All Is Not Gold That Glitters by Ann Maria Hall

"There they go!" exclaimed old Mrs. Myles, looking after two exceedingly beautiful children, as they passed hand in hand down the street of the small town of Abbeyweld, to the only school, that had "Seminary for Young Ladies," written in large hand, on a proportionably large card, and placed against the bow window of an ivied cottage. "There they go!" she repeated; "and though I'm their grandmother, I may say a sweeter pair of children than Helen Marsh and Rose Dillon never trod the main street of Abbeyweld -- God bless them!" She added earnestly, "God Almighty bless them!"

"Amen!" responded a kind voice; and turning round, Mrs. Myles saw the curate of the parish, the Reverend Mr. Stokes, standing just at the entry of her own house. To curtsey with the respect which in the "good old times" was customary towards those who "meekly taught, and led the way," and invite the minister in, was the work of a moment; the next beheld Mrs. Myles and her visiter tete-a-tete in the widow's small parlour. It was a cheerful, pleasant room, such as is often met with in the clean villages of England. There were two or three pieces of embroidery, in frames of faded gilding; an old-fashioned semicircular card-table stood opposite the window, and upon it rested a filagree tea-caddy, based by a mark-a-tree work-box, flanked on one side by the Bible, on the other by a prayer-book; while on the space in front was placed "The Whole Art of Cookery," by Mrs. Glasse.