ur mind. If you do I'll come along and have a good
laugh at you."

A smile actually appeared on Miss Hepsy's face. "He's a real
pleasant-spoken gentleman, Mr. Robert Keane," said Aunt Hepsy, as she
shut the door.--"Well, Tom, I hope ye'll get yer fill o' paintin'
now."

Tom's eyes beamed, but he made no verbal reply. Lucy followed him to
the door as he passed out to the barn again.

"O Tom, I am so glad," she whispered joyfully; and Tom answered by
tossing his cap in the air and trying to bound up after it.

"Glad? I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels, Lucy," he
said. "It's the happiest day of my life."

Lucy kept the smile upon her face, not wishing to damp his joy, but
her heart was very sore. For what did Tom's departure mean for her?
It meant parting from all she had on earth; it meant a life of utter
loneliness and lovelessness, save for the dear outside friends she
could see so seldom. It was Lucy's nature ever to unselfishly bury
her own troubles and try to join in the happiness of others.

"A fortnight only," she said to herself as she went back to her work.
"What will become of me?"

The days sped fleetly for her, but slowly for Tom, who was eager to
be gone. Mr. Robert Keane paid frequent visits to Thankful Rest, and
all arrangements were satisfactorily made. Lucy went about, saying
little, and preserving her sweet serenity to the last. She busied
herself with Tom's small wardrobe, adding a touch here and there to
make it complete; and wept bitter tears over her work, as many
another sister has done before and since. It was not till the last
night that a thought of her came to cloud Tom's sky. They were
sitting together at the stove in the fading twilight, Lucy's face
very grave and sad.

"I say Lucy, though," Tom said, "how awfully lonely it will be for
you when I'm gone. Why, whatever will you _do_?"

"Think of you, and look for your letters," she said, her lips
quivering. "You will not forget me altogether, Tom?"

A pang of remorse shot through Tom's heart. He came to her side and
threw one arm round her, remembering how his mother's last charge had
been to take care of Lucy, and how poorly he had done it after all.
Lucy had taken care of him instead.

"Lucy, I'm a perfectly horrid boy," he said in a queer, quick way.
"Don't you hate me?"

"Hate you? O Tom, I've nobody but you."

Her sunny head drooped a moment against his arm, and her tears fell
without restraint. "I didn't mea