"Set a kitten to spinning!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, her grim features relaxing into a smile--putting at the same time her wheel against the wall, and seating herself in the corner opposite to Helen. "Thank you," cried Helen, "I knew you would not refuse. Now please tell us something gentle and beautiful--something that will make us better and happier. Ghosts, you know, never appear till darkness comes. The angels do." Miss Thusa, sat looking into the fire, with a musing, dreamy expression, or rather on the ashes, which formed a gray bed around the burning coals. Her thoughts were, however, evidently wandering inward, through the dim streets and shadowy aisles of that Herculaneum of the soul--memory. Arthur laid his hand with an admonishing motion on Helen, whose lips parted to speak, and the trio sat in silence for a few moments, waiting the coming inspiration. It has been so often said that we do not like to repeat the expression, but it really would have been a study for a painter--that old, gray room (for the walls being unpainted were of the color of Miss Thusa's dress;) the antique, brass-bound wheel, the scarlet tracery over the chimney, and the three figures illuminated by the flame-light of the blazing chimney. It played, that flame-light, with rich, warm lustre on Helen's soft, brown hair and roseate cheek, quivered with purplish radiance among Arthur's darker locks--and lighted up with a sunset glow, Miss Thusa's hoary tresses. "Gentle and beautiful!" repeated the oracle. "Yes! every thing seems beautiful to the young. If I could remember ever feeling young, I dare say beautiful memories would come back to me. 'Tis very strange, though, that the older I grow, the pleasanter are the pictures that are reflected on my mind. The way grows smoother and clearer. I suppose it is like going out on a dark night--at first you can hardly see the hand before you, but as you go groping along, it lightens up more and more." She paused, looked from Arthur Hazleton to Helen, then from Helen to Arthur, as if she were endeavoring to embue her spirit with the grace and beauty of youth. "I remember a tale," she resumed, "which I heard or read, long, long ago--which perhaps I've never told. It is about a young Prince, who was heir to a great kingdom, somewhere near the place where the garden of Eden once was. When the King, his father, was on his death bed, he called his son to him, and told him that he was going to die. "'And now, my son,' he said, 'remember my parting words. I leave you all alone, without father or mother, brother or sister--without any one to love or love you. Last night I had a dream, and you know God's will was made known in dreams, to holy men of old. There came, in my dream, an aged man, with a beard as white as ermine, that hung down like a mantle over his breast, with a wand in his right hand, and stood beside my bed.