It was a little pitiful, this estrangement from their early religious associations, and perchance it might have been their greatest pleasure to return to the fold when the days of their widowhood came, but the meeting was held in a remote district of the township, and neither of the sisters was robust. For this reason they made a church home in the nearest house of worship, and carried thither so much of their elementary religion as wrought daily miracles of love and patience. They were charitable to a degree almost beyond praise, and the fine bearing, the impressive presence of the little pair, could have come from nothing else than a realization of noble attributes. The annals of New York indeed would be incomplete without mention of the exceeding service rendered the State in time of need by a rich Quaker, who steadfastly refused any public recognition, but whose death was everywhere heralded as that of a man combining in his character modesty and rare worth. Perhaps it was the consciousness of being heir to these virtues that led Honora into a false conception of the inheritance of her husband, but the painful knowledge of her error never lessened her understanding of the motto “Noblesse oblige.” Everybody forgave the sisters their touch of pride since both its source and outcome were of such purity, but it was almost pathetic to hear their personal disavowal of merit, attributing all things of worth in their admirable womanhood to their ancestry, and when, in the days of her children’s youth, Mrs. Mountain found it necessary to chastise them, the rod was considered far less severe than a reminder that through misdemeanor they were sullying the family record. It was a matter of deep regret to both Honora and Letitia that they had no sons. The former was childless, and the latter had buried her boys in infancy, but it was a consolation that the marriage of their brother, late in life, had resulted in securing a continuance of the honored line. Hospitality was one of the inherited virtues. The fruit cake jar was never allowed to become empty, and on such holidays as were not bespoken by their brother, their separate tables were surrounded by the impecunious old and young of their acquaintance. So long as Mrs. Mountain’s daughters remained unmarried there was an abundance of merrymaking, but after they had gone to homes of their own this youthful element was greatly missed. Mrs. Plum’s stepdaughter was too grim to be social, and gradually the lives of the sisters fell into a routine. Certain days in the month were devoted to family visits. The rector was entertained by them alternately, at stated periods, and once every fortnight they dressed themselves in stiff silks and real laces, and went through the formality of returning calls. No doubt the conversation was as little varied as the wardrobe, yet it was a pleasing duty, faithfully performed.