thur, at his death, about a year ago. The likeness
had been striking, and to Janet, the sight of it had been a great
pleasure and surprise. She was never weary of looking at it, and even
Mr Snow, who had never known the minister but as a grey-haired man, was
strangely fascinated by the beauty of the grave smile that he remembered
so well on his face. That night he stood leaning on the back of a
chair, and gazing at it, while the conversation flowed on as usual
around him. In a little, Rose came and stood beside him.

"Do you think it is very like him?" asked she.

"Well," said Mr Snow, meditatively, "it's like him and it ain't like
him. I love to look at it, anyhow."

"At first it puzzled me," said Rose. "It seemed like the picture of
some one I had seen in a dream; and when I shut my eyes, and tried to
bring back my father's face as it used to be in Merleville, it would not
come--the face of the dream came between."

"Well, there is something in that," said Mr Snow, and he paused a
moment, and shut his eyes, as if to call back the face of his friend.
"No, it won't do that for me. It would take something I hain't thought
of yet, to make me forget his face."

"It does not trouble me now," said Rose. "I can shut my eyes, and see
him, Oh! so plainly, in the church, and at home in the study, and out
under the trees, and as he lay in his coffin--" She was smiling still,
but the tears were ready to gush over her eyes. Mr Snow turned, and
laying his hand on her bright head, said softly,--

"Yes, dear, and so can I, If we didn't know that it must be right, we
might wonder why he was taken from us. But I shall never forget him--
never. He did too much for me, for that. He was the best friend I ever
had, by all odds--the very best."

Rose smiled through her tears.

"He brought you Mrs Snow," said she, softly.

"Yes, dear. That was much, but he did more than that. It was through
him that I made the acquaintance of a better and dearer friend than even
_she_ is--and that is saying considerable," added he, turning his eyes
toward the tranquil figure knitting in the arm-chair.

"Were you speaking?" said Mrs Snow, looking up at the sound of his
voice.

"Yes, I was speaking to Rosie, here. How do you suppose we can ever
persuade her to go back to Merleville with us?"

"She is going with us, or she will soon follow us. What would Emily
say, if she didna come?"

"Yes, I know. But I meant to stay for good a