there's anything else you should want, I reckon Hepsey will know
where to find it. Hoping that this will find you enjoying the great
blessing of good health, I remain,

"Your Affectionate Aunt,

"JANE HATHAWAY.

"P. S. You have to keep a lamp burning every night in the east window of
the attic. Be careful that nothing catches afire."

The maid was waiting, in fear and trembling, for she did not know what
directions her eccentric mistress might have left.

"Everything is all right, Hepsey," said Miss Thorne, pleasantly, "and I
think you and I will get along nicely. Did Miss Hathaway tell you what
room I was to have?"

"No'm. She told me you was to make yourself at home. She said you could
sleep where you pleased."

"Very well, I will go up and see for myself. I would like my tea at six
o'clock." She still held the letter in her hand, greatly to the chagrin
of Hepsey, who was interested in everything and had counted upon a peep
at it. It was not Miss Hathaway's custom to guard her letters and she
was both surprised and disappointed.

As Ruth climbed the narrow stairway, the quiet, old-fashioned house
brought balm to her tired soul. It was exquisitely clean, redolent of
sweet herbs, and in its atmosphere was a subtle, Puritan restraint.

Have not our houses, mute as they are, their own way of conveying an
impression? One may go into a house which has been empty for a long
time, and yet feel, instinctively, what sort of people were last
sheltered there. The silent walls breathe a message to each visitor, and
as the footfalls echo in the bare cheerless rooms, one discovers where
Sorrow and Trouble had their abode, and where the light, careless
laughter of gay Bohemia lingered until dawn. At night, who has not heard
ghostly steps upon the stairs, the soft closing of unseen doors, the
tapping on a window, and, perchance, a sigh or the sound of tears? Timid
souls may shudder and be afraid, but wiser folk smile, with reminiscent
tenderness, when the old house dreams.

As she wandered through the tiny, spotless rooms on the second floor of
Miss Hathaway's house, Ruth had a sense of security and peace which
she had never known before. There were two front rooms, of equal size,
looking to the west, and she chose the one on the left, because of its
two south windows. There was but one other room, aside from the small
one at the end of the hall, which, as she supposed, was Hepsey's.

One of the closets was empty, but on