They both forgot themselves. The young lady forgot that she was being kind to a "poor old body" in "The Old Lady's Home." This dignified, handsome old lady was surely one of the friends of their family. And Mrs. Lyman, too, imagined for a moment that she was welcoming a young visitor to the Agnew mansion. They fell into conversation as naturally as if this were the case, and, in the short interview, they gained more than a glimpse of each other's lives. "How strange that you should be here," Esther said. "I have often passed Mr. Agnew's house; perhaps you were sitting at the window looking out. But isn't it dreadful to you? How can you endure it?" "No, not 'dreadful,' dear; sometimes it is a little lonely, and this way of living is all new to me; but I daresay I shall soon get accustomed to it. I ought to feel continually grateful that when I am old and poor, there is such a place provided for me." "How can you, when you have lived so differently? I'm sure I should die. I knew you didn't belong here as soon as I saw you. It is a shame!" "If God put me here, I must belong here, child. He makes no mistakes," the old lady said, smiling at her visitor's impetuous manner. "But how can you be so calm and good about it? I should think you would go distracted." "I wonder if she will understand," Mrs. Lyman said, after searching the young face a moment; then asked, "Did you ever read these lines?— "'To will what God doth will, that is the only science That gives us any rest.' "The secret of calmness is in that: having God's will our will. It is called a science, you see, and it is deep and difficult, or rather, people make it so. It takes some of them years to learn it. I learned it very slowly myself, but once acquired, it is forever after easier to bear hard things. It does bring peace." "Oh! Show me how to learn it, then," said Esther, tears starting to her eyes. "There are so many hard things in my life." "Poor dear! Have they come to you so early?" The motherly voice and pitying eyes were like sunshine to this girl who was not much more than a child, and whose heart was hungry. "I suppose it is because I am so wicked," Esther said, hesitatingly, "but I am afraid I never can feel as you do about God's will. Perhaps it is his will that I shall go through terrible troubles. It frightens me, and I can't want to have his will done." "Is there anybody whom you dearly love," said Mrs. Lyman, "in whom you have unbounded confidence, feeling sure that he will always do right?" "No, there is nobody," Esther answered sadly; then flushing a little as she realized the confession she had made, added,— "I did have somebody once—my darling mother—but she is gone. She always did right." "How did you feel about her plans for you? Were you fearful she would always be inventing something wherewith to torture you?" "My dear, lovely mother! No, indeed. She was always thinking of my happiness."