“Well, you must know when I was younger than I am now, and before dear Fritz, my husband, died, we were living in Boston, in quite respectable society, Fritz keeping a thriving store, and I living a lady, as it were, at home. But times is changed since then; ah, me! Major Pierpoint. Well, don’t you think, as I was waiting tea one winter’s night for Fritz, the bell rung, and, instead of my husband, a man left a basket of champaigne, as he said, telling the girl it was a present for our wedding day, which was to be on Saturday of the next week, sure enough, Major; we having then been married seven years. Well, I told her to set the champaigne basket down in the tea room, and soon afterwards Fritz came in. He was delighted when I showed him the present, and we both puzzled our heads to guess what friend it came from; but we sat down to the table intending to open it after we had finished tea. Mr. Phelps was taking his second cup when we both thought we heard a child cry right in the room. We started, and both asked ‘what is that?’ ‘It must be the cat,’ said Fritz, and so we sat down again. We had not taken two bites of toast before we were startled by the loud shrill scream of an infant. ‘The champaigne basket,’ exclaimed Fritz: ‘it is in the champaigne basket,’ I cried. ‘It is a baby in the champaigne basket,’ yelled the girl, letting fall the tea-kettle. “Fritz sprung to the basket and cut the cord with the table-knife, and sure enough, Major Pierpoint, there lay in the bottom the beautifullest little female baby eyes ever looked upon—the very same Mary Lee you just now took off your hat to! Well, to cut the story short, Fritz and I concluded, after making all inquiries, and advertising it in vain, to adopt it, seeing as how Providence had never blessed us with any children, neither before nor since. So we took the dear infant as our own, and to this day I have been as its own mother to it, and she has been as an own child to me. Ah me! the cruel parents that could desert such a sweet cherub. I have never been sorry to this hour we took the dear child. Oh, she has been a blessing to me!” “She would be a blessing to any body,” said the Major warmly, his heart overrunning with emotion at her narration; and his eyes unconsciously wandered to the rear of the shop, where Mary sat quietly sewing. He sighed, and then turning to Mrs. Phelps, thanked her for her trouble in narrating Mary’s story. “Not the least, Major, not the least! I could tell it fifty times a day if I had such a listener as you.” “You may send me half a dozen pairs of gloves, handkerchiefs, and—and—” Leslie hesitated, and then hastily added, “any thing else in your shop you think I would like.” “Oh, you are such a good customer, Major Pierpoint,” said the pleased landlady; “I have just got in some new style India cravats which I think will suit you. Shall I send them to-night?” “No, to-morrow at twelve.” “But you leave town to-morrow.”