had occupied the apartment with her
at the almshouse, but she was alone in a small, strange room. Then
memory gathered up the threads of the past; but so strange, so blessed
did the truth seem that she hastened to dress and go down to the old
kitchen and assure herself that her mind had not become shattered by
her troubles and was mocking her with unreal fancies. The scene she
looked upon would have soothed and reassured her even had her mind been
as disordered as she, for the moment, had been tempted to believe.
There was the same homely room which had pictured itself so deeply in
her memory the evening before. Now it was more attractive for the
morning sun was shining into it, lighting up its homely details with a
wholesome, cheerful reality which made it difficult to believe that
there were tragic experiences in the world. The wood fire in the stove
crackled merrily, and the lid of the kettle was already bobbing up and
down from internal commotion.

As she opened the door a burst of song entered, securing her attention.
She had heard the birds before without recognizing consciousness, as is
so often true of our own condition in regard to the familiar sounds of
nature. It was now almost as if she had received another sense, so
strong, sweet, and cheering was the symphony. Robins, song-sparrows,
blackbirds, seemed to have gathered in the trees nearby, to give her a
jubilant welcome; but she soon found that the music shaded off to
distant, dreamlike notes, and remembered that it was a morning chorus
of a hemisphere. This universality did not render the melody less
personally grateful. We can appreciate all that is lovely in Nature,
yet leave all for others. As she stood listening, and inhaling the
soft air, full of the delicious perfume of the grass and expanding
buds, and looking through the misty sunshine on the half-veiled
landscape, she heard Holcroft's voice, chiding some unruly animal in
the barnyard.

This recalled her, and with the elasticity of returning health and hope
she set about getting breakfast.

"It seems to me that I never heard birds sing before," she thought,
"and their songs this morning are almost like the music of heaven.
They seem as happy and unconscious of fear and trouble as if they were
angels. Mother and I used to talk about the Garden of Eden, but could
the air have been sweeter, or the sunshine more tempered to just the
right degree of warmth and brightness than here about my