steadily at Miss Hetty. “Yet you knew me well in bygone days,—none better. At one time, it was thought you would join your destiny to mine——” “Nick Anderson!” said Miss Hetty, rising in confusion.