n she felt doubly attached to her mother. She was now the only
daughter; and though Mrs. Gordon seemed perfectly resigned, and even
cheerful, she knew that many lonely and solitary hours would come when
Mary was once more away. And James had so much to tell, for he, _too_,
was home for a few days of the spring vacation, the rest being passed
in the poor student's usual employment--school teaching. They would
wander away in the pleasant afternoon to the depths of the cool green
wood, and sit with the shadows playing about them, and the wind
whispering mystic prophecies as it wandered by, recalling for each
other the incidents of the past year, and speculating with the
hopefulness of eager youth, on the dim and unknown future.

A new friend sometimes joined them in their woodland walks. The young
pastor of the village church, who had sorrowed with them at their
sister's death, and who, having made Mary's acquaintance in a time of
deep affliction, felt more drawn toward her than if he had known her
happy and cheerful for many years. Somehow they became less and less
restrained in his presence, and at last James confided to him his
hopes and prospects. Mary was not by when the disclosure was made, or
she would have blushed at her brother's enthusiastic praise of the
unwavering self-denial which had led her away from home and friends,
and made her youth a season "of toil and endeavor;" and she might have
wondered why tears came to the eyes of their friend while he listened;
and why he so earnestly besought James to improve to the utmost the
advantages thus put before him. Allan Loring was alone in the world,
and almost a stranger to the people of his charge, for he had been
scarce a twelvemonth among them. Of a proud and somewhat haughty
family, and prejudiced by education, he had in early youth looked upon
labor of the hands as a kind of degradation; but the meek and humble
faith which he taught, and which had chastened his spirit, made him
now fully appreciate the loving and faithful heart, which Mary in
every act exhibited, and he looked upon her with renewed interest when
next they met.

Again the time drew near when Mary was to leave her home. A month had
passed of mingled shadow and sunshine within those dear walls. It was
hard to part with her mother, who seemed to cling more fondly than
ever to her noble-minded daughter; her father and Stephen, each in
their blunt, honest way, expressed their sorrow that the time of