hiding her face
in her hands, and looking like a tumbled heap of old faded calico in a
state of convulsion.

"Dear Aunt Ruey, you mustn't," said Mara, with a voice of gentle
authority. "We mustn't any of us feel so any more. There is no harm
done, no real evil is coming, only a good which we do not understand. I
am perfectly satisfied--perfectly at rest now. I was foolish and weak to
feel as I did this morning, but I shall not feel so any more. I shall
comfort you all. Is it anything so dreadful for me to go to heaven? How
little while it will be before you all come to me! Oh, how
little--little while!"

"I told you, Mara, that you'd be supported in the Lord's time," said
Miss Roxy, who watched her with an air of grave and solemn attention.
"First and last, folks allers is supported; but sometimes there is a
long wrestlin'. The Lord's give you the victory early."

"Victory!" said the girl, speaking as in a deep muse, and with a
mysterious brightness in her eyes; "yes, that is the word--it _is_ a
victory--no other word expresses it. Come, Aunt Roxy, we will go home. I
am not afraid now to tell grandpapa and grandmamma. God will care for
them; He will wipe away all tears."

"Well, though, you mus'n't think of goin' till you've had a cup of tea,"
said Aunt Ruey, wiping her eyes. "I've kep' the tea-pot hot by the fire,
and you must eat a little somethin', for it's long past dinner-time."

"Is it?" said Mara. "I had no idea I had slept so long--how thoughtful
and kind you are!"

"I do wish I could only do more for you," said Miss Ruey. "I don't seem
to get reconciled no ways; it seems dreffle hard--dreffle; but I'm glad
you _can_ feel so;" and the good old soul proceeded to press upon the
child not only the tea, which she drank with feverish relish, but every
hoarded dainty which their limited housekeeping commanded.

It was toward sunset before Miss Roxy and Mara started on their walk
homeward. Their way lay over the high stony ridge which forms the
central part of the island. On one side, through the pines, they looked
out into the boundless blue of the ocean, and on the other caught
glimpses of Harpswell Bay as it lay glorified in the evening light. The
fresh cool breeze blowing landward brought with it an invigorating
influence, which Mara felt through all her feverish frame. She walked
with an energy to which she had long been a stranger. She said little,
but there was a sweetness, a repose, in her manner contra