ed her his arm.

"I've gone alone all my life," said she, "and now I am most at the end
of it. I've taken a great many steps, too, at one time and another, but
they don't seem to amount to much to look back upon."

"And you have a good many more to take, I hope," said Violet, hardly
knowing how to answer her.

But Miss Bethia shook her head.

"It ain't likely. But the next six months seem longer to look forward
to than a great many years do to look back upon. It is all right,
anyhow. And, children, if I should never see you again--I want you to
remember to consider your mother always. You must never forget her."

"No," said David, wondering a little at her earnestness.

"And, David, and you too, Violet, don't you get to thinking too much
about property. It is a good thing to have, I'll allow, but it ain't
the best thing by considerable. Some get to love it, by having too
much, and some by having too little; but it ain't a satisfying portion
any way that it can be fixed, and the love of it makes one forget
everything else. And be sure and be good children to your mother, if I
shouldn't ever see you again. I don't suppose I need to tell you so;
but it's about as good a thing to say for a last word as any, except
this--Follow the Lord always, and keep your armour bright."

They answered her gravely and earnestly, as she seemed to expect, but it
was with no thought that they were listening to her last words. They
would see her, doubtless, many a time again; and they said so to her, as
she repeated them in the morning when it was time to go. But Violet
never saw her again; David saw her, when she was almost past words, and
then she could only, with labouring breath, repeat the very same to him.

It would have been a very sorrowful leave-taking if the children could
have known that it was their last "Good-bye" to Miss Bethia. But it
never came into the minds of any of them that the next time they saw the
pleasant house in Gourlay, she would be sleeping by their father's side
in the grave-yard over the hill.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

The next winter passed at the bridge house very much as former winters
had done. Violet was in her old place at Mr Oswald's. It was much
quieter there than it had ever been before, for Selina was spending the
winter with her sister, and Mr Philip had gone to a situation in the
city of M--, his father hoping that the stricter and more constant
attention to his duties, that wou