r, mother! let us
have a pleasant journey in the lovely weather!"

And now, that one stood at her side, who would have taken her in his
tender guardianship whithersoever she might choose--now that there was
no need for hesitancy in her wish--this child, who had never been beyond
the Hudson, who had thought longingly of Catskill, and Trenton, and
Niagara, and had seen them only in her dreams--felt, inexplicably, a
contrary impulse, that said within her, "Not yet!" Somehow, she did not
care, at this great and beautiful hour of her life, to wander away into
strange places. Its holy happiness belonged to home.

"Not now. Unless you wish it. Not on purpose. Take me with you, some
time, when, perhaps, you would have gone alone. Let it _happen_."

"We will just begin our quiet life, then, darling, shall we? The life
that is to be our real blessedness, and that has no need to give itself
a holiday, as yet. And let the workdays and the holidays be portioned as
God pleases?"

"It will be better--happier," Faith answered, timidly. "Besides, with
all this fearful tramping to war through the whole land, how can one
feel like pleasure journeying? And then"--there was another little
reason that peeped out last--"they would have been so sure to make a
fuss about us in New York!"

The adjuncts of life had been much to her in those restless days when a
dark doubt lay over its deep reality. She had found a passing cheer and
relief in them, then. Now, she was so sure, so quietly content! It was a
joy too sacred to be intermeddled with.

So a family group, only, gathered in the hillside parlor, on the fair
May morning wherein good, venerable Mr. Holland said the words that made
Faith Gartney and Roger Armstrong one.

It was all still, and bright, and simple. Glory, standing modestly by
the door, said within herself, "it was like a little piece of heaven."

And afterwards--not the bride and groom--but father, mother, and little
brother, said good-by, and went away upon their journey, and left them
there. In the quaint, pleasant home, that was theirs now, under the
budding elms, with the smile of the May promise pouring in.

And Glory made a May Day at the Old House, by and by. And the little
children climbed in the apple branches, and perched there, singing, like
the birds.

And was there not a white-robed presence with them, somehow, watching
all?

* * * * *

Nearly three months had gone. The ha