live in it or I'll
die in it. I'll never leave it."

This was almost the last word that passed this delightful afternoon,
when the sense of her own past injustice, the thrilling nature of the
story told by the very sufferer, and, above all, the presence and the
undisguised emotion of another sympathizing woman, thawed Grace Carden's
reserve, warmed her courage, and carried her, quite unconsciously, over
certain conventional bounds, which had, hitherto, been strictly observed
in her intercourse with this young workman.

Henry himself felt that this day was an era in his love. When he left
the door, he seemed to tread on air. He walked to the first cab-stand,
took a conveyance to his mother's door, and soon he was locked in her
arms.

She had been fretting for hours at his delay; but she never let him
know it. The whole place was full of preparations for his comfort, and
certain delicacies he liked were laid out on a little side board,
and the tea-things set, including the silver teapot, used now on high
occasions only.

She had a thousand questions to ask, and he to answer. And, while he
ate, the poor woman leaned back, and enjoyed seeing him eat; and,
while he talked, her fine eyes beamed with maternal joy. She reveled
deliciously in his health, his beauty, and his safe return to her;
and thought, with gentle complacency, they would soon return to London
together.

In the morning, she got out a large, light box, and said. "Harry, dear,
I suppose I may as well begin to pack up. You know I take longer than
you do."

Henry blushed. "Pack up?" said he, hesitatingly. "We are not going
away."

"Not going away, love? Why you agreed to leave, on account of those
dreadful Unions."

"Oh, I was ill, and nervous, and out of spirits; but the air of
Cairnhope has made a man of me. I shall stay here, and make our
fortune."

"But the air of Cairnhope has not made you friends with the unions."
She seemed to reflect a moment, then asked him at what time he had left
Cairnhope.

"Eleven o'clock."

"Ah! And whom did you visit before you came to me?"

"You question me like a child, mother."

"Forgive me, dear. I will answer my own question. You called on some one
who gave you bad advice."

"Oh, did I?"

"On some woman."

"Say, a lady"

"What does it matter to me?" cried Mrs. Little, wildly. "They are all my
enemies. And this one is yours. It is a woman, who is not your mother,
for she thinks more of herself than o