sy, very busy, and
very happy indoors. She sat sewing in the cool, beautiful library, and
the house door was open.

When Randolph excused himself from Nannie by-and-by to talk with a man
who called on business, the latter started toward the house. On the
gallery she paused, for she heard Constance's voice within, and she
did not care to go to her. There was a hammock, shaded by a vine,
near at hand, and she crept into this, and lying there the waves of
Constance's low, sweet voice, mingled with the perfume of the
honeysuckle, stole out to her and stirred new longings. Nannie leaned
forward and caught a glimpse of Constance, who was at work, doing some
of that fine sewing which gentlewomen love to put upon things of sweet
value. Nannie could not discern what it was, but as Constance shifted
the contents of her work basket a little article came in sight, and
all at once Nannie felt, as it were, an imprisoned soul within her
fluttering against the bars of its cage.

Dickens tells of a character whose unworthy life had apparently
extinguished the divine spark, and yet, down deep within her, at the
end of a tortuous passage, there was a door, and over this door was
the word womanhood. Nannie had such a door, and at sight of that tiny
article of clothing it opened. The girl's heart--the woman's heart was
crying out now, and her eyes were dim with tears she did not
understand.

All unconscious of the pathos of the scene, Constance plied her dainty
needle, and in a sweet low voice talked with a young girl (Gertrude
Earnest) who sat at her feet.

"A story?"

"Yes, please, Mrs. Chance."

Constance, you must know, was a story teller--not of a reprehensible
sort, but a legitimate, orthodox one, and locally she was not without
honor on this account.

"Well, then, long, long ago," she began, "in the dim dawn of creation,
the gods looked down upon man whom they had made, and realized that he
was but a poor piece of work.

"'He needs other gifts,' said one.

"'Yea, verily,' murmured another, 'but they are fraught with such
peril!'

"'Nevertheless he must have at least one more. He must not continue
unconscious even of what is taking place around him--the acts of which
he himself is a part.'

"And so they sent a spirit whose eyes were large and somber, and
mankind received her with open arms, not knowing that her name was
Realization. Endowed with this immortal gift, they no longer groveled,
for they knew what was passi