“It was so kind in you to come for me,” remarked Floy. “How did you happen to do it, Hetty?” “Because we wanted you--mother and I at least--and we thought it was getting too late for you to come alone.” Floy was very weary in body, inexpressibly sad and weary in heart and mind. She strove to shake off her depression and respond to Hetty’s merry mood; but in vain. She could not banish the thick-coming memories of other holiday seasons made bright and joyous by the gifts, and still more by the love, of those of whom she was now bereaved by death and enforced separation. Ah, what of Espy to-night? Hetty read something of this in the sad eyes, and her mood changed to quiet, subdued cheerfulness. They entered the house quietly, letting themselves in with a latch-key, and passed into the room back of the store. Floy uttered a slight exclamation of pleased surprise as John turned up the light. The room had put on quite a festive appearance; all signs of work had vanished, and it had been made neat and orderly, and its walls tastefully decorated with evergreens. “John’s doings,” said Hetty, pushing a cushioned arm-chair nearer the fire. “Sit down here, my dear, and we’ll have some refreshments shortly; you see the kettle’s boiling, and the coals are just splendid, and we can take our time, as we’re not obliged to rise early to-morrow. “Toast and tea, Jack, my boy; you and I know how to make ’em,” she went on, throwing off cloak and hat, and producing the requisite articles from a closet beside the chimney. “I’ve already had three good meals to-day,” observed Floy, smiling slightly. “What of that? four or five hours of hard work since the last, beside a brisk walk and a ride through the cold, ought to have made you ready for another,” returned Hetty, giving John the toaster and a slice of bread, then putting on the tea to draw. “Have you nothing for me to do?” asked Floy. “Yes; warm yourself thoroughly. Ah, what a good forgettery I have of my own! Here’s something else to employ you. A bit of Christmas in it, I suspect,” she ran on, taking a letter from the mantel and putting it into Floy’s hand. A flush of pleasure came into the young girl’s cheek as she recognized in the address the writing of her old friend Miss Wells, but faded again instantly, leaving it paler than before. What news did this missive bring? would it tell her of Espy, and that sorrow and bereavement had befallen him? She broke the seal with a trembling hand. Ah, if she were only alone! But Hetty and John, busy with their culinary labors, might have been unconscious of her existence for all the notice they seemed to be taking of her movements. She opened the letter. A pair of black kid gloves and a folded bank-note fell into her lap; but without waiting to examine them, she glanced her eye down the page. It was a kind, motherly letter, saying a great deal in few words; for Miss Wells had but little time to give to correspondence.