The sun sent its rays here and there across the paths that led in different directions, all of them carpeted with needles from the tall pine-trees standing amid the oaks and chestnuts; and the one Dorothy pursued brought her soon to the summit of a small hill, where it took a sharp turn, and then ran directly to a small, hut-like dwelling, about the door of which grew a honeysuckle vine. In front of the house was what in the summer had been a flower-garden; everything about it was neat, and the tiny panes of glass in the unshuttered windows were spotlessly bright. Dorothy did not wait to knock, but opened the door, and was within the living-room of the house, there being no hall. It was wide, and low-ceilinged, with clumsy beams set upright against the walls, bedimmed with age and smoke. Directly opposite the entrance was the open hearth, back of which a sluggish fire was burning; and kneeling in front of the logs was a girl of fourteen, working with a clumsy pair of bellows to blow it into a brisker flame. She was so engrossed in her task as not to hear the door open, but started quickly as Dorothy said, "Good-day, Abbie; how is your granny this morning?" "Oh, Mistress Dorothy, how you scared me!" the girl cried, springing to her feet, and showing, as she turned her head, a preternaturally old and worried face. "Where is Ruth?" inquired the smiling intruder, who now put down the heavy basket, and began to remove her cloak, whose hood had somewhat disarranged the curls over which it was drawn. "Granny be in bed yet, for her rheumatiz be in her legs to-day, she says. An' she was worritin' over ye, for fear ye might be ill. She was sayin' last evenin' that I was to go over and inquire." Perfectly at home in the little house, Dorothy went straight to her old nurse's bedroom, to find her propped up in bed, knitting, and with an open Bible lying beside her on the snow-white counterpane. "Oh, my lamb!" she exclaimed joyfully, catching sight of the sunny face, that was soon bending over her, while the dim old eyes devoured its every feature. "But I am glad to see ye, for I feared ye were ill, for sure. An' what a lot o' sweet fresh ye bring about! It must be a fine day outside. Ah," with a deep sigh, "if I could only get about as I used to, my lamb!" The old woman's voice faltered, and the moisture was showing in her eyes. "You will be well again, Ruth, when the winter gets fairly set," Dorothy said cheerfully. "'T is the seasons changing that always make you feel poorly." "Mayhap, mayhap," sighed the old woman. "But it seems only yesterday I was runnin' about, a girl like ye, with no thought of ache or pain; an' but another yesterday when I had ye, a little babe, in my arms. An' here I be now, a crippled, useless old body, with only a poor granddaughter, who has to do for me what I ought to be doin' for her. An' here ye be, a fine grown young woman, ready to be married."