an
souls.

At home grandmother's difficult breathing has returned, and they have
had a troubled hour. But now she is all right, except that she will be
weaker to-morrow. Mrs. Underhill goes downstairs and bustles about the
supper as a relief from the strain. She makes a slice of
delicately-browned toast. Joe comes rushing in.

"I'm sorry, but the servant at the Dentons has cut her hand badly. Don't
wait supper for me," he exclaims.

"Jim has not come in, and no one can tell when those children will be
back. If the fair should keep open three months longer every one will be
dead with fatigue. Yes, we'll wait. I am going to take some toast up to
mother."

"The children!" Doctor Joe has a strange, guilty sort of feeling. What
if to-night should bring her a new son, as some future night will bring
her a new daughter?

Father Underhill sits on the front stoop reading his paper. He glances
up now and then. When he espies a small figure in soft gray with a
wide-brimmed leghorn hat, and a young man, he studies them more
attentively. What is this? She has the young man's arm,--that has gone
out of date for engaged people,--and her head inclines toward him. She
glances up and smiles.

And then a great pang rends the father's soul. They come nearer, and she
smiles to him; but, oh! there is a light in her face, a gladness shining
in her eyes, a tremulous sweetness about the mouth. Did he read all this
in her mother's face years and years ago? Did _her_ mother have this
awful pang that seems to wrench body and soul asunder?

They say good-evening and that it has been a glorious afternoon. The
young man will lose no time,--hasn't he been dangling three months
already?

"Mr. Underhill, may I see you a moment?"

How brave and sweet and assured the voice is! And he helps the little
girl up the steps, through the hall space, and the three stand in the
parlour, where the young man prefers his request with such a daring that
the elder man is almost dazed. Then the father holds out his arms as if
he was grasping for something lost. She comes to them, and her head is
on his breast, her hands reaching up to clasp him about the neck.

"And this little girl, too!"

His voice is broken, his face goes down to hers. The sweetest thing of
his life,--how can he give her up?

"Oh, father, father!" The cry is so entreating, so piteous, and he feels
the tears on her sweet face. "Oh, father, can I not love you both?"

She loosens one h