“Miss Lavinia Frost,—I know her well. She don’t _seem_ to wear spectacles, but she’s got a pair on all the time. Rose-color. Mrs. Bruce went out to her rooms once and she didn’t like the looks of ’em, and she took one of her notions and fixed ’em up with a handsome stove, and an arm-chair, and some other nice things, and Miss Frost never could get over it.” “Mrs. Bruce is going to keep her with her.” “Fine!” exclaimed Betsy. “Nothin’ could be better.” She shook her head and resumed her work. “Here’s hopin’ Miss Frost’ll never lose those magnifyin’ spectacles!” “You never saw any one admire another more sincerely. Why, she takes it for granted that Mrs. Bruce made _me_, and is in love with her work.” Betsy dropped her hands. “‘God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform!’” she declared. “Rosalie,” she added gently, “I wouldn’t wonder one mite if Lavinia Frost livin’ with Mrs. Bruce would be the makin’ o’ _her_. What do we all want? We want love. Mrs. Bruce hasn’t drawn it to herself from the folks that’s lived closest to her. She’s had some sharp lessons, from what Mr. Irving says, and now, when the plough’s gone deep, and the soil’s softer, this cheerful little lover may be takin’ her just at the right time, and will make a big difference in her.” “Why, I seem to see it begin,” returned Rosalie. “She’s so much more gentle, and Miss Frost chirps and twitters around her, and waits on her—” Betsy nodded. “That’s right,” she said with satisfaction. “That’s good. She loves bein’ made of. I b’lieve that’ll work well.” There was another silence, which Betsy broke. “I understand you’ve got somethin’ for me,” she said. The girl looked around, puzzled. “Why,—why no, Betsy.” “Mr. Irving says so.” Rosalie regarded her calmly, but the faint color deepened in her cheeks. “I don’t know what he means.” “Well, I don’t know who else should.” Betsy took a letter out of her pocket and tossed it across to her guest, who opened it, and read:— DEAR BETSY,—I’m feeling very important because they’ve wired for me from the bank. I can’t even run over to the cottage to see you, because I must make a train. I’ve asked Rosalie to give you a hug for me. Good-by. Your devoted BOY. “Oh, you mean that,” said Rosalie quietly, refolding the note. “Of course I mean that. Do you suppose I want to be cheated out o’ his hugs?” The girl smiled and shook her head. “I certainly haven’t any of them,” she said. “But he found time to go over and say good-by to you, I notice.” “Yes, he came. Mrs. Bruce and Miss Frost are to follow him in a day or two.” “What do you think o’ the young man, now you’ve summered him?” asked Betsy quietly. “If I didn’t think well of him I’d never dare to tell you so.” “Perhaps not. Has he been specially attentive to any one o’ the girls at the inn?” Rosalie twisted the curtain tassel and looked out at the sea.