ntifying for her
amusement the visitors whose approach up the garden walk she could not
safely leave her bed to see.

No privilege that the girl enjoyed under Valentine's roof was more
valued by her than this; for by the exercise of it, she was enabled to
make some slight return in kind for the affectionate attention of
which she was the constant object. Mrs. Blyth always encouraged her to
indicate who the different guests were, as they followed each other,
by signs of her own choosing,--these signs being almost invariably
suggested by some characteristic peculiarity of the person represented,
which her quick observation had detected at a first interview, and which
she copied with the quaintest exactness of imitation. The correctness
with which her memory preserved these signs, and retained, after long
intervals, the recollection of the persons to whom they alluded, was
very extraordinary. The name of any mere acquaintance, who came
seldom to the house, she constantly forgot, having only perhaps had
it interpreted to her once or twice, and not hearing it as others did,
whenever it accidentally occurred in conversation. But if the sign by
which she herself had once designated that acquaintance--no matter how
long ago--happened to be repeated by those about her, it was then
always found that the forgotten person was recalled to her recollection
immediately.

From eleven till three had been notified in the invitation cards as the
time during which the pictures would be on view. It was now long past
ten. Madonna still stood patiently by the window, going on with a new
purse which she was knitting for Valentine; and looking out attentively
now and then towards the road. Mrs. Blyth, humming a tune to herself,
slowly turned over the engravings in her portfolio, and became so
thoroughly absorbed in looking at them, that she forgot altogether how
time was passing, and was quite astonished to hear Madonna suddenly clap
her hands at the window, as a signal that the first punctual visitor had
passed the garden-gate.

Mrs. Blyth raised her eyes from the prints directly, and smiled as she
saw the girl puckering up her fresh, rosy face into a childish imitation
of old age, bending her light figure gravely in a succession of formal
bows, and kissing her hand several times with extreme suavity and
deliberation. These signs were meant to indicate Mrs. Blyth's father,
the poor engraver, whose old-fashioned habit it was to pay homage to