At last the weather moderated, the snow melted, the ice-bound river was freed, a mild dry wind from the South sprang up and dried the ground, the roads became passable, and the long confined and dreadfully wearied country neighbors geared up their vehicles of various sorts, from the ox-cart to the coach and pair, and from the ass’s colt to the high bred courser, and went “a-visiting.” It was about ten o’clock in the morning of a beautiful winter’s day, that Sophie caught a glimpse through the window of the old parson on his old horse, with Emily seated on a pillion behind him, with her arms around his waist. Sophie sprang to meet and greet them—and— “I knew you’d come! I _knew_ you would,” she said, as she held up her hands to assist Emily, who sprang from the pillion into her arms. And she burst into tears as she received her. Poor girl! she had been so lonesome, for so long. After greeting Mr. May, she drew Emily’s arm within her own and led the way to the house, while the old parson ambled leisurely up to the horse-block, alighted, and followed them. When they were seated in the parlor, and Emily had taken Hagar upon her lap and filled her apron with the home-made cakes she had brought, Mr. May turned to Sophie, and stroking her brown hair, inquired— “How has my little partridge contrived to live through this long, hard winter?” Sophie Churchill was thoroughly ingenuous, and in reply she gave a simple narrative of her life since the setting in of the winter. It was beautiful to observe, that during her narrative she had uttered no one word of reflection or reproach against the friends and neighbors who had so cruelly neglected her. She merely told without complaint, the simple story of her sufferings as a duty, in answer to her venerated pastor’s question. He heard with emotion—and— “Poor ‘stricken deer’—poor shorn lamb—aye! shorn to the very ‘quick,’” he said. At the conclusion of her story— “The Lord loveth whom He chasteneth, and scourgeth every child whom he receiveth,” he said, reverently. And then he arose and walked soberly and thoughtfully up and down the floor with his hands clasped behind his back. He was a round, stout old gentleman, wore short breeches and silk stockings, and had his grey hair parted over his venerable brow, smoothed back and plaited in a queue behind; so you may readily fancy him as he paced up and down the floor with his hands clasped behind him and his head bowed upon his chest, while he seemed to be revolving some plan. While he walked, Emily sat and played with Hagar on her lap; at last turning to Miss Churchill she said,—