She had no power to see them as types of great classes; they were just so many living people, whom she knew, and who, most of them, had been kind to her.

Whatever good there was in the vilest face, (and there was always something,) she was sure to see it.

The light made her poor eyes strong for that.
She liked to sit there in the evenings, being alone, yet never growing lonesome; there was so much that was pleasant to watch and listen to, as the cool brown twilight came on.

If, as Knowles thought, the world was a dreary discord, she knew nothing of it.

People were going from their work now,--they had time to talk and joke by the way,--stopping, or walking slowly down the cool shadows of the pavement; while here and there a lingering red sunbeam burnished a window, or struck athwart the gray boulder-paved street.