My niece, Agnes, was a young lady in her nineteenth year, the
daughter of my brother. I had not seen her before since her
school-girl days; and knew little of her character. Her mother I had
always esteemed as a right-thinking, true-hearted woman. I was much
pleased to have a visit from Agnes, and felt drawn toward her more
and more every day. There was something pure and good about her.

"Now, Aggy, dear," said I to her, one morning after breakfast, as we
took our work and retired from the dining-room to one of the
parlors, where I was occasionally in the habit of sitting,--"we must
sew for dear life until dinner time, so as to finish these two
frocks for the children to wear this evening. It isn't right, I
know, to impose on you in this way. But you sew so quick and neatly;
and then it will help me through, and leave me free to visit Girard
College with you this afternoon."

"Don't speak of it, aunt," returned Agnes.--"I'm never happier than
when employed. And, besides, it's only fair that I should sew for
you in the morning, if you are to go pleasuring with me in the
afternoon."

Lightly the hours flew by, passed in cheerful conversation. I found
that the mind of my niece had been highly cultivated; that her
tastes were refined, and her moral sense acute. To say that I was
pleased with her, would but half express what I felt.

There was to be a juvenile party at the house of one of our
acquaintances that evening, to which the children were invited; and
we were at work in preparing dresses and other matters suitable for
them to appear in.