asant things that have happened are like the stones and rocks that
we stumble over. But if there haven't been any unpleasant things to
remember, then we can look back and see it stretched out behind us, all
smooth and white and shining.

"So I tried from the very first of my visit to leave nothing behind me
for her memory to stumble over; not a frown, a cross word, or a single
disobedience. That's why I wouldn't go with you that day to have my
fortune told. It would have spoiled my 'Road of the Loving Heart,' and
put a stone in it that would always have made godmother sorry when she
thought of my visit.

"That's why I came back from the picnic at the old mill and missed the
charades. It would have spoiled the road if I hadn't kept my
promise,--kept it to the utmost. And now after all the days I have tried
so hard, it is going to be spoiled because I've gone and got sick. I'll
be so much care and trouble that the Memory Road will be all spoiled--my
'Road of the Loving Heart!'"

Betty was so exhausted by this time, that she was not crying any longer;
but now and then a long sob shook the little body from head to foot.
Joyce, not knowing what to say, slipped away and went out into the hall.

"So that is the cause of the child's distress," whispered Mrs. Sherman.
"Bless her little heart, now I've found out what is the matter, maybe I
can succeed in quieting her."

What she said to comfort her the girls never knew, for the door closed
behind her and they stole away to their own rooms.

But presently they heard the "White Seal's Lullaby" sung softly within.
She had taken Betty in her arms, and was rocking her as tenderly as she
had rocked the Little Colonel, while she sang, "Oh, hush thee, my baby,
the night is behind us."

When Betty fell asleep it was in the embrace of something far more
comforting and restful than the "arms of the slow-swinging seas." For
the first time in her life since she could remember, she felt what it
was to be folded fast in the mother-love that she had always longed
for.

CHAPTER XIV.

A LONG NIGHT.

"Oh, isn't it awful!" exclaimed the Little Colonel, in a shocked tone,
and with such a look of horror in her face that Eugenia leaned forward
to listen. Lloyd was speaking to Joyce on the porch just outside of the
library window, where Eugenia sat reading.

"What is awful?" asked Eugenia, her curiosity aroused by the expression
of the girls' faces.

"Sh!" whispered Lloyd, warnin