ant a way as ever she had planned for the
other. More so, for Sadie's wildest flights of fancy had never made
her valedictorian of her class, yet that she certainly was. In some
respects it had been a merry day--the long sealed letters had been
opened and read by their respective holders that morning, and the
young ladies had discovered, amid much laughter and many blushes, that
they were ready to pronounce many of the expressions which they had
carefully made only two years before, "ridiculously out of place" or
"absurdly sentimental."

"Progress," said Mr. Hammond, turning for a moment to Sadie, after he
had watched with an amused smile the varying play of expression on her
speaking face, while she listened to the reading of her letter.

"You were not aware that you had improved so much in two years, now,
were you?"

"I was not aware that I ever was such a simpleton!" was her
half-provoked, half-amused reply.

To-night she loitered strangely in the parlors, in the halls, on the
stairs, talking aimlessly with any one who would stop; it was growing
late. Mrs. Ried and the children had long ago departed. Dr. Van Anden
had not yet returned from his evening round of calls. Every body in
and about the house was quiet, ere Sadie, with slow, reluctant steps,
finally ascended the stairs and sought her room. Arrived there, she
seemed in no haste to light the gas; moonlight was streaming into the
room, and she put herself down in front of one of the low windows to
enjoy it. But it gave her a view of the not far distant cemetery, and
gleamed on a marble slab, the lettering of which she knew perfectly
well was--"Ester, daughter of Alfred and Laura Ried, died Sept. 4,
18--, aged 19. Asleep in Jesus--Awake to everlasting life." And that
reminded her, as she had no need to be reminded, of a letter with
the seal unbroken, lying in her writing-desk--a letter which she had
promised to read this evening--promised the one who wrote it for her,
and over whose grave the moonlight was now wrapping its silver robe.
Sadie felt strangely averse to reading that letter; in part, she
could imagine its contents, and for the very reason that she was still
"halting between two opinions," "almost persuaded," and still on that
often fatal "almost" side, instead of the "altogether," did she wait
and linger, and fritter away the evening as best she could, rather
than face that solemn letter. Even when she turned resolutely from the
window, and light