than a whisper.

"Yes, mamma. Edward, the eldest, you saw when he was a mere baby boy.
Eric, the next, is papa's namesake. The eldest of the little girls--she
is in her fifth year--is Elsie Alicia, named for her two grandmothers;
we call her Alie. And the youngest--that two-year-old darling--we call
Vi. She is named for her aunt, Mrs. Raymond."

"And Mrs. Travilla lives here with her daughter?"

"No; she is paying a visit of a few days, as she often does since her
daughter-in-law, Aunt Zoe, has undertaken the most of the housekeeping
at Ion."

"She certainly looks very young to be mother and grandmother to so
many," sighed the invalid, catching sight of her own sallow, prematurely
wrinkled face reflected in a large mirror on the opposite side of the
room. "But she has had an easy life, surrounded by kind, affectionate,
sympathising friends, while I--miserable woman that I am--have been
worried, brow-beaten, robbed, till nothing is left me but ill-health and
grinding poverty."

"Mother, mother dear, don't talk so while I am left you and have enough
to keep us both, with care and economy," entreated Evelyn in a voice
half choked with sobs. "It will be joy to me to share with you and do
all I can to make your last days comfortable and happy."

"Then you haven't lost all your love for your mother in our years of
separation?"

"No, no indeed!" answered Evelyn earnestly. But there the conversation
ended for the time, Mrs. Leland returning with the promised refreshment.
It seemed to give some strength to the invalid, and after taking it she
was, by her own request, assisted to her room, an apartment opening into
that of her daughter, with whose good help she was soon made ready for
her bed, the most comfortable she had lain upon for weeks or months, she
remarked, as she stretched her tired limbs upon it.

"I am very glad you find it so, mother dear," said Evelyn. "And now, if
you like, I will unpack your trunks and arrange their contents in
wardrobe, bureau drawers, and closet."

"There is no hurry about that, and isn't that your supper bell I hear?"

"Yes'm, suppah's on de table, an' I's come to set yere and 'tend to you
uns while Miss Eva gwine eat wif de res' of de folks," said a neatly
dressed, pleasant-faced, elderly coloured woman, who had entered the
room just in time to hear the query in regard to the bell. "But, missus,
Miss Elsie she tole me for to ax you could you take somethin' mo'?"

"She says Aunt El