blended with the image of my
mother and they recall to me her beautiful, skillful hands, ever busy
manufacturing some pretty, useful article,--even to her last piece of
embroidery which was a handkerchief for me.

In my seventeenth year, when we met great reverses--at that troubled
time of which I will not speak here, but only mention because I have
already, in preceding chapters, touched upon the matter--we had to face,
for several months, the dreadful possibility of being obliged to part
with our old home and all the precious things that it contained. At that
time when I passed in review all the beloved memories and habits and
mementoes that I would need to break with, one of my most agonizing
thoughts was: "Never more will I be able to come and go in the
ante-chamber where the chiffonier stands, nor never again be able to
carry its precious little drawers to mamma."

And her very old-fashioned work-basket that I had begged her not to
discard, although it was much worn, with its little articles, needle
books, receptacles for thimbles and screws for holding the embroidery
frames! The thought that a time must surely come when the well-beloved
hands that daily touch these things will touch them no more, fills me
with so much sorrow that I am bereft of all courage and I struggle in
vain against invading sad emotions. Let me hope that as long as I live
it may remain as it is, that for so long it will be guarded with the
sacredness of a relic; but to whom can I bequeath this heirloom with
the assurance that it will be cherished? What will become of those poor
little trifles that are so precious to me?

That work-basket belonging to my mother, and the little drawers of the
old chiffonier are, I doubt not, the things that I will part with most
regretfully when the time comes for me to go into the world.

Truly all of this is very puerile and childish, and I am ashamed of
it;--and yet I am almost weeping as I write it.

CHAPTER LIV.

Because of the haste and confusion brought about by conflicting school
tasks, I had not for many months found time to read my Bible; indeed I
scarcely had time for a morning prayer.

I still went to church regularly every Sunday; that is we all went there
together. I reverenced the family pew where we had assembled for so
many years; and apart from that reason I hold it dear because it is
associated in my memory with my mother.

It was at church, however, that my faith continued