.
Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a pretty
figure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quiet
self-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And the
face,--but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It was
not the fair features; they _were_ fair, but she had seen others as
fair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had never
seen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connection
with shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien,
which had nothing to do with external position or internal
consciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of a
child, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mental
power. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, the
dress and the apron were of a style--well, of no style; the plainest
attire of a plain country girl.

"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like to
come out at once, and see the rest of the family?"

"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Lois
opened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of the
family. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair.

"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up.

"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you."

Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyed
the room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight,
and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, and
various little tokens of domestic occupation.

"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!"

"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "but
that room has only a grate."

"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the new
guest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire."

"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says."

"Miss Lois has been to the great city, then?"

"Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wishart, likes to have her,
and Lois was there quite a spell last winter; but I expect that's the
end of it. I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life."

"Why should she?"

"Here's where her work is," said the old lady; "and one is best where
one's work is."

"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were a
man, I think I should fall in love with he