The prettiest park phaeton you ever set eyes on, drove up to the Laurence cottage; a pair of white ponies with snowy tails that took the wind like banners, stopped with the docility of pet kittens before the gate. An afghan on which living roses seemed to bloom, was thrust aside, and out sprang a young lady, who ran up the walk and entered the house without knocking. “Ruthy, Ruthy dear, I have got them in training at last. Do look out of the window and see what darlings they are. Now for your first ride in the park.” Ruth sat up on her couch, thrilled throughout her feeble frame with unusual excitement. “Oh Eva, are those the horses? am I to ride in that pretty thing? but how—how can I get there?” “Never mind about that; I feel strong enough to carry you myself. The truth is, I—I never was so happy in my life; to think, dear, that they should give me all the pleasure of doing this, for everything is mine, Ruth. We can use it just when we please, and you shall ride every pleasant day of your life.” “And see how the country looks. Oh Eva, what a darling, fairy god-mother you have been to us!” “Have I? Then you are glad I went away?” “Only half away, sister. Why you are with us a great deal more now, than while slaving down in that store.” “So I am, darling, and it _is_ delicious to belong to one’sself. They love me too.” “Yes, I should think so,” answered Ruth, a little sadly. “Who could help it?” “But we must not be talking at this rate; the day is too lovely. Where is mother? Oh, here she comes.” In the bright exuberance of her feelings, Eva threw both arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her with affectionate warmth. “Where are Ruthy’s things, mother? she must be dressed at once.” “They are lying on the bed, Eva; everything is in order,” answered the old woman, fairly smiling all over her face. Eva ran into the bedroom and came out with a sacque of fleecy, white cloth, and a hat on which some soft feather tips clustered like snow. These she put on to sister Ruth with her own hands, saying blithely as she tied the hat strings: “Yes, Eva had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow; And every where that Eva went That lamb was sure to go.” At which Ruth laughed like a pleased child, but said the bonnet felt so strangely on her head, it would take her a little while to get used to it. Then her curls had always wandered about in such a lazy fashion, what could she do with them? “Oh, they’re all right,” cried Eva, bringing a little seven by nine mirror that Ruth might look at her own sweet face, framed in by the bonnet, which she did, blushing like a wild rose at the sight of her own delicate beauty. “Oh Eva, I hardly know myself!” “Of course you don’t. Come, mother, are you and I strong enough to carry her out? I might have brought one of the men, but somehow I could not bear to have them touch her.”