ast!

"Ever with love, dear mother,

BART."

Mrs. Ridgeley received and read the letter in the store. While she was
absorbed in it. Mrs. Markham came in, and was struck by the expression
of her face. As she finished the perusal, she discovered Mrs. Markham,
and her look of recognition induced the latter to approach her. The
incidents of the last few weeks had silently ripened the liking of
the two women into a very warm and cordial feeling. As Mrs. Markham
approached, the other gave her her hand, and held out Bart's letter.
Mrs. Markham received it, and as her eye ran over it, Mrs. Ridgeley
could easily see the look of pleasure and warmth that lit up her face.

"Oh, by all means," she said, "tell him not hesitate a moment.
Providence has sent him a friend, and means, and his pride should not
be in the way of this offer."

"He is proud," said Mrs. Ridgeley, gravely; "but it is not wholly
pride that makes him hesitate."

"Pardon me," said Mrs. Markham, "I don't mean to blame him; I
sympathize with even his pride, and admire him for the very qualities
that prevented his allowing us to aid him, and I hope those high
qualities will never lose a proper influence over him."

The mother was a little more than appeased.

"Am I to read the rest?"

"Certainly."

And she resumed. A little graver she looked at one or two lines, and
then the sweet smile and light came back to her face; and she handed
back the letter.

"What a treasure to you this son must be," she said; and she again
urged her to write to Bart at once, and induce him to accept the kind
offer made to him.

Mrs. Ridgeley explained who Miss Aikens was, and her relations to
Henry; that Miss Giddings was the daughter of the member of Congress,
&c. Mrs. Markham had noticed that Bart spoke of them as "ladies," and
not as young ladies, though what mental comment she made upon it was
never known.

People in the country go by the almanac, instead of by events, as in
cities; and May quickened into June, June warmed into July, and ran on
to fervid August. Quiet ruled in the Ridgeley cottage, rarely broken,
save when Julia galloped up and made a pleasant little call, had a
game of romps with George, a few quick words with Edward; an enquiry,
or adroit circumlocution, would bring out Bart's name, which the young
lady would hear with the most innocent air in the world. She always
had some excuse; she was going, returning to, or from some sick
person, or on some k