coming to take us home."

"And who is little Miss Amy, that she speaks of? Is she a friend of
your brother Harry? Or is she Mr Millar's friend? Mrs Arthur doesna
seem to make it clear?"

"Miss Amy Roxbury," said Graeme, opening her letter again. "Does she
not make it plain? Oh, well! we shall hear more about it, she says. I
suppose Harry has got back to his old fancy, that we are to go and live
with him if Mr Millar goes elsewhere. Indeed, I don't understand it
myself; but we shall hear more soon, I daresay. Ah! here is Rosie."

"And here is Dandy," said Rose, coming in with her habit on. "And here
is wee Rosie come to keep you company while I am away. And here is Mr
Snow, on old Major. Don't expect us home till night. We shall have a
day of it, shall we not?"

They had a very quiet day at home. Wee Rosie came and went, and told
her little tales to the content of her grandmother and Graeme, who made
much of the little girl, as may well be supposed. She was a bonny
little creature, with her father's blue eyes and fair curls, and showing
already some of the quaint, grave ways that Graeme remembered in her
mother as a child.

In the afternoon, Emily came with her baby, and they were all happy and
busy, and had no time for anxious or troubled thoughts. At least, they
never spoke a word that had reference to anything sad. But, when Graeme
read the letters again to Emily, Mrs Snow noticed that she did not read
the part about their going West, or about little Amy, or about Harry's
coming to take them home. But her eye lingered on the words, and her
thoughts went back to some old trouble, she saw by her grave look, and
by the silence that fell upon her, even in the midst of her pretty
child's play with the little ones. But never a word was spoken about
anything sad. And, by and by, visitors came, and Mrs Snow, being
tired, went to lie down to rest for a while. But when Rose and Mr Snow
came home, they found her standing at the gate, ready to receive them.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

"I want to know! Now do tell; if there ain't mother standing at the
gate, and opening it for us, too," exclaimed Mr Snow, in astonishment
and delight. "That is the farthest she's been yet, and it begins to
look a little like getting well, now, don't it?"

"I hope nothing has happened," said Rose, a little anxiously.

"I guess not--nothing to fret over. Her face don't look like it. Well,
mother, you feel pretty smart to