On the occasion to which I have alluded, meeting broke up somewhat later than usual. I hurried home, warmed my chilled fingers, and ran upstairs, where a bright fire was burning on the hearth. I glanced about to see that the wood box was full, and looked out of the window where my eye rested upon a short line of carriages all bent in the direction of our home. First came father and mother, grandfather and the three younger children; then a vehicle well known to me as that of Elias Chase from Derry Quarter; and thus I counted them off, as one by one they drew up beside the horse-block. I missed Sarah Sidney, who generally came with Theophilus Baldwin’s family, and having seen her placid face in its usual place on the seat beneath the gallery, fronting the meeting, I was at a loss to explain her absence. She was tenderly attached to mother, and I could not believe any light matter would take her to another’s table. A gentle voice called me to my duties: “Why, Katherine dear, thee must have been very spry to get home before us. I was pleased to see thy interest in the meeting to-day.” The good woman kissed me and thanked me for the little aid I was able to give in unpinning her great shawl. Directly afterward, sweet Jane Spencer came tripping up the stairs. She was frequently spoken of as exhibiting “overmuch ardor” in all her good works, but we children loved the enthusiastic little woman. “O Katherine, I am glad to make use of thy quick fingers. My cap strings are sadly awry. I have been most uncomfortable in them all through meeting. Our breakfast was a trifle late this morning, and we had far to drive.” One and another arrived, each with a thought of me. “How thee grows, child,” or “Thy mother is blessed in her little helpers.” The room was well-nigh full, when someone asked the question that had been trembling on my lips. “Where is Sarah Sidney?” No one directly replied, but after a moment’s reflection nearly all had a suggestion or a little interest in her to express. “Methought her face bore traces of anxiety this morning. I trust she has met with no further financial disaster. Thee knows, Rhoda, she is benevolent to a surprising degree in one whose purse is not lengthy, and it is therefore a serious matter to be forced to curtail in her giving.” “Sarah is too true a follower of the Great Teacher to be long afflicted by the things of this world,” replied an aged friend. “Ah, Hannah dear,” answered the first speaker, “thee has never had the bread and butter trouble, and therefore thee can hardly compass its misery.” I think we all felt the force of this argument, for Hannah was richly dowered. Presently Jane Spencer sighed: “I cannot help wishing that Uncle Joseph would recognize that the hand of the Lord is pointing him to Sarah Sidney.” “If such be the will of our Heavenly Father, I doubt not it will be revealed in due time,” and Hannah spoke with great deliberation.