In hushed voices, with moist eyes; and faces shining with the light of other days, those grey-haired women talked together of the scenes which that homely old room had witnessed, the long-silent laughter, and the voices, no more heard on earth, with which it had once echoed.
There in the corner stood a great wrought-iron stove, the counterpart of the one around whose red-hot sides they had shivered, in their short dresses, on cold winter mornings.

On the walls hung the quaint maps of that period whence they had received geographical impressions, strangely antiquated now.

Along one side of the room ran a black-board, on which they had been wont to demonstrate their ignorance of algebra and geometry to the complete satisfaction of the master, while behind them as they sat was a row of recitation benches, associated with so many a trying ordeal of school-girl existence.
"Do you ever think where the girls are in whose seats we are sitting ?" said Mrs.Slater, musingly.

"I can remember myself as a girl, more or less distinctly, and can even be sentimental about her; but it doesn't seem to me that I am the same person at all; I can't realize it." "Of course you can't realize it.

Why should you expect to realize what is not true ?" replied Miss Ludington.
"But I am the same person," responded Mrs.Slater.
Miss Ludington regarded her with a smile.
"You have kept your looks remarkably, my dear," she said.