ipper untied her bonnet strings, and alter looking
vacantly for some moments into a little black teapot that was set forth
with the usual homely service on the table, shook her head and a tin
canister, and began unasked to make the tea.

In the meantime Florence had turned again to the Instrument-maker, who
was as full of admiration as surprise. 'So grown!' said old Sol. 'So
improved! And yet not altered! Just the same!'

'Indeed!' said Florence.

'Ye--yes,' returned old Sol, rubbing his hands slowly, and considering
the matter half aloud, as something pensive in the bright eyes looking
at him arrested his attention. 'Yes, that expression was in the younger
face, too!'

'You remember me,' said Florence with a smile, 'and what a little
creature I was then?'

'My dear young lady,' returned the Instrument-maker, 'how could I forget
you, often as I have thought of you and heard of you since! At the very
moment, indeed, when you came in, Wally was talking about you to me, and
leaving messages for you, and--'

'Was he?' said Florence. 'Thank you, Walter! Oh thank you, Walter! I was
afraid you might be going away and hardly thinking of me;' and again she
gave him her little hand so freely and so faithfully that Walter held it
for some moments in his own, and could not bear to let it go.

Yet Walter did not hold it as he might have held it once, nor did its
touch awaken those old day-dreams of his boyhood that had floated past
him sometimes even lately, and confused him with their indistinct and
broken shapes. The purity and innocence of her endearing manner, and
its perfect trustfulness, and the undisguised regard for him that lay
so deeply seated in her constant eyes, and glowed upon her fair face
through the smile that shaded--for alas! it was a smile too sad to
brighten--it, were not of their romantic race. They brought back to his
thoughts the early death-bed he had seen her tending, and the love the
child had borne her; and on the wings of such remembrances she seemed to
rise up, far above his idle fancies, into clearer and serener air.

'I--I am afraid I must call you Walter's Uncle, Sir,' said Florence to
the old man, 'if you'll let me.'

'My dear young lady,' cried old Sol. 'Let you! Good gracious!'

'We always knew you by that name, and talked of you,' said Florence,
glancing round, and sighing gently. 'The nice old parlour! Just the
same! How well I recollect it!'

Old Sol looked first at her, then at hi