"Happiness comes from the inner room," said Aunt Hildy; "silver and gold
and acres of land couldn't make a blind man see."
Her comparisons were apt, and her ideas pebbles of wisdom, clear and
white, gathered from experience and polished by suffering. Both she and
Clara were books which I read daily. How differently they were written!
and then how different from both was the wisdom of a mother whose light
seemed daily to grow more beautiful. It seemed when I thought of it as
if no one had ever such good teachers. And now if I could only break
these knots which had been tangled through Mr. Benton's misunderstanding
of me, there seemed no reasonable excuse for not progressing. Church
affairs had been happily regulated, so far as Mr. Davis and our few
nearer friends were concerned, and the sermon on good deeds which he
preached the Sabbath after his visit to us was more than worthy of him.
Clara said, "He talked of things he really knew; facts are more
beautiful than fancies."
"And stand by longer," added Aunt Hildy.
Louis was to come on the first of July, his mother not deeming it
advisable for him to study through that month; but Mr. Benton preceded
him and came the first day of June. It was a royal day, and he entered
the door while the purplish tinge of sunset covered the hills and lay
athwart the doorway.
"Home again," was his first salutation.
"Very welcome," said Hal and father; mother met him cordially, and I
came after them with Clara at my side, and only said:
"How do you do, Mr.
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