“Never, I know as little of the great world as a callow nestling. No, I should not say that, for the young bird has no Aunt Belinda to tell of the great cathedrals and the wonderful music she has heard and the glorious pictures she has seen in her visits to the city. It is almost as good as travelling one’s self to hear Aunt Belinda talk.” It was now the turn of the mature plain woman to blush, which she did under Mr. Sylvester’s searching eye. “You have then been in the habit of visiting New York?” “I have been there twice,” she returned evasively. “Since my marriage?” “Yes sir;” with a firm closing of her lips. “I did not know you were there or I should have insisted upon your remaining at my house.” “Thank you,” said she with a quick triumphant glance at her demure little shadow, who looked back in amaze and was about to speak when Miss Belinda proceeded. “My visits usually have been on business; I should not think of troubling Mrs. Sylvester.” And then he knew that his wife had been aware of those visits if he had not. But he refrained from testifying to his discovery. “You speak of music,” said he, turning gently back to Paula. “Have you a taste for it? Would it make you happy to hear such music as your aunt tells about?” “O yes, I can conceive nothing grander than to sit in a church whose every line is beauty and listen while the great organ utters its song of triumph or echoes in the wonderful way it does, the emotions you have tried to express and could not. I would give a whole week of my life on the hills, dear as it is, for one such hour, I think.” Mr. Sylvester smiled. “It is a rare kind of coin to offer for such a simple pleasure, but it may meet with its acceptance, nevertheless;” and in his look and in his voice there was an appearance of affectionate interest that completed the subjugation of the watchful Miss Belinda, who now became doubly assured that whatever neglect had been shown her by her niece was not due to that niece’s husband. Mr. Sylvester recognized the effect he had produced and hastened to complete it, feeling that the good opinion of Miss Belinda would be valuable to any man. “I have been a boy on these hills,” said he, “and know what it is to long for what is beyond while enjoying what is present. You shall hear the organ my child.” And stopped, wondering to himself over the new sweet interest he seemed to take in the prospect of pleasures which he had supposed himself to have long ago exhausted. “Hear the organ, I? why that means—O what does it mean?” she inquired, turning with a look of beaming hope towards her aunt. “You must ask Mr. Sylvester,” that uncompromising lady replied, with a straightforward look at the fire. And he with a smile told the blushing girl that according to his reading, mortals went blindfold into fairy-land; and she understood what he meant and was silent, whereupon he turned the conversation upon more common-place subjects.