own hands planted; its
fruit boughs shone ruddily, and its leaves still whispered the low
lullaby that hushed him to his rest.

"How fast he sleeps! Poor father! I should have come before and made it
pleasant for him."

As she spoke, Nan lifted up the head bent down upon his breast, and
kissed his pallid cheek.

"Oh, John, this is not sleep."

"Yes, dear, the happiest he will ever know."

For a moment the shadows flickered over three white faces and the
silence deepened solemnly. Then John reverently bore the pale shape in,
and Nan dropped down beside it, saying, with a rain of grateful tears,--

"He kissed me when I went, and said a last good-night!'"

For an hour steps went to and fro about her, many voices whispered near
her, and skilful hands touched the beloved clay she held so fast; but
one by one the busy feet passed out, one by one the voices died away,
and human skill proved vain.

Then Mrs. Lord drew the orphan to the shelter of her arms, soothing her
with the mute solace of that motherly embrace.

"Nan, Nan! here's Philip! come and see!" The happy call re-echoed
through the house, and Nan sprang up as if her time for grief were past.

"I must tell them. Oh, my poor girls, how will they bear it?--they have
known so little sorrow!"

But there was no need for her to speak; other lips had spared her the
hard task. For, as she stirred to meet them, a sharp cry rent the air,
steps rang upon the stairs, and two wild-eyed creatures came into the
hush of that familiar room, for the first time meeting with no welcome
from their father's voice.

With one impulse, Di and Laura fled to Nan, and the sisters clung
together in a silent embrace, more eloquent than words. John took his
mother by the hand, and led her from the room, closing the door upon
the sacredness of grief.

"Yes, we are poorer than we thought; but when everything is settled, we
shall get on very well. We can let a part of this great house, and
live quietly together until spring; then Laura will be married, and Di
can go on their travels with them, as Philip wishes her to do. We
shall be cared for; so never fear for us, John."

Nan said this, as her friend parted from her a week later, after the
saddest holiday he had ever known.

"And what becomes of you, Nan?" he asked, watching the patient eyes
that smiled when others would have wept.

"I shall stay in the dear old house; for no other place would seem like
home to me. I shall fi