their way along, where under other circumstances they would not have
glanced, would have thought it improper to glance.

They were directed through an old, old house, out on an old, old
gallery, to a room at the very extreme end.

"Poor thing! Evidently she has not heard the good news yet. We will
be the first to communicate it," they whispered, standing before the
dilapidated, withered-looking door.

Before knocking, they listened, as it is the very wisdom of discretion
to do. There was life inside, a little kind of voice, like some one
trying to hum a song with a very cracked old throat.

The ladies opened the door. "Ah, my friend!"

"Ah, my friend!"

"Restored!"

"Restored!"

"At last!"

"At last!"

"Just the same!"

"Exactly the same!"