ts rooms, and the quiet tread, the sad, subdued tones, the oft
falling tear, attested the warmth of affection in which the dear, dying
child was held.

A parlor car was speeding southward; its occupants, a noble looking man, a
lovely matron, a blooming, beautiful girl of seventeen, a rosy babe in his
nurse's arms, and a pale, fragile, golden-haired, blue-eyed child of
seven, lying now on a couch with her head in her mother's lap, now resting
in her father's arms for a little.

She seemed the central figure of the group, all eyes turning ever and
anon, upon her in tenderest solicitude, every ear attentive to her
slightest plaint, every hand ready to minister to her wants.

She was very quiet, very patient, answering their anxious, questioning
words and looks with many a sweet, affectionate smile or whisper of
grateful appreciation of their ministry of love.

Sometimes she would beg to be lifted up for a moment that she might see
the rising or setting sun, or gaze upon the autumnal glories of the woods,
and as they drew near their journey's end she would ask, "Are we almost
there, papa? shall I soon see my own sweet home, and dear brothers and
sisters?"

At last the answer was, "Yes, my darling; in a few moments we shall leave
the car for our own easy carriage, and one short stage will take us home
to Ion."

Mr. Dinsmore, his son, and Arthur Conly met them at the station, and told
how longingly their dear ones at home were looking for them.

The sun had set, and shadows began to creep over the landscape as the
carriage stopped before the door and Lily was lifted out, borne into the
house and gently laid upon her own little bed.

She was nearly fainting with fatigue and weakness, and dearly as the
others were loved, father and mother had no eyes for any but her, no word
of greeting, as the one bore her past, the other hastily followed, with
the doctor and grandfather, to her room.

But Elsie and Vi were quickly locked in each other's arms, mingling their
tears together, while Rosie and the boys gathered round, awaiting their
turn.

"Oh!" sobbed Rosie, "mamma didn't speak to me; she didn't look at me; she
doesn't love me any more; nor my papa either."

"Yes, they do, little pet," Elsie said, leaving Violet to embrace the
little sister; "and sister Elsie loves you dearly, dearly. Harold and
Herbert too; as well as our big oldest brother," smiling up at Eddie
through her tears, as he stood by her side.

He bent