predecessor. Miss Damer was
also a welcome acquisition to the village choir; and those were among
the happiest moments of her life when she let her rich, clear voice
ascend in songs of praise to the throne of Him who had guided her all
her journey through, while her dear friend and second mother presided
at the organ.

Elsie's only care was about Jim. She had seen him in Belfast looking
worn and anxious. His letters had never been complaining, nor were his
words so then; yet he could not conceal the fact that his position was
by no means satisfactory. But this cloud too was soon to be cleared
away. The earl had been favourably impressed with the lad, and was
highly amused when he heard from his daughter a somewhat toned down
version of the foolish conduct which had resulted in his resigning his
situation. In the course of a year after Elsie's establishment at
Burnham, a post of some responsibility in the earl's rent office became
vacant, in which we find Jim shortly afterwards comfortably installed.

* * * * * *

And here ends our tale. Elsie Damer's life is after all only
beginning, and doubtless she will have her trials and sorrows. Not for
ever can she be the young girl living in that sweet rose-covered
cottage. Indeed, before we lose sight of Elsie, there is rumour of a
coming change. Mrs. Nugent said, "It's a shame to take you from us,
Missie, but every one likes a spot of their own, I suppose; I know I
did in my time." And Robert Everley, the head-gamekeeper's strapping
son, who was settled now in one of the home farms of Burnham, blushed
and looked apologetic as the earl hailed him one day, "Hey, Bob! what's
this I hear about you, lad? I wonder what Lady Eleanor will say to it,
stealing her godchild from her."

"I couldn't help it, your lordship," replied the embarrassed Bob.

"Well, all I say is you are a lucky fellow, and Elsie might have done
worse too."

But whatever lies before our Elsie, she has deep stored within her that
hidden peace that the world knoweth not, and which can smooth over, as
with holy oil, the roughest and most sudden-rising of life's stormy
waves. The discipline of the past had moulded and set, without unduly
hardening, the lines of her simple, cheerful character. Looking back
to the earliest dawn of her recollection, she believed herself able to
trace a golden thread through all. The ideal of calm beauty and purity
which the child's v