"I want you to be quite rested after your long journey, dear," she said, "so as to be ready to make acquaintance with all the ins and outs of Denesfield." "Indeed, aunt," I replied, "I am not at all weary. It is very nice to travel when one leaves home so seldom." "True, my child. At sixteen, we know little of weariness; but when you rise, feeling fresh and looking bright in the morning, you will thank me for having given you a long night in bed." At breakfast we had much pleasant talk. Aunt Milly seemed anxious to hear as much as possible about those I had left behind. Nothing was uninteresting that related to my home. To me, the subject was a very delightful one. I have said before, that the members of our family realised the blessedness of dwelling "together in unity." So it was very sweet for me to be led on to speak of all its branches, and to picture our daily home-life to my aunt. "I have never yet seen Welland," Aunt Milly remarked; "but I hope to do so. Your father and mother went there just before I left England. I shall want to be really amongst you all in your own home, before I can know you properly. That cannot be just yet, so I must have the family piecemeal, at Denesfield, first." My aunt rose from the table as she spoke, and added, "I dare say you will like to go over the house and grounds, first of all." "I should like that better than anything, aunt, if you will go too." "Certainly, dear. You and I will be companions for a time, at any rate. Soon we shall have more of our neighbours about us; for some have called already, and you will find acquaintances nearer your own age." "I shall not care about them, aunt. I could not enjoy being with them more than with you." Aunt Milly smiled, and kissed my forehead. "I shall be glad to have you, Mildred; but I am not so selfish as to expect that you should give yourself wholly to me. Now, put on your hat, dear, and let us enjoy the fresh morning air." My aunt spent some time in showing me her lovely home and its surroundings. After rambling till we were tired, we sat down to rest, and I said: "Oh, Aunt Milly, this place is a perfect Paradise! What could any one desire that cannot be found at Denesfield!" "Once I should have said the same, Mildred," replied my aunt; "but for a long time past, Denesfield is the place I have least wished to see. You know why—I lost my dear husband; and then, though so much was left me, I closed my eyes to the light, and selfishly shut myself up with my great sorrow. But now, Mildred, I am able to look back, and thank God for the past happy years. I have been awakened from my selfish dreams to see that there is yet something left for me to do in the world, and that I have lost many an opportunity of comforting others during the years given up to nursing my own sorrow." I hardly knew what to say, except that we were all so glad at home to think of having Aunt Milly back in England again, and how we all hoped she would have many happy years.