gs of Jack's ward. Her young
guardian, though not as gloomy as Aunt Rachel, looked unusually serious.

There was a cloud of anxiety even upon the cooper's usually placid face,
and he was more silent than usual at the evening meal. At night, after
Jack and his aunt had retired, he said, anxiously: "What do you think is
the cause of Ida's prolonged absence, Martha?"

"I can't tell," said his wife, seriously. "It seems to me, if her mother
wanted to keep her longer it would be no more than right that she should
drop us a line. She must know that we would feel anxious."

"Perhaps she is so taken up with Ida that she can think of no one else."

"It may be so; but if we neither see Ida to-morrow, nor hear from her, I
shall be seriously troubled."

"Suppose she should never come back," suggested the cooper, very
soberly.

"Oh, husband, don't hint at such a thing," said his wife.

"We must contemplate it as a possibility," said Timothy, gravely,
"though not, as I hope, as a probability. Ida's mother has an undoubted
right to her."

"Then it would be better if she had never been placed in our charge,"
said Martha, tearfully, "for we should not have had the pain of parting
with her."

"Not so, Martha," her husband said, seriously. "We ought to be grateful
for God's blessings, even if He suffers us to retain them but a short
time. And Ida has been a blessing to us all, I am sure. The memory of
that can't be taken from us, Martha. There's some lines I came across in
the paper to-night that express just what I've been sayin'. Let me find
them."

The cooper put on his spectacles, and hunted slowly down the columns of
the daily paper till he came to these beautiful lines of Tennyson, which
he read aloud:

"'I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.'"

"There, wife," he said, as he laid down the paper; "I don't know who
writ them lines, but I'm sure it's some one that's met with a great
sorrow and conquered it."

"They are beautiful," said his wife, after a pause; "and I dare say
you're right, Timothy; but I hope we mayn't have to learn the truth of
them by experience. After all, it isn't certain but that Ida will come
back."

"At any rate," said her husband, "there is no doubt that it is our duty
to take every means that we can to recover Ida. Of course, if her mother
insists upon keepin' her, we can't say anything;