ergreen
Dead lily-bells lie low, and in their place
A rounded disk of pearly pink is seen,
Which tells not of the lily's fragrant grace:
No answer stirs the shining air,
As I ask "Where?"

This morning's sunrise does not show to me
Seed-film or fruit of my sweet yesterday;
Like falling flowers, to realms I cannot see
Its moments floated silently away:
No answer stirs the shining air,
As I ask, "Where?"

As he read the last verse, his face altered. Mercy was watching him.

"I thought you wouldn't like the last verse," she said eagerly. "But,
indeed, it doesn't mean doubt. I know very well no day dies; but we can't
see the especial good of each single day by itself. That is all I meant."

Parson Dorrance came closer to Mercy: they were both standing. He laid one
hand on her' head, and said,--

"Child, it was a 'sweet yesterday' wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes," said Mercy, still absorbed in the thought of the poem. "The
day was as sweet as the flowers. But all days are heavenly sweet out of
doors with you and Lizzy," she continued, lifting one hand, and laying it
caressingly on the hand which was stroking her hair.

"O Mercy! Mercy! couldn't I make all days sweet for you? Come to me,
darling, and let me try!" came from Parson Dorrance's lips in hurried and
husky tones.

Mercy looked at him for one second in undisguised terror and bewilderment.
Then she uttered a sharp cry, as of one who had suddenly got a wound, and,
burying her face in her hands, sank into a chair and began to cry
convulsively.

Parson Dorrance walked up and down the room. He dared not speak. He was
not quite sure what Mercy's weeping meant; so hard is it, for a single
moment, to wrench a great hope out of a man's heart. But, as she continued
sobbing, he understood. Unselfish to the core, his first thought was, even
now, "Alas! now she will never let me do any thing more for her. Oh, how
shall I win her back to trust me as a father again?"

"Mercy!" he said. Mercy did not answer nor look up.

"Mercy!" he repeated in a firmer tone. "Mercy, my child, look up at me!"

Docile from her long habit and from her great love, Mercy looked up, with
the tears streaming. As soon as she saw Parson Dorrance's face, she burst
again into more violent crying, and sobbed out incoherently,--

"Oh! I never knew it. It wouldn't be right."

"Hush, dear! Hush!" said the Parson, in a voice of tender authority. "I
have done wrong; and y