rope, she gave Laurel Hill no further thought, and settled quietly
down among the hills until her monotonous life was broken by the
birth of a son, the John Joel who, as she talked with J.C., slept
calmly in his crib.

"So you aint merried to her," she kept repeating, her anger at her
husband's treacherous memory fast decreasing. "I kinder thought her
losin' my money might make a difference, but you're jest as happy
with Nellie, aint you?"

The question was abrupt, and J.C. colored crimson as he tried to
stammer out an answer.

"Never you mind," returned Janet, noticing his embarrassment.
"Married life is just like a checker-board, and all on us has as much
as we can do to swaller it at times; but you would of been happy
with Maude, I know."

J.C. knew so, too, and long after he parted with Janet her last
words were ringing in his ears, while mingled with them was the
bitter memory, "It might perhaps have been."

But there was no hope now, and with an increased air of dejection he
went back to his cheerless home. They were housekeeping, Nellie and
himself, for Mrs. Kelsey had married again, and as the new husband
did not fancy the young people they had set up an establishment of
their own, and J.C. was fast learning how utterly valueless are
soft, white hands when their owner knows not how to use them. Though
keeping up an outside show, he was really very poor, and when he
heard of the doctor's misfortune he went to his chamber and wept as
few men ever weep. As Hannah well expressed it, "he was shiftless,"
and did not know how to take care of himself. This James De Vere
understood, and after the sale at Laurel Hill he turned his
attention to his unfortunate cousin, and succeeded at last in
securing for him the situation of bookkeeper in a large
establishment in New York with which he was himself remotely
connected. Thither about Christmas J.C. and Nellie went, and from
her small back room in the fifth story of a New York boarding-house
Nellie writes to Louis glowing descriptions of high life in the
city, and Louis, glancing at his crutches and withered feet, smiles
as he thinks how weary he should be climbing the four flights of
stairs which lead to that high life.

And now, with one more glance at Maude, we bring our story to a
close. It is Easter, and over the earth the April sun shines
brightly, just as it shone on the Judean hills eighteen hundred
years ago. The Sabbath bells are ringing, and the merry peal