ear," said Mrs. Overtheway.

* * * * *

Next morning the little old lady went to church as usual, and Ida was
at the window when she returned. When the child had seen her old
friend into the house she still kept her place, for the postman was
coming down the street, and it was amusing to watch him from door to
door, and to see how large a bundle of letters he delivered at each.
At Mrs. Overtheway's he delivered one, a big one, and an odd curiosity
about this letter took possession of Ida. She wished she knew what it
was about, and from whom it came, though, on the face of it, it was
not likely she would be much the wiser if she did. She was still at
the window when the door of the opposite house was opened, and the
little old lady came hurriedly out. She had only her cap upon her
head, and she held an open letter in her hand; _the_ letter, it was
evident. When she reached the little green gate she seemed to
recollect herself, and, putting her hand to her head, went back into
the house. Ida waited anxiously to see if she would come out again,
and presently she appeared, this time in her bonnet, but still with
the letter in her hand. She crossed the street, and seemed to be
coming to the house. Then the bell rang, and in she came. Ida's
curiosity became intense, and was not lessened by the fact that the
little old lady did not come to her, but stayed below talking with
some one. The old gentleman had not returned, so it must be Nurse.

At last the conversation came to an end, and Mrs. Overtheway came
upstairs.

She kissed Ida very tenderly, and inquired after her health; but
though she seemed more affectionate than usual, Ida felt persuaded
that something was the matter. She drew a chair to the fire, and the
old lady sat down, saying--

"May I stay a little with you, my dear?"

"Oh, thank you?" said Ida, and put a footstool for the old lady's
feet.

Mrs. Overtheway stroked her head tenderly for some time in silence,
and then said, in a gentle voice--

"I have something to tell you, my dear."

"Another story?" Ida asked. "Oh, thank you, if it is another story."

The old lady was silent, but at last she said, as if to herself--

"Perhaps best so," and added: "yes, my love, I will tell you a story."

Ida thanked her warmly, and another pause ensued.

"I hardly know where to begin, or what to tell you of this story,"
said the little old lady at last, seeming to falter for the fir