It was not alone the consciousness that the new pink taffeta gown and the wreath of white roses were very becoming which made her blush so prettily as she thanked her friend for the fine nosegay he brought her, but something in his face, though he only wished her many happy returns in a hearty way, and then added, laughing, as the last button flew off the glove he was awkwardly trying to fasten,-- "It is evident that you didn't sew on these buttons, Miss Abby. I've observed that Sam's never come off, and he says you always keep them in order." "Let me put one on for you. It will take but a moment, and you'll be so uncomfortable without it," said Abby, glad to find employment for her eyes. A minute afterward she was sorry she had offered; for he accepted the little service with thanks, and stood watching while she sat down at her work-table and began to sew. She was very sensitive about her hand, yet ashamed of being so; for the scar was inside and the drawn fingers showed very little, as it is natural to half close them. She hoped he had never seen it, and tried to hide it as she worked. But this, or some new consciousness, made her usually nimble fingers lose their skill, and she knotted the silk, split the button, and dropped her thimble, growing angry with herself for being so silly and getting so red and flurried. "I'm afraid I'm giving you a deal of trouble," said the gentleman, who was watching the white hand with great interest. "No; it is I who am foolish about my burnt hands," answered Abby, in her frank, impetuous way. "See how ugly it is!" And she held it out, as if to punish herself for the girlish feeling she despised. The answer to this little outburst made her forget everything but the sweetest pleasure and surprise; for, kissing the scarred palm with tender respect, her lover said:-- "To me it is the finest and the dearest hand in the world. I know the brave story, and I've seen the good this generous hand is never tired of doing. I want it for my own. Will you give it to me, dear?" Abby must have answered, "Yes;" for she wore a new ring under her glove that night, and danced as if there were wings on the heels of her pink shoes. Whether the button ever got sewed on or not, no one knows; but that bit of needlework was even more successful than the other small job; for in due time there was a second wedding, without a fire, and Abby went away to a happy home of her own, leaving sister Lucy to fill her place and be the most loving and faithful of daughters to her benefactors while they lived. Long years afterward, when she had children and grandchildren about her, listening to the true old stories that are the best, Abby used to say, with her own cheerful laugh:--