"Yes," said Florence, "and from that moment my life changed entirely. Oh, Susie, you can not imagine how lonesome I used to feel, for uncle seldom spoke to me, and I felt that I never could get used to so many strange faces, and I kept wishing myself back with Bessie. But no; our home was broken up. When papa died, mamma only lived a week longer, and after that, where were we to go? Mamma's sister Rebecca was with us at the time, and offered to take one of us, which was a great deal, for she has a large family of her own, and then she wrote to uncle to take the other. He chose me, because I was named after mamma, and I suppose he fancied I would look like her, whereas Bessie is her very image. Well, when I got here, uncle met me at the dépôt, asked one or two questions, and then we rode to Maplewood without another word. I was too homesick to talk. So things went on, one day exactly like another, with simply a Good-morning and Good-night to begin and end up the day. I often found money and other presents in my room, and, oh! how I longed to send each thing on to Bessie, but I really was afraid to ask if I could. But I must hurry on to the red-letter day of my life, the 20th of May. That day, at dinner, after the scene at school, uncle praised my high standing, and began to ask me about Bessie. I showed him her photograph, and he looked a long time at it, murmuring something about 'Florence of long ago,' and asked me if she didn't look a great deal like mamma. 'Everybody used to speak of the wonderful resemblance,' I answered. 'Well,' said he, 'we must have a larger picture of her.' And what do you think he has done? Sent on to have Bessie's portrait painted, and I'm to have it for my room."
"The tears are for joy," continued Florence, in answer to Susie's earnest, "Oh, this is enough! don't tell me any more."
"Uncle grew more and more kind. He seemed to enjoy planning for the May party, and you'll see this afternoon some of the arrangements he has made. It has given him something to think of, which Dr. Folger said yesterday was the best thing in the world for one of his melancholy disposition. Uncle has said again and again, 'I'm glad you take an interest in your studies; it pleases me greatly.' And, Susie, I know all this happiness would never have come to me unless the girls had voted for me that day as they did. I know they used to think me selfish, for one morning—"
"What! you heard what Sadie said?"
"Yes; but I've made up for it since, haven't I? For I haven't been alone once since the day uncle said, 'You can take whoever you choose when you go out.' By that time I had lost all fear, and kissed and thanked him. And so things have gone on, each day better than the last. Uncle handed me a telegram this morning, which read, 'The portrait is on the way'; so we expect it by the first express. Susie, I can never thank you—never, as long as I live; all I can do is to tell you that, next to Bessie, I love you best of any one on earth."
There was a great lump in Susie's throat. She was crying softly, with her cheek against Florence's. At the gate Mrs. Kingman met them.
"Tell your mother all about it," called Florence, touching up the horse; and Susie did.
"To think it's all over!" said Susie, about seven o'clock that evening, as they were going down to supper. "Didn't Florence look lovely?"
"No lovelier than a certain maid of honor that crowned her," said papa, drawing Susie toward him.