A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep… - Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

When, two years before the time of our story, the school was in want of a mistress, Winifred Lee had presented herself before the churchwardens, and asked for the situation. She won upon them so much with her meek ways, that they gave it to her without any questioning. Only after all was settled, one of them, glancing at her mourning dress and her wedding-ring, observed that of course she was a widow, and without children, as such only were eligible to the situation. Winifred Lee answered, “No; that she was not a widow.” While she spoke, her cheek crimsoned, and her eyes filled with tears. The churchwarden was a kindhearted man, and asked no further, but said cheerfully that rules were made to be broken, and, whether widow or not, she should be the schoolmistress still. And more than this no one in the parish knew of Winifred Lee. Nevertheless, she was generally liked, for she had always some little kindness ready for every one; and in her own school she was warmly beloved.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

It is one of my decided opinions that married people ought to have no one, be the tie ever so close and dear, living permanently with them, to break the sacred duality — no, let me say the unity of their home.