much good we
may do, by speaking according to our conscience.

The Featherfew girls had a very nice time, and went away well pleased;
but they told their mamma that the Evans children were very droll.

"It's the way they have been brought up, I imagine," said Mrs.
Featherfew.

Two or three days after that, the children were in a part of the garden,
in which was a bridge over a darling little brook, as Edith called it.
They were expecting their parents by the first steamer, and Johnnie had
been gathering a basket of the ripest and reddest cherries he could
find, to have them all ready for offering to mamma on her arrival. As he
was running lightly over the bridge, his foot slipped, and he came near
falling in, but Edith and Mabel flew to the rescue, and held him up by
his cap, and his curls, and his arm, till he recovered his balance. One
foot was very wet. It had gone "way, way in," and in that condition,
splashed and barefoot, for he pulled off the wet boot and stocking, he
went back to the house with the girls.

Just as they reached the front door, a carriage drove up. A gentleman
sprang out, and lifted a lady next, and the servants began to take off
the bags and trunks. Could that be mamma? It needed only a glance to
satisfy the eager children, and in a moment all three were rapturously
hugging and kissing her and their father.

[Illustration]

Mamma had grown quite plump and rosy. She was ever so much better, and
Johnnie asked, the first thing, whether she could bear a noise now.

"A little noise, dear, I hope," she said smiling. It had been a great
trial to Johnnie to keep so still as had been necessary when they were
at home.

"She is not so very strong yet, Master John," said Mr. Evans. "I'm
afraid an earthquake or a volcano would use her up. We'll have to take
care of her yet awhile."

But the children found that they had gotten their old mamma back. She
was a great deal nicer than anybody else, they thought.

That night, when it grew almost bedtime, and Chloe appeared as usual at
the parlor door, with the candles on a silver tray, and the great silver
snuffers, ready to light the young folks up stairs, they went and kissed
their father and mother and Aunt Maria for good night. But when they
were undressed, and the little dresses and skirts were hung smoothly
over the chairs, the little shoes and stockings set side by side on the
floor, and the little nightgowns on, somebody came quietly in, somebod