he got rich in the firm of
'Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens!'" said Uncle Walter with a roguish leer.

"None of your nonsense now, Uncle Walter!" answered Fabens with a
blushing smile.

"I never had a stranger so win upon my heart before," said Mrs. Fabens.
"He seems a stranger, and not a stranger, in the same look. I could
kiss him and call him my son, I could, I feel so towards him!--O there
is one wish that keeps rising in my heart. I have tried to repress it,
for it cannot be right to harbor it so long; but it will rush before
me, and I sigh for one more blessing. If Clinton could be here, our
dear lost Clinton! Last night I dreamed he came back and made us all
so happy; and as he sat down to a feast we made for him, a company of
joys like little smiling cherubs waited on the table, and gave him the
best of every dainty and treat. And telling the dream to Fanny this
morning, the tears filled her eyes, and she said, 'If we could have him
here, it would be all the heaven we could ask below. What would I not
give,' said she, 'to have my brother at my wedding!'--It was such a
joyful dream, and it was so hard to wake up and find it was nothing but
a dream, and Clinton was not here!"

"I cannot think of the poor boy for a moment," said Fabens, "without
grief for his loss and regret for the affliction. But we cannot have
everything as we like it now. We must be resigned, and wait for heaven
to bring the perfect bliss. God afflicts in mercy; I am sure we shall
meet him in heaven, and that will be greater than any blessing earth
can give. You would have worshipped an Indian, Julia, if he had
brought Clinton alive to your arms, on the day of the great search,
would you not?"

"I should have been tempted to worship him. Words could not have told
my gratitude and love," said Mrs. Fabens.

"Then, think what sufficing joy we should take to our souls," said
Fabens, "and what thanks of worship we should give our God and
Redeemer, for the assurance that he will be brought to our bosom in all
the youthful bloom of heaven, never more to wander from us, never more
to suffer, never more to sorrow, never more to die!"

"But for that blessed hope," said Mrs. Fabens, with a flush of lofty
feeling lighting all her features--"but for that blessed hope, I should
be a maniac, I know I should, at this moment."

"What could have become of the pretty precious boy?" asked Fabens, as a
tear rolled over each cheek. "Can he be aliv