Richard Everidge sat in his handsome library one evening in early summer, reading a letter from his only child, Muriel, the joy of his heart:

’MY DEAREST PAPA, We are stopping now in the quaintest little place, a veritable Sleepy Hollow, like its name, where Rip Van Winkle might have snoozed away for centuries without fear of being disturbed.

’As I advised you in my last, we were on our way to Farningham, when something went wrong with the engine, and we had to stop here for repairs, and mamma was so charmed with this little village that she decided to stay awhile; she says it seems to suit her better than any place she has seen; poor mamma, I wish I could find some place where she would be satisfied. To me all the world seems so beautiful, but she says no one knows how to sympathise with her peculiar organisation.

’That was Saturday. On Sunday morning I went to the little church, mamma was too tired, and now comes the best part of the story. I was looking round watching the different families, all in their Sunday best, coming in and getting seated, when suddenly a woman’s voice began to lead the little choir. I looked up with a start. She was tall and slender; and as she stood with lifted head singing her heart out, I don’t think I ever saw such a splendid carriage, even at the President’s reception in Washington. She looked like a princess among the plain farmer folk; for a crown she had a mass of lovely soft white hair, and the sweetest, clearest eyes I ever saw. When she was singing “Coronation” (which was quite appropriate for a princess) it seemed as if she would lift the whole congregation up to God.

’After the service I could not help watching her for a minute, for, as you will have imagined ere this, my silly heart went out to her at once. She was the centre of a group; every one seemed to have something to say to her, and she was so nice with them all, kissing the children, and having a bright smile and word for some of the most uninteresting women and stupid-looking boys I ever saw. Just as I was going out of the door I felt a soft touch upon my arm, and turned to find her beside me. I am free to confess I never received such a welcome to any church before.

’When I gave her my name she looked puzzled for a minute.

’"Everidge,” she repeated. “It is, it must be; she would be just about your age. I believe you are the little Muriel that my cousin Belle used to write about. You must come home with me at once: your father was my dear friend in the long ago.”

’And so here we are, ensconced with my princess. She has a wonderful way with her, for mamma came without making the slightest objection, and seems happier than I have seen her for months.

’There are just four in the family, besides Martha Spriggs, the funny old girl. My princess, and her two stepbrothers, Stephen and Lemuel, and Polly, who has been a sufferer from spinal trouble all her life.

’It is the quaintest old house, with low, small rooms, except on the east side, where Captain Lemuel has added two large rooms with the loveliest bay windows, which are always full of flowers and sunshine. I think the neighbours are horrified that they use them for common. You know country people always keep their best parlours done up in must and green paper; but the princess says, “Nothing is too good for Polly and the boys!” They just idolize her, and I fancy they have good reason to, for, as Stephen said, in his queer, blunt way, “she comes as near to an angel as any mortal ever will.” Captain Lemuel has been all over the world, and is very interesting. Mamma is so amused over his stories. Stephen is blunt, but I shouldn’t be afraid to trust him with every cent I owned, and Polly is just a bundle of sweetness and patience. I wish you could see how gentle these great, strong men are with her: Stephen won’t let any one but himself carry her to bed, and Lemuel is always ready to push her about in her wheel chair, and talk nonsense to her till she laughs and cries together.

And the princess! She is just everything to everybody. I cannot fancy what the house would be without her. I only hope she wont die before Polly, for Im sure it would kill her. She never takes her eyes off her when she is in the room, and when I teased her a little about it her eyes filled, and she cried softly:

’"It’s little wonder if I do love her, after thirty years of
such nursing as no one even dreamed of.” It made me almost wish
to be sick myself.

’She has such a merry, tender way with her. I do not wonder Lemuel says they don’t mind rainy weather since Pauline makes sunshine to order. And she is the busiest creature! I believe she carries the whole of Sleepy Hollow on her heart and shoulders. She seems to have all the destitute and afflicted under her wing, and dispenses beef-tea and Bible promises with the same liberal hand.

’Oh! Papa, I am so glad we were detained at Sleepy Hollow, for
at last I have found what I have been looking for an absolutely
Christ-like life. Your own little daughter, ‘MURIEL.’

Richard Everidge remained deep in thought for a long time after he had kissed the large, girlish signature; then he drew a sheet of paper towards him, and wrote, in his clear, bold hand:

’MY DARLING MURIEL, I knew your princess, as she says, in “the
long ago,” and she is, as you have found her, pure gold.

’Make the most of your visit, for, next to your Bible, she is
the best teacher you could have. Your loving ‘FATHER.’

The days lengthened into weeks and the Everidges were still at the Farm.

‘Why should you go?’ Pauline said, in her cheery, unanswerable way, when they spoke of leaving: ’it does us good to have you, and it does you good to be here,’ and Muriel and her mother were content.

‘Princess,’ said the girl one day, as she watched her moving lightly about the kitchen, ‘I envy you your altitude.’

Pauline laughed merrily.

’You dear child! Every one gets up the mountain if they keep on climbing.’

‘But I have not an atom of perseverance,’ sighed Muriel. ’Christianity seems such a tremendous undertaking to me.’

’Let me give you what was to me the beginning of all Gospels: “The kingdom of heaven is just as near us as our work is, for the gate of heaven for each soul lies in the endeavour to do that work perfectly.”

’But, princess, you are such a royal creature. It seems such a waste for you to be buried here.’

’The King never wastes, little one. If we have the angel aim and standard, we can consecrate the smallest acts. Don’t you know that “he who aims for perfectness in a trifle, is trying to do that trifle holily?"’

’You dear princess! You make me think of one of Murillo’s pictures in the Louvre, which we saw when we were abroad last year. It is the interior of a convent kitchen, and instead of mortals in old dresses doing the work, there are beautiful white-winged angels. One puts the kettle on the fire, and one is lifting up a pail of water, and one is at the kitchen dresser reaching up for plates.’

Pauline smiled.

’That is it exactly. How can anything we do be common when we remember our inheritance? You call me Princess, out of love, little one, but I am a princess in reality, for my Father is a King. Let me give you a good word which your father gave me long ago. “If you cannot realize your Ideal, you can at least idealize your Real.” I have been trying to do it ever since.’

‘That is just like papa,’ said Muriel, with a proud smile. ’He says you are “pure gold,” princess.’

‘Did Rich did your father say that? cried Pauline, and Muriel looked up to see a soft flush in her face, while her eyes shone. The Kings daughter is all glorious within, she repeated slowly, her clothing is of wrought gold. Then she chanted in her clear, triumphant voice:

’"They have clean robes,
White robes;
White robes are waiting for me!”

’Ah! little one, “the court dress of heaven differs somewhat from that of earth."’

‘But, princess,’ said Muriel wistfully, ’farm work and cooking and washing dishes over and over it seems such drudgery.’

A great light broke over her face, and she cried in a low, exultant tone:

’"Blessed be Drudgery!” Christ bore it for thirty years, why should I mind for forty-nine? I have only to wait a little now for the “fulness of joy” and “pleasures for evermore."’

Muriel threw her arms about her and kissed her softly.

‘Then our princess will be at home,’ she whispered, ’in the Palace of the King.’