r way, and suppose that Miss Brown could tell when you
are kind and unselfish, that would not be dreadful," said their uncle.
"And I forgot to say," he added, "that the key in the story is
warranted to work like magic anywhere. It was a favorite text of your
grandfather's. When this house was built I was a little boy, hardly as
old as Helen, but I remember distinctly the first time I went through
it. I was very much delighted, and came running down the steps,
calling, 'Oh, father, what a nice house this is!' and he replied, 'I
am glad you like it, William. It is only a house now, but we are going
to try to make it a home.' I don't think I quite understood what he
meant till long afterwards, though he went on to explain that a home
is a place where love, obedience, and helpfulness grow, and are stored
up as the water is stored in Quarry Hill reservoir, to find its way
out into the world after a while, carrying comfort and cheer.

"Your grandfather did all he could to make this house a real home
while he lived, and now the responsibility rests upon you."

"I truly mean to remember the key, and try to be a helper," said Bess,
finding and marking the text in her own Bible, at Uncle William's
suggestion. "I like that part about the radiance of the magic door,"
she added.

"It is easy enough to talk about it, but it's not so easy to _be_
good," said Carl with emphasis.

"We are not here to do easy things, and, as Bess says, we can all
try," Uncle William replied, "and now we have had a sermon, let us
have some music before I go."

"Let's tell Dora about the magic door; perhaps she would like to
help!" said Louise, as she and Bess went upstairs to bed.

CHAPTER VII.

IKEY'S ACCIDENT.

The days grew shorter and cooler, the leaves began to flutter down,
and each morning, from her sitting-room window, Miss Brown watched the
children start for school.

First the little girls, tossing good-by kisses to Aunt Zelie, ran down
the walk to join Dora or Elsie; then a few minutes later Ikey was at
the gate whistling for Carl. In the five months since Ikey had come to
stay with his grandparents the boys had become almost inseparable.

Dr. Isaac Clinton Ford was a surgeon in the navy, and having been
ordered to the Mediterranean, his wife, whose health was not good,
followed him, with their little daughter, while young Isaac was sent
to his father's old home. Warmly attached to it himself, Dr. Ford
could think of no bet