looked for a few moments at the stranger, and met the expression of her kind truthful eyes. She felt that Jessie was to be loved and trusted; she took her new daughter into her arms and blessed her.
Few people look their best after a long sea voyage through hot latitudes, and Mr. Copeland thought his son might have picked up a prettier wife in England. The Scotch accent, too, grated a little on his unaccustomed ears, and Mrs. George had no style with her whatever. But the mother's instinct assured her that George was a happy and a fortunate man. During all the conversation, while her ears were listening for what George had to say and how his father took the news, her eyes were resting complacently on the quiet unpretending young woman who said so little, but that little always to the point. Jessie listened with interest to all the talk of the village and parish matters and farming affairs, appearing to know something of the people, or if she did not, trusting to gather some clue from the conversation, and not interrupting the current of talk with enquiries as to the who, the when, and the whereabout of each narration. If her opinion was required, or any question asked about Australia which she could answer, she spoke sensibly and properly, and she
