Nora's joy was complete when, on returning to the Deanery, she found her mother established in Miss Harleford's room, the two ladies discussing "old times" with many sighs and pressures of the hand, and many glances at the two girls who seemed to be living over again the happy past. And when, before the spring had fairly set in, the party were fairly settled at Harleford Manor, the Dean himself declared there was nothing to find fault with in the new arrangement. Penelope's restless little brain had found something to think about peacefully. Nora's good sense and American ways made her companionship most desirable. Penelope had no more hours of nothing to do; Nora gave a stimulus to all the two girls shared together, and before a year was over the people about Harleford had learned to acknowledge and respect Miss Mayne almost as completely as they did Miss Penelope.
"THE MANOR-HOUSE YOUNG LADIES."
The great grief of Nora's life—her mother's death—was softened by Penelope's gentle sympathy; and how tenderly were the widow's last days guarded! After that the bond was permanently strengthened between the two girls who visit the Deanery as sisters, who are known everywhere as the "Manor-House young ladies." Even Penelope's marriage, when it occurs, which every one says will be next year, after "Lion's" Indian days are over, will not separate the two girls, for Nora is to remain as "housekeeper and manager" of Harleford. "The consoler-general," Penelope calls her, and Aunt Letty declares she could not live without her "American niece."
Mrs. Bruce is a trusty friend of the Manor House, and it is astonishing how often the young ladies have to buy wools and silks in the little shop, and how often Mrs. Bates, the real housekeeper at the Manor, requires the good woman's company to tea. Mary Jane occupies a position of honor as Miss Harleford's own maid. If ever Nora requires a champion, she will find one in the honest-hearted country girl.
There is one treasure Nora guards always with a loving care. It is the little screen, with its faded colors and pretty lettering, and which her mother's hand held almost in dying. The other day, as I stood in Penelope's sitting-room, she and Nora and I talked over the story I have been telling you. Nora was called away, and Penelope followed her with a loving glance.
"Yes," she said, smiling, "that screen gave me a sister, and taught me what I never knew before—that even trouble, want, and sorrow can perfect our natures, and that there is no deeper satisfaction than in helping one another."
When Penelope had said this, I suddenly realized how my young friend had changed since she was in London two years ago. All the brightness and prettiness remained, but she had gained something higher. That evening dear old Miss Harleford held my hand while the two girls played a duet in the long old-fashioned drawing-room.
"Nora Phillips's daughter!" she whispered. "She has proved my Penelope's blessing."