“This is my little present,” said Georgie, promptly, remarking the old lady’s look of surprise. “Here is a rocking-chair, which grandmamma sent from her own room. No one is to sit in that but Mrs. Burns, remember. Now take a peep in here; comfortable, I think.” She opened the bedroom door and revealed a low bed, white as snow, but simple as a bed well could be; an easy-chair, covered with white dimity, stood near it, and every thing that an old person could require for comfort or convenience was there. Something more than the common furniture of a house had certainly been added here. Georgiana accounted for this frankly enough. “Grandmamma,” she said, “had more of these things than she knew how to use, and would send them. She does so like to make every thing complete.” Old Mrs. Burns had not been known to smile so frequently as she did that day for years. There was an absolute glow on her face all the time she stayed in that cottage. She felt intuitively that some great kindness was intended, but it gave her no pain—generous persons can receive favors without annoyance; the very qualities which induce them to give freely enable them to receive gracefully. Here that good old lady had a double pleasure, that of occupying a pleasant home, and the intense gratitude which came out of it, which was exquisite happiness in itself. “Tell your grandmother that her kindness has made an old woman hopeful again. For my own sake, and in behalf of my dear children, I thank her.” They stood by the gate looking back upon the grounds when Mrs. Burns said this. Anna was a little apart, silent, and with a dreamy sadness in her eyes. She had said little while examining the house. What could a change of place do for her? Indeed, I think the old rooms under the roof of that tenement-house was dearer to her than those open balconies, and all the flowers that draped them, for there _he_ had held her hand quietly in his. There he had “looked, though he was seldom talking of love.” She was glad for her grandmother’s sake, and pleased that the boys, who worked so hard and were so good, would be for a time, at least, made more comfortable. As for herself, poor girl, her life was broken up. But for those dear ones she would have been glad to die, had God so willed it. Georgiana Halstead did not understand this. She knew nothing of Anna’s interview with Mrs. Savage; and deeming her possessed of a love for which she would have given so much, was both surprised and disappointed at a coldness which to her seemed want of feeling. In the exaltation of a most generous nature, she had found relief in carrying out the promise she had given Horace Savage; but she had expected more enthusiasm, more demonstrative happiness, from a girl who had darkened her own life in attaining the love which was so ready to lift her out of all that was disagreeable in her life.