She went into the house, stopping a moment in the hall to take off her hat and fur-trimmed coat, and then, pushing aside the portière, she entered the bright, pretty room, where her mother sat reading. The light from the fire, blazing on the andirons, flickered over the walls, showing a few fine pictures, some dainty bits of bric-à-brac, and, scattered around and among all, many books. But the prettiest thing in the room was the white-haired woman who sat by the table in a low chair. Her gentle expression and the loving, kindly look in her eyes plainly spoke the word mother; and a real mother she was, not only to her own flock, now all married and gone except this one daughter, but as well to all the young men and maidens, boys and girls, that ever came into her way. Years of delicate health had kept her much at home, but her parlor was the favorite resort of love-lorn maidens, ambitious youths, and small urchins whose broken kite-tails needed prompt attention. Not one of them left her without feeling better for her loving words of advice or consolation; her ears were always open, and to each she could and did give the one thing most needed.
