ship."

"What a nice room," Gratian said, as they went upstairs; "but I hope you
have a hanging-closet."

"I am afraid only pegs," Joyce said; "but there is a tiny
dressing-room."

"Is Mrs. Arundel coming to this family gathering?"

"No; mother is in Oxfordshire."

"Staying at Maythorne's; how like Aunt Annabella."

"She is not at Maythorne's you know, it is shut up, for the owners are
gone abroad."

"But I hear another carriage. Yes! that is mother and Piers."

Joyce flew downstairs to greet her mother, and to give Piers a rapturous
embrace.

Everything in the house was well arranged, and especial care had been
bestowed on "mother's room."

Mrs. Falconer had no fine dresses, so she did not enquire for a hanging
cupboard. She speedily found her way to the nursery, and baby Joy
delighted her by holding out her arms to her grannie, with a bewitching
smile.

"It's all beautifully neat, Joyce," she said, looking round her with a
critical air. "Well, you don't regret now I taught you useful things,
though you have no accomplishments like that poor, foolish Charlotte?"

They were a very happy party at an early dinner, and the good
arrangement of everything, and the excellence of the bill of fare,
brought many compliments to Joyce, especially from her mother.

"Except at Fair Acres," she said, "she had never tasted such light
pastry, or such good plum-puddings and mincemeat. The turkey, too----"

"Ah!" Joyce said, "the turkey came with a hamper of good things from
Fair Acres. Dear Ralph is continually despatching home produce."

The real master of Fair Acres did not seem at all discomforted at this
proof of his ignorance of his own estate.

Melville had resigned himself to an easy-going life, and, being well
kept in check by his wife as to unlimited wine and spirits, he managed
to pass muster, and was looked upon by his neighbours as a "good-natured
fellow, a little given to airs, and not worthy to tread in his father's
shoes; but it might have been worse."

Poor praise this; and of how many besides Melville do we say, sometimes
with an aching heart, "It might have been worse; but it might have been
oh! so much better."

Wasted lives, neglected opportunities, withered hopes, how thick they
lie strewn upon our paths as the autumn of life is sinking into the days
of winter barrenness and dearth.

But there is a bright "beyond" for faithful hearts, where the things we
know not now we shall know then, and