y think it, only--sometimes it does make a difference,
you know," Emma said.

"Well, it won't to me, for I shall always like you, Emma," was Frances'
reassuring reply, and Emma was satisfied.

Among other pleasant things, Frances and her aunt were arranging a
little surprise for Mr. Morrison's birthday, which was to be celebrated
by a dinner to which a number of cousins and old family friends were
asked.

The travellers, who returned the night before, found a very happy little
girl waiting for them in the carriage at the station.

"I have the loveliest secret, father, but you are not to know it till
your birthday!" She couldn't help telling this much, but all his teasing
could not extract any more; and, as it was not mentioned again, Mr.
Morrison forgot it.

The next evening he dressed early, and went to the library to write a
letter, and when it was finished he fell into a pleasant revery. He
thought of his struggles and disappointments, and of the bright future
that seemed to be opening before him. The little girl smiled down upon
him in the twilight, and he recalled his old dream.

It was surely a most living portrait. This little maiden, painted nearly
seventy years ago, looked as if about to speak. Was she laughing at him
still? would she presently come down? Surely he was dreaming, for there
she stood on the rug beside him! He could see the pattern of the rich
lace that fell from the neck of her quaint brocaded gown.

She came nearer, and he watched her, almost afraid to breathe; it was,
he thought, a most interesting illusion. He put out his hand, expecting
the vision to vanish, when, instead of thin air, his fingers closed upon
a round arm of real flesh and blood, and a laughing voice exclaimed,
"Why, father, I thought you were asleep!"

"Wink! is it really you?" he said, pulling her down on his knee. "I
thought the girl in the golden doorway had come down once more. Where
did you get this dress?"

"This is the secret, father. Aunt Frances found it among my
great-grandmother's things. It was made for the picture, and was copied
from another portrait that the little girl's father liked. It almost
fitted me. Do you really think I look like her?"

"Indeed you do, Wink; it is wonderful."

Frances leaned her head on his shoulder, and looked up at her
great-grandmother in great content.

"Do you know, Wink," said her father, presently, "I believe my old dream
has come true, and at last I have caught the