Jack and nurse stared at her. I am afraid they called her a silly girl, but however that may have been, her disappointment was vivid enough for the remembrance of it to have lasted through well nigh half a century, and her tears flowed on. Just then came a tap at the door, followed by the entrance of the cook, a north countrywoman and a great favourite with the children. A glance at her showed Maimie that she was weeping, and when their old friend threw her arms around the little people, and kissed them, amidst her sobs Maimie felt certain that the source of her grief was the same as of her own. “Is you crying ’cos Jack hasn’t growed for his birthday?” asked the little girl. But Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean, my sweet one,” said the old woman. “I’m crying because I’ve got to leave you. This very morning I’m going, and I’ve come to say good-bye.” This startling announcement checked Maimie’s tears, or if they flowed again it was from a different cause. “Oh, dear Hannah,” the two exclaimed, “why must you go if it makes you so unhappy? Doesn’t mamma want you to stay?” “Oh, yes, dearie,” was the reply, “but it’s my duty to go to my old mistress. She’s ill now and sad, and she thinks Hannah can nurse her better than anyone else.” So with tender farewells to the children she was never to see again, poor Hannah went her way. Her “old mistress” was Miss Dorothy Wordsworth. And though Jack and Maimie never saw the faithful servant any more, they heard from, or rather of, her before long. For only a few weeks had passed when one morning the postman brought a small parcel directed to themselves, and a letter to Jack, Hannah’s particular pet. The letter and the addresses were in a queer, somewhat shaky hand-writing, that of Mr. Wordsworth himself, now an aged man, for it was within a few years of his death; the parcel contained a tempting-looking volume, bound in red and gold--“Selections for the young”--of the laureate’s poems, with Jack’s name inscribed therein, and even more gratifying, from the kindly thoughtfulness it displayed, a little silk neckerchief in tartan--the children’s own tartan, for they belonged to a Scotch clan--for Maimie. And the letter, written to the old servant’s dictation, for she could not write herself, told of her consultation with her master as to the most appropriate presents to choose for her little favourites.