ded it was a small portion of the refreshments that
had escaped her notice.

Afterwards they went down to the harbor from which the bride and groom
were to sail.

"Like the owl and the pussy cat," said Ethelwyn, cheerfully.

As they kissed their friend good-bye, they placed around her neck a
pretty chain, hanging from which was a medallion with their pictures
painted on it.

"You can look at us when you get lonesome," suggested Beth.

The last good-bye was said, and they drove sadly home in a fine,
drenching rain that had suddenly fallen like a vail over their golden
day.

'Vada had started the open fires and they were cheerfully cracking,
while Polly from her pole croaked crossly, "Shut up, do! Quit making all
that fuss!"

Mrs. Rayburn took Aunty Stevens away with her, and by and by in the
afternoon, they found her tucked up on the couch in their sitting-room
looking somewhat happier.

"Aren't you glad you have us, and specially mother?" asked Beth, kissing
her.

There was only one answer possible to this, and it was given with such
emphasis that Ethelwyn nodded and said, "That's the way we feel. Mother
knows how to fix things right better'n anybody, unless it should be
God."

"Let's sing awhile, sister, while mother thinks of a story or two,"
suggested Beth.

So they squatted in front of the grate and sang,

"Chick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee,
I am so glad that Jesus loves me."

Then they sang what they called "Precious Julias,"

"Little children who love Mary Deemer."

"Why," Beth stopped to ask, "does it say Precious Julias when it's 'bout
Mary Deemer, sister?"

"Middle name, prob'ly," answered Ethelwyn; "anyway that's Mary Deemer,"
pointing to a picture of Murillo's "Magdalene," "and the reason that
she's loved by children, is because she is pretty and good. If you are
good, Elizabeth, people will love you."

"I'm as good as you are, anyway," began Beth wrathfully, when she saw
Nan in the doorway.

"May I come in?" she asked, wistfully. "Mother has a headache, father's
gone fishing in a boat, and I've a toothpick in my side."

"Come in, deary," said Mrs. Rayburn, who felt an infinite pity for
sturdy little Nan, with her invalid mother. "Bless me, what cold hands!
What's this thing you have in your side?" she continued, cuddling Nan up
in her lap.

Nan breathed a contented breath. "O, it's gone now. It's a sharp,
pointed thing that sticks me when I'm lonesome."

"We're havin