e;
but your mother's good constitution has pulled her through. And that
young doctor's just splendid! I haven't had much opinion of young
doctors heretofore. To be sure, there has been Dr. Fitch; but I think
Dr. Underhill works more as if his life depended on it. And if you
weren't very hungry, Charles, we might wait until your father comes
home. About seven, he said. I must confess that Cousin Maria has one of
the best and most faithful of husbands. He isn't sparing any expense,
either."

Charles flushed with delight to hear his father praised for his devotion
to his mother.

"I'd like to wait, Cousin Jane," he replied in an eager tone.

"I'll make a cup of tea and take a bit of bread and cold meat up to Mrs.
Bond. Then I'll come back and set the table."

She had lighted the lamps while she was talking, and Charles hurried up
with his neglected lessons, studying in earnest.

It was half-past seven when his father came in. No one fretted, however.
His brisk walk had given him a good colour, and his eyes had brightened.
He seemed so pleased that they had waited for him. Cousin Jane did make
events go on smoothly. The tea was hot, as he liked it; and there was a
plate of toast, of which he was very fond.

When he took out his paper, he said to Charles:--

"You might run over to the Deans and tell them the good news. They have
been so kind about inquiring. I wouldn't stay more than ten or fifteen
minutes."

He had not been over in a week, and they were glad to see him, as well
as to hear the hopeful tidings. But the girls had quite a bit of
casuistry in their talk that night as they were going to bed, partly as
to how Charles could be so glad, and partly whether one ought to be glad
under all circumstances, when events happened that did not really tend
to one's comfort.

"But Mary Dawson said she wasn't sorry when her stepmother died, and she
wouldn't tell a story about it. Her stepmother wasn't much crosser than
Mrs. Reed. You know Mrs. Dawson wouldn't let the girls go to
singing-school, and she made them wear their outgrown dresses, and she
did whip them dreadfully. I couldn't have been sorry either."

"But it would be awful not to have any one sorry when you were dead."

"I think," began Josie, gravely, "we ought to act so people _will_ be
sorry. If you are good and kind, and do things pleasantly--Mrs. Reed is
always doing; but I guess it is a good deal the _way_ you do. You see
mother and father do think