t. Her voice grew thick and hoarse, while telling the story.
I was always glad we had that talk. It made us know her better. She
lived only a year after. She died in June, when the grass was green and
the roses were in bloom,--just a year from that Sabbath I spent at home,
that perfect day when I walked to meeting with Rachel up the grassy
lane. With sad hearts, we laid her to rest in a spot that she loved,
where the sweet-fern and wild-roses were growing,--with sad, grateful
hearts, for she had been to us as father, mother, and true friend. We
loved her for the affection she showed, and still more for that which we
knew she concealed within herself,--for the tenderness she would not let
be revealed.

The next year Rachel and I were married, thus making the month of June
trebly sacred. We had a double wedding; for the young minister, finding
that he had looked at Fanny too long for his own tranquillity, proposed
to mend matters in a way which no one whose faculties were not strangely
betwisted by love would ever have thought of. And my sister must either
have secretly liked the plan, or else have lost her old faculty of
managing; for, when he said, "Come, Fanny, and let us dwell together in
the parsonage," she went, just as quiet as a lamb.

Rachel and I remained, and do remain to this day, at the old house.
Fanny said we ought to go into the world,--that I might possibly become
brilliant, and Rachel would certainly be admired. But the first of these
suggestions had little weight with me; and Rachel said how nice it would
be to live here among the apple-trees, near Fanny, to read books, sing
songs, and so have a good time all our lives!

"And have nobody but Charley see how handsome you are!" exclaimed Fanny.

Rachel didn't color at this, but remarked, a little roguishly, that she
would rather have one of those sidelong looks I used to give her in the
old school-house than all the admiration in the world.

This was the time when I chose my profession, as mentioned in the
beginning. And I may say that we _have_ had a good time all our lives.
Yet we have known sorrow. Four times has the dark shadow fallen upon our
hearts; four sad processions have passed up the narrow lane; four little
graves, by the side of Aunt Huldah's, show where, standing together, we
wept tears of agony! Yet we stood together; and Rachel, who knew so
well, taught me how to bear. In every hour of anguish I have found
myself leaning upon the stron