peep into the back parlour, "is this our house? Everything is
trimmed up, and there sits a lady by the fire."

Wreaths festooned the archway between the parlours, there were vases
of flowers, and hanging-baskets of trailing vines, and a canary in a
gilded cage, a bright fire in the grate lighting it up cheerily; Aunt
Deborah smiling and knitting on one side, "mother" on the other.
Florence rushed up to her, showering kisses upon her, while her
father looked on with shining eyes.

"Who knew our mother was such a pretty woman? Where's her equal in
this whole city?" said Ralph.

That glad Christmas was the harbinger of many happy years to the
Murrays. The back parlour was that day, by the thankful mother,
consecrated to the comfort of the family--thenceforth light, warmth,
and beauty reigned in that room. There they gathered evenings, under
the drop-light about the round table, with books and work, and talk
and music. Father, too, suddenly discovered that there was a lull in
business, and that cheerful chimney-corners were more attractive than
ledgers. Ralph and the girls brought their young friends there. What
was strangest of all, the nervous headaches almost entirely
disappeared; even the high notes of a song, or the jingling of
piano-keys, failed to bring them back. The crowning climax of the
whole was this: there was positively no scolding in that house. The
evil spirit had been exorcised, and that mother was given the victory
day by day. Peace was in her heart and on her brow.

She was so changed in the eyes of her children that she seemed almost
an object of adoration. Not the last drop in her cup of joy were the
many little ways in which they showed their keen appreciation of the
change in her.

One night, after all had retired, conscience knocked at Margaret's
door. She tried to sleep, but her visitor persisted. Margaret was
face to face with all her hard, impertinent words and ways toward her
mother.

"Flo," she said, "a miracle has come to mother, or she's getting to
be an angel, or something," but "Flo" was fast asleep; then she
tossed and turned, again. Then came a tap on mother's door. Mrs.
Murray came quickly.

"Mother," said Margaret, throwing her arms about her, and hiding her
face in her mother's neck, "I have been a wicked girl. Forgive me,
dear precious mother."

Blessed words! Margaret was soon sleeping quietly, but her mother's
heart was so full, her joy so great, that she lay thinking of t