e old geraniums by the
window; the cushioned chair stood in its accustomed place, with the
white wrapper hung across it and the faded slippers lying ready. Books
and basket, knitting and spectacles, were all just as she had left them,
and the beautiful tranquility that always filled the room seemed so
natural, both lookers turned involuntarily toward the bed, where Aunt
Peace used to greet them with a smile. There was no sweet old face upon
the pillow now, yet the tears that wet the blooming cheeks were not for
her who had gone, but for her who was left, because they saw something
which spoke eloquently of the love which outlives death and makes the
humblest things beautiful and sacred.

A well-worn footstool stood beside the bed, and in the high-piled
whiteness of the empty couch there was a little hollow where a gray head
nightly rested while Aunt Plenty said the prayers her mother taught her
seventy years ago.

Without a word, the girls softly shut the door. And while Phebe put the
room in the most exquisite order, Rose retrimmed the plain white cap,
where pink and yellow ribbons never rustled now, both feeling honored
by their tasks and better for their knowledge of the faithful love and
piety which sanctified a good old woman's life.

"You darling creature, I'm so glad to get you back! I know it's
shamefully early, but I really couldn't keep away another minute. Let
me help you I'm dying to see all your splendid things. I saw the trunks
pass and I know you've quantities of treasures," cried Annabel Bliss all
in one breath as she embraced Rose an hour later and glanced about the
room bestrewn with a variety of agreeable objects.

"How well you are looking! Sit down and I'll show you my lovely
photographs. Uncle chose all the best for me, and it's a treat to see
them," answered Rose, putting a roll on the table and looking about for
more.

"Oh, thanks! I haven't time now one needs hours to study such things.
Show me your Paris dresses, there's a dear I'm perfectly aching to see
the last styles," and Annabel cast a hungry eye toward certain large
boxes delightfully suggestive of French finery.

"I haven't got any," said Rose, fondly surveying the fine photographs as
she laid them away.

"Rose Campbell! You don't mean to say that you didn't get one Paris
dress at least?" cried Annabel, scandalized at the bare idea of such
neglect.

"Not one for myself. Aunt Clara ordered several, and will be charmed to
show