darling!" said the old lady, kissing Ida's hand, as if she
were a queen who had conferred an order of merit upon her. "I think that
to have to confess to their youthful selves their failures to fulfil
their expectations must be the hardest part of the Day of Judgment for
old folks who have wasted their lives. All will not find so gentle a
judge as mine."

Her eyes were full of happy tears.

In the latter part of the afternoon they took a walk in the village, and
Ida pressed her companion with a multitude of inquiries about the members
of the families which had occupied the houses, forty and fifty years
before, and what had since become of them; to reply to which taxed Miss
Ludington's memory not a little.

As they came to the schoolhouse Ida ran on ahead, and when her companion
entered, was already seated in Miss Ludington's old seat. Nothing,
perhaps, could have brought home to the latter more strongly the nature
of her relationship to Ida than to stand beside her as she sat in that
seat.

As they fell to talking of the scholars who had sat here and there, Miss
Ludington began gently to banter Ida about this and that boyish
sweetheart, and divers episodes connected with such topics.

"This is unfair," said the girl, smiling. "It is a very one-sided
arrangement that you should remember all my secrets while I know none of
yours. It is as if you had stolen my private journal."

A subtle coyness, an air of constraint, and of shy, curious observance,
which had marked Ida's manner toward Miss Ludington in the early part of
the day, had noticeably given way under the influence of the latter's
blithe affectionateness, and it was with arms about each other's waists
that the two sauntered back to the house, in the twilight.

"I scarcely know what to call you," said Ida. "For me to call you Ida, as
you call me, would be and, besides, you are so much older than I it would
seem hardly fitting."

Miss Ludington laughed softly.

"On the score of respect, my darling, you need not hesitate," she said,
"for it is you who are the elder Miss Ludington, and I the younger, in
spite of my white hair. You are forty years older than I. It is I who owe
you the respect due to years. You are right, however; it would be
confusing for us to call each other by the same name, and still there is
no word in human language that truly describes our relationship."

"It seems to me it is more like that of sisters than any other,"
suggested Ida