ouse and grounds, and held a consultation
in regard to ways and means.

Returning to the Oaks, the gentlemen went to the library, where old Mr.
Dinsmore was sitting alone, and reported to him the result of the morning
conference. Roselands was to be rebuilt as fast as men and materials could
be procured, Elsie furnishing the means--a very large sum of money, of
which he was to have the use, free of interest, for a long term of years,
or during his natural life.

Mr. Horace Dinsmore knew his father would never take it as a gift, and
indeed, it cost him a hard struggle to bring his pride down to the
acceptance of it as offered. But he consented at last, and as the other
two retired, begged that Elsie would come to him for a moment.

She came in so quietly that he was not aware of her presence. He sat in
the corner of a sofa, his white head bowed upon his knees, and his aged
frame shaking with sobs.

Kneeling at his side, she put her arms about him, whispering, "Grandpa,
my poor, dear grandpa, be comforted; for we all love and honor you."

"Child! child! I have not deserved this at your hands," he sobbed. "I
turned from you when you came to my house, a little, desolate motherless
one, claiming my affection."

"But that was many years ago, dear grandpa, and we will 'let the dead past
bury its dead,' You will not deny me the great pleasure of helping to
repair the desolations of war in the dear home of my childhood? You will
take it as help sent by Him whose steward I am?"

He clasped her close, and his kisses and tears were warm upon her cheek,
as he murmured, in low, broken tones, "God bless you, child! I can refuse
you nothing. You shall do as you will."

At last, Elsie had won her way to her stern grandfather's heart; and
henceforth she was dear to him as ever one of his children had been.

* * * * *

It is a sweet October morning in the year 1867. Ion, restored to more than
its pristine loveliness, lies basking in the beams of the newly risen sun;
a tender mist, gray in the distance, rose-colored and golden where the
rays of light strike it more directly, enveloping the landscape; the trees
decked in holiday attire--green, russet, orange, and scarlet.

The children are romping with each other and their nurses, in the avenue;
with the exception of wee Elsie, now a fair, gentle girl of nine, who
occupies a rustic seat a little apart from the rest. She has a Bible in
her hand, and