midnight. He ought to remember that
you're not strong. But it's just like a man in love to come when you're
in a mess, and never to go away."

Millard was more thoughtful than another might have been, and in half an
hour Phillida returned to the back room, with a softly radiant
expression of countenance, bearing a bouquet of flowers which Millard
had brought for Mrs. Callender. Phillida at once helped Agatha attack
chaos. The floor, the chairs, the table, the bed, and the top of the
dressing-case were at length cleared, and preparations were making for
getting the tired mother to her rest before ten o'clock.

"Seems to me," said Agatha, "that if I were in Philly's place I'd want
something more than a brief call on the first evening, after so long a
separation."

"Seems to me," said the mother, mimicking Agatha's tone and turning upon
the girl with an amused smile, "if you ever have a lover and are as hard
to please with him as you are with Mr. Millard, he might as well give it
up before he begins."

In the morning early came Mrs. Frankland. She kissed Phillida on this
cheek and on that, embraced her and called her "Dear, dear child," held
her off with both hands and looked with admiration at her well-modeled
face, freshened with wind and sun. She declared that the mountain air
had done Phillida a great deal of good, and inquired how her dear, good
mother was.

"Mother is wonderfully better," said Phillida; "I may say, well again."

"What a mercy that is! Now you'll be able to go on with the blessed work
you are doing. You have a gift for mission work; that's your vocation. I
should make a poor one in your place. It's a talent. As for me, I have a
new call."

"A new call--what is that?" said Phillida, rolling up an easy chair for
Mrs. Frankland to sit on.

"It's all through you, I suppose. You brought Mrs. Hilbrough to hear me,
and Mrs. Hilbrough made me acquainted with Mrs. Van Horne, and she has
invited me to give readings in her parlor. I gave the first last
Thursday, with great success. The great parlor was full, and many wept
like little children."

The words here written are poor beside what Mrs. Frankland said. Her
inflection, the outward sweep of her hand when she said "great parlor,"
brought the rich scene vaguely to Phillida's imagination, and the mellow
falling cadence with which she spoke of those who had wept like little
children, letting her hands drop limp the while upon her lap, made it
all ve