een done, lingering
longest in Morris' own apartment, opening from the library, where she
made some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, putting one
chair a little more to the right, and pushing a stand or table to the
left, just as her artistic eye dictated. By some oversight, no flowers
had been put in there, but Katy gathered an exquisite bouquet and left
it on the mantel, just where she remembered to have seen flowers when
Morris was at home.

"He will he tired," she said. "He will lie down after dinner," and she
laid a few sweet English violets upon the pillow, thinking their perfume
might be grateful to him after the pent-up air of the hospital and cars.
"He will think Helen put them there, or Mrs. Hull," she thought, as she
stole softly out and shut the door behind her, glancing next at the
clock, and feeling a little impatient that a whole hour must elapse
before they could expect him.

Poor Morris! he did not dream how anxiously he was waited for at home,
nor yet of the crowd assembled at the depot to welcome back the loved
physician, whom they had missed so much, and whose name they had so
often heard coupled with praise as a true hero, even though his post was
not in the front of the battle. Thousands had been cared for by him,
their gaping wounds dressed skillfully, their aching heads soothed
tenderly, and their last moments made happier by the words he spoke to
them of the world to which they were going, where there is no more war
or shedding of man's blood. In the churchyard at Silverton there were
three soldiers' graves, whose pale occupants had each died with Dr.
Grant's hand held tightly in his, as if afraid that he would leave them
before the dark river was crossed, while in more than one Silverton home
there was a wasted form on which the soldier coat hung loosely, who
never tired of telling Dr. Morris' praise and dwelling on his goodness.
But Dr. Morris was not thinking of this as, faint and sick, with the
green shade before his eyes, he leaned against the pile of shawls his
companion had placed for his back and wondered if they were almost
there.

"I smell the pond lilies; we must he near Silverton," he said, and a
sigh escaped his lips as he thought of coming home and not being able to
see it or the woods and fields around it. "Thy will be done," he had
said many times since the fear first crept into his heart that for him
the light had faded.

But now, when home was almost reached