ed their position, and with a
smile, just such a smile as might greet a welcoming angel, her spirit
passed out into the eternities, and Annette felt as she had never felt
before, that she was all alone. The love that had surrounded and watched
over her, born with her perverseness, and sheltered her in its warm
clasp, was gone; it had faded suddenly from her vision, and left in its
stead a dull and heavy pain. After the funeral, Mrs. Harcourt's children
returned to the house where they quietly but earnestly discussed the
question what shall be done with Annette. Mrs. Hanson's house was rather
small; that is, it was rather small for Annette. She would have found
room in her house if she only had room in her heart for her. She had
nursed her mother through her sickness, and said with unnatural
coldness, "I have got rid of one trouble and I do not want another."
Another sister who lived some distance from A.P., would have taken
Annette, but she knew that other members of her family would object, as
they would be fearful that Annette would be an apple of discord among
them. At length, her uncle Thomas decided that she should go with him.
He felt that his mother had died with the assurance on her mind that he
would care for Annette, and he resolved to be faithful in accepting what
was to him the imposition of a new burden on his shoulders. His wife was
a cold and unsympathizing woman. She was comfortably situated but did
not wish that comfort invaded by her husband's relations. In household
matters her husband generally deferred to her judgment, but here was no
other alternative than that of taking Annette under the shadow of his
home, or leaving her unprotected in the wide world, and he was too
merciful and honorable to desert Annette in her saddest hour of need.
Having determined that Annette should share his home, he knew that it
was advisable to tell his wife about his decision, and to prepare her
for Annette's coming.

"Well," said Dr. Harcourt's wife after her husband's return from the
funeral, "what are you going to do with Annette?"

"She is coming here," said Dr. Harcourt quietly and firmly.

"Coming here?" said Mrs. Harcourt, looking aghast. "I think at least you
might have consulted me."

"That is true, my dear, I would have gladly done so had you been present
when the decision was made."

"But where are her aunts, and where was your brother, John; why didn't
they take her?"

"John was at home sick with the