st night here," she remarked, quietly, "but we couldn't get it
settled."

Darrell could not restrain a smile as he replied, "I'm afraid it will be
some time before it is settled with the furniture packed out there in
the stables."

"Have you been to the stables?" she exclaimed, in dismay.

A smile was sufficient answer.

"If that isn't too bad!" she continued; "I was going to have that wagon
sent ahead in the morning before you were up and have it for a surprise
when you got there, and now it's all spoiled. I declare, I'm too
disappointed to say a word!"

"But, Mrs. Dean," Darrell interposed, hastily, as she turned to leave,
"you need not feel like that; the surprise was just as genuine and as
pleasant as though it had been as you intended; besides, I can thank you
now, whereas I couldn't then."

"That's just what I didn't want, and don't want now," she answered,
quickly; "if there is anything I can do for you, God knows I'll do it
the same as though you were my own son, and I want no thanks for it,
either." And with these words she left the room before Darrell could
reply.

Everything that could be done to make the rooms look cheerful and
homelike as possible had been done for that night. The dining-room was
decorated with flowers, and when, after dinner, the family adjourned to
the sitting-room, a fire was burning in the grate, and around it had
been drawn the most comfortable seats in the room.

But to Darrell the extra touches of brightness and beauty seemed only to
emphasize the fact that this was the last night of anything like home
life that he would know for some time to come.

It had been agreed that he and Kate were to have some music that
evening, and on the piano he saw the violin which he had not used since
the summer's happy days. He lifted it with the tender, caressing manner
with which he always handled it, as though it were something living and
human. Turning it lovingly in his hands, he caught the gleam of
something in the fire-light, and, bending over it, saw a richly engraved
gold plate, on which he read the words:

TO JOHN DARRELL
A SOUVENIR OF "THE PINES"
FROM "KATHIE"

A mist rose before his eyes--he could not see, he could not trust
himself to speak, but, raising the violin, his pent-up feelings burst
forth in a flood of liquid music of such commingled sweetness and
sadness as to hold his listeners entranced. Mr. Underwood, for once
forgetful of his pipe, looked int