and dear as her daughter-in-law and her
little grandson were to her, she felt that her duty and her strongest
love recalled her to her husband and her home in the woods. She
returned to Pennsylvania, and took up again her life of daily care, but
she brought back little joy with her, although no word of discontent
escaped her. Her favorite seat was by the window looking east, and
there we often surprised her gazing with an intent look down the road.
When we would ask her if she was expecting any one, or for whom she was
looking, she would say with a startled expression, 'Oh, no one;' but we
always fancied that she was thinking of her early home that she had now
left forever.

"A year or two later, slowly, silently, and peacefully she passed away."

"I thought, auntie," said Gabrielle, "that you lived with mamma when
Pickie was a baby. I am sure I have heard her say that you helped her
to take care of him."

"That is true, dear," replied mamma, "but I did not remain in New York
at the time of which we are now speaking. I accompanied mother home to
Pennsylvania, and the following spring, when Pickie was a year old,
your mamma wrote to ask me to come back, and assist her in the care of
her beautiful boy. I remained with her until my marriage, consequently
Pickie became very near to me, and his death was almost as great a
shock to me as it was to his parents."

"Do tell us, mamma," said Marguerite, "about Pickie's childhood. I
have always heard that he was brought up in a very remarkable way, but
beyond the fact of Aunt Mary's great devotion to him, I know very
little concerning him."

"Your Aunt Mary," mamma replied, "looked upon Pickie's birth as much in
the light of a miracle as if no other child had ever before been born.
He was Heaven-sent to her, and she sacrificed herself completely for
the better development of Pickie's individuality, or, to use the
language of the reformers of those days, in 'illustrating the
independence of the child's self-hood.' Nothing could have been more
boundless than her enthusiasm for her baby; and it was night and day
her study to guard his health, and to watch and cherish his opening
intellect. No child prince could have been more tenderly and daintily
nurtured than he was; as his father often said, 'Pickie is a dear boy
in every sense of the word;' for nothing was too rare or too costly for
him.

"You have heard of the brilliancy of his complexion: this was owing in
part