s ailing dear mamma," Violet said rather
anxiously to herself, as the carriage rolled swiftly on toward Ion;
"there was really nothing in her note to indicate it, but she has never
been one to complain of even a pretty serious ailment. She is not old
yet; we may hope to keep her with us for many, many years. But then she
is so good--so ripe for heaven!" And a silent prayer went up to God that
the dear mother might be spared for many years to help others on their
pilgrim way, especially her children and grandchildren. "For oh, how we
need her!" was the added thought; "what could we ever do without
her--the dear, kind, loving mother to whom we carry all our troubles and
perplexities, sure of comfort, the best of advice, and all the help in
her power to give. Dear, dear mamma! Oh, I have never prized her as I
ought!"

It was only the previous evening that Mrs. Travilla herself had learned
that she was assailed by more than a trifling ailment. What seemed to
her but a slight one, causing discomfort, and at times quite a good deal
of pain, she had been conscious of for some weeks or months, but had
not thought it necessary to speak of it to anyone.

About the time of her return home, however, there had been a very
decided increase in the suffering; which at length led her to confide
her trouble to her cousin and family physician, Dr. Arthur Conly, and
she had learned from him that it was far more serious than she had
supposed; that in fact her only escape from sure and speedy death lay in
submission to a difficult and dangerous surgical operation.

Arthur told her as gently and tenderly as he could--assuring her that
there was more than a possibility of a successful result--bringing
relief from her suffering and prolonging her life for many years.

His first words--showing her ailment as so much more serious than she
had ever for a moment supposed it to be--gave her a shock at the thought
of the sudden parting from all her dear ones--father, children, and
grandchildren; yet before he had finished she was entirely calm and
composed.

"And what would death be but going home?" she said; "home to the
mansions Jesus my Saviour has prepared for those he died to redeem, and
to the dear ones gone before, there to await the coming of those who
will be left behind for a little while. Ah, it is nothing to dread or
to fear, for 'I know that my Redeemer liveth.'"

"And yet, Cousin Elsie," Arthur returned, with ill-concealed emotion