g the melancholy of the parting, which somehow gave him
a choky feeling about the throat.

"'Oh no,' said Mr. Sawyer, entering into the boy's shrinking from
anything like a scene, 'oh no, I sent on my box by the carrier last
Saturday. It would have been _rather_ too big to carry.' He spoke in his
usual commonplace tone, more cheerful, less nervous perhaps than its
wont. Then once more, with a second hearty shake of the hand,

"'Good-bye again, my boy, and God bless you." And Carlo, his eyes dim in
spite of his intense determination to be above such weakness, stood
watching the dark figure, conspicuous against the white-sheeted ground
and steel-blue early morning winter sky.

"'I wonder if we've been right about him,' he said to himself. 'I'm glad
I came, any way.'

"And there came a day when others beside little Carlo himself were glad,
oh so glad, that he had 'come' that snowy morning to bid the solitary
traveller Godspeed."

[Illustration: 'GOOD-BYE AGAIN, MY BOY, AND GOD BLESS YOU!']

CHAPTER XI.

"THAT CAD SAWYER."--PART II.

"Did the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes to the very end."

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

Grandmother's voice had faltered a little now and then during the latter
part of her reading. The children looked at each other significantly.

"Uncle Carlo _died_ you know," whispered Sylvia again to Ralph and Molly.

"And uncle Jack too," said Ralph.

"Yes, but much longer after. Uncle _Carlo_ was only a boy when he died,"
said Molly, as if the fact infinitely aggravated the sorrow in his case.

Their whispering did not interrupt their grandmother this time. She had
already paused.

"I think, dears," she said, "I had better read the rest to-morrow
evening. There is a good deal more of it, and my voice gets tired after
a while."

"Couldn't I read it for you, mother dear?" said aunty.

Grandmother smiled a little roguishly. "No, my dear, thank you," she
said. "I think I like best to read myself what I have written myself. And
you, according to that, will have your turn soon, Laura."

"_Mother!_ how did you find out what I was doing?" exclaimed aunty.

"A little bird told me, of course," said grandmother, smiling. "You know
how clever my little birds are."

During this mysterious conversation the children had sat with wide open
eyes and puzzled faces. Suddenly a light broke upon Sylvia.

"I know, I know," she cried. "_Aunty's_ writing a story for us too. Oh,