ved.

In the solemn pause which death makes in every family, Psyche said,
with the sweet self-forgetfulness of a strong yet tender nature,--

"I must not think of myself, but try to comfort them;" and with this
resolution she gave herself heart and soul to duty, never thinking of
reward.

A busy, anxious, humdrum winter, for, as Harry said, "it was hard
times for every one." Mr. Dean grew gray with the weight of business
cares about which he never spoke; Mrs. Dean, laboring under the
delusion that an invalid was a necessary appendage to the family,
installed herself in the place the child's death left vacant, and the
boys needed much comforting, for the poor lads never knew how much
they loved "the baby" till the little chair stood empty. All turned to
Sy for help and consolation, and her strength seemed to increase with
the demand upon it. Patience and cheerfulness, courage and skill came
at her call like good fairies who had bided their time. Housekeeping
ceased to be hateful, and peace reigned in parlor and kitchen while
Mrs. Dean, shrouded in shawls, read Hahnemann's Lesser Writings on her
sofa. Mr. Dean sometimes forgot his mills when a bright face came
to meet him, a gentle hand smoothed the wrinkles out of his anxious
forehead, and a daughterly heart sympathized with all his cares. The
boys found home very pleasant with Sy always there ready to "lend a
hand," whether it was to make fancy ties, help conjugate "a confounded
verb," pull candy, or sing sweetly in the twilight when all thought of
little May and grew quiet.

The studio door remained locked till her brothers begged Psyche to
open it and make a bust of the child. A flush of joy swept over her
face at the request, and her patient eyes grew bright and eager, as
a thirsty traveller's might at the sight or sound of water. Then it
faded as she shook her head, saying with a regretful sigh, "I'm afraid
I've lost the little skill I ever had."

But she tried, and with great wonder and delight discovered that she
could work as she had never done before. She thought the newly found
power lay in her longing to see the little face again; for it grew
like magic under her loving hands, while every tender memory, sweet
thought, and devout hope she had ever cherished, seemed to lend their
aid. But when it was done and welcomed with tears and smiles, and
praise more precious than any the world could give, then Psyche said
within herself, like one who saw light at la