r till twilight came on, and the rival Mary came
up to put them to bed, an operation in which she gave her assistance,
almost questioning if she were not forgotten, but she learnt that her
father was still in the house, the nurse believed looking at papers in
Mr. Henry's room with the other gentlemen.

'And you will sit by us while we go to sleep. Oh! don't go away!'

The nurse was thankful to her for so doing, and a somewhat graver mood
had come over Minna as she laid her head on her pillow, for she asked
the difficult question, 'Can mamma see us now?' which Mary could only
answer with a tender 'Perhaps,' and an attempt to direct the child to
the thought of the Heavenly Father; and then Minna asked, 'Who will
take care of us now?'

'Oh, will you?' cried Ella, sitting up; and both little maids, holding
out their arms, made a proffer of themselves to be her little children.
They would be so good if she would let them be--

Mary could only fondle and smile it off, and put them in mind that they
belonged to their brother and sister; but the answer was, 'Ave is not
so nice as you. Oh, do let us--'

'But I can't, my dears. I am Dr. May's child, you know. What could I
say to him?'

'Oh! but Dr. May wouldn't mind! I know he wouldn't mind! Mamma says
there was never any one so fond of little children, and he is such a
dear good old gentleman.'

Mary had not recognized him as an old gentleman at fifty-eight, and did
not like it at all. She argued on the impracticability of taking them
from their natural protectors, and again tried to lead them upwards,
finally betaking herself to the repetition of hymns, which put them to
sleep. She had spent some time in sitting between them in the summer
darkness, when there was a low tap, and opening the door, she saw her
father. Indicating that they slept, she followed him out, and a
whispered conference took place as he stood below her on the stairs,
their heads on a level.

'Tired, Mary? I have only just got rid of old Axworthy.'

'The nurse said you were busy with papers in Henry's room.'

'Ay--the Will. Henry behaves very well; and is full of right feeling,
poor fellow!'

'What becomes of those dear little girls? They want to make themselves
a present to me, and say they know you would like it.'

'So I should, the darlings! Well, as things are left, it all goes to
Henry, except the L10,000 Ward had insured his life for, which divides
between the five. He unde