Through the gate they went, and along the broad path lined with flowers on either hand. A rustic chair stood in the lower verandah, close by an open French window, which led into a pretty little parlor connected by folding doors, always kept open, with one of the cosiest little rooms you ever saw. This room was just large enough to hold a small couch, an easy-chair, a stand for flowers, and some books—just what it did contain. Mrs. Burns sat down in the rustic chair, and drop after drop trembled up into her dear old eyes. Was this to be her home, even for a short season? Would her children breathe the odor of these flowers, and sleep in those neat rooms? She could not realize it. Our readers know how this sweet, old creature had bent and yielded to what was inevitable in adversity without a murmur, and without shedding a single tear: but she was childlike with gratitude now, and the tears began to steal down her withered cheek in slow drops of happiness. “My dear,” she said, holding out her hand to Georgiana Halstead, “come here and let the old woman kiss you, she is getting to be a child again; but a happy, very happy child. Are we, indeed, to live here?” “If you will, dear madam, my grandmother wishes it; but she makes one condition.” “What is that? I am sure it will not be a hard one.” “Not very, I hope. While you stay in the house, you and your family must occupy it entirely. Your own furniture can be brought in, but you will find the house tolerable without that. She wishes no reserve as to room or furniture. Take possession when you please—the sooner the better; that is all the condition my grandmother makes.” “Your grandmother is a kind woman, and I thank her—that is all we can do. We are poor in every thing but this gratitude, which is very sweet to feel.” “Let us see the house. It was pretty as a bird’s-nest when I was here months ago. How fortunate it is that grandmamma did not wish to let it. Come up stairs, you will find a very pretty sitting-room there, one of the most breezy, cheerful places you ever saw. Your bed-chamber, Mrs. Burns, opens into that. Anna’s will be on the third story. I have arranged it all. Come and see.” Up stairs they went, into a room which Georgie had described well as cheerful and breezy, for the two sash-windows were open, and the whole chamber was swept with perfumed air as they entered it. Two good-sized book-cases were in this room, filled with pleasant reading. The furniture was all excellent, but unpretending. Two or three engravings hung on the walls; and one of Wheeler & Wilson’s sewing-machines stood in a rosewood case in one corner. In the balcony, which seemed like a little room—it was so festooned with vines—were some rustic chairs, and a bird-cage, in which birds were chirping.