h open
arms, calling her his daughter, and welcoming Morris as his son, taken
in Wilford's stead. "My boy," he frequently called him, showing by his
manner how willingly he accepted him as the husband of one whom he
really loved as his child. Greatly he wished that they should stay with
him while they remained in New York, but Katy preferred going with Helen
to Mrs. Banker's, where she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle
and confusion attending the preparations for Bell's wedding. It was to
be a grand church affair, and to take place during Easter week, after
which the bridal pair were going on to Washington, Fortress Monroe, and,
if possible, to Richmond, where Bob had been a prisoner. Everything
seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful one, for all through
the North, from Maine to California, the air was rife with the jubilee
songs of victory, and the notes of approaching peace. But, alas! He who
holds our country's destiny in His hand changed that song of gladness
into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, rose up to Heaven
in one mighty sob of anguish, as the whole nation bemoaned its loss. Our
President was dead!--foully, cruelly murdered!--and New York was in
mourning, so black, so profound, that with a shudder Bell Cameron tossed
aside the orange wreath and said to her lover: "We will be married at
home. I cannot now go to the church, when everything seems so like one
great funeral."

And so in Mrs. Cameron's drawing-room there was a quiet wedding one
pleasant April morning, and Bell's plain traveling dress was far more
in keeping with the gloom which hung over the great city than her gala
robes would have been, with a long array of carriages and merry wedding
chimes. Westward they went, instead of South, and when our late lamented
President was borne back to the prairie of Illinois, they were there to
greet the noble dead, and mingle their tears with those who knew and
loved him long before the world appreciated his worth.

* * * * *

Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh green grass is
springing and the early spring flowers blooming, and where Katy, fairest
flower of all, stands for a moment in the deep bay window of the
library, listening dreamily to the patter on the tin roof overhead, and
gazing wistfully down the road, as if watching for some one, then
turning, she enters the dining-room and inspects the supper table,
shining with silv