e, and had come to regard himself with a
sort of pitying disapprobation, such as falls upon us when we know we
have a duty to perform, yet think it too great, and hesitate between
self-condolence and accusation.

He had seen the day of wild oats, and had sown them, but had drawn back
ere they sprung into life and choked out all else. He had had riches and
lost them; had married a lovely loving girl, only to have her taken from
him in one short year; then to deaden his grief he had gone to work,
regained his wealth, after which he left his infant daughter in tender
hands, and had gone abroad, only to again lose all he had in an
unfortunate speculation, which brought him home, where he had again gone
to work, but with a listless, disinterested way,--that had brought him
little success.

So, to-day, he was a lawyer, struggling as though he had just entered
the bar. So, I say, he felt like a man without an incentive. To be sure,
there was his little daughter, but then he had really seen so little of
the child, and for a time there had been almost a bitter feeling against
her, because, in gaining her life, she had taken her young mother's, and
left him desolate; and then if he was to die, she was amply provided
for by her grandmother. He had yet to learn, that, though severely dealt
with, he had still much to live for.

The other little acorn had fallen in kindred ground, in no less place,
than the loving little heart of Pansy Murray.

The brother and sister were strolling rather aimlessly about, with a
word here and there to chattering groups, and an occasional glance
around to see if Kittie was in sight, when, who should they see, but
that young lady coming slowly towards them, with her arms filled with a
familiar bundle, that showed signs of life, as they came in sight of
each other. It thus remarked with much excitement:

"I was losted, I was, papa, behind a big tree, an' I was a kyin'
dreffully when the lady finded me, I was."

"Lost? Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Raymond, snatching the child in a
hurry, and forgetting all introductions. "Why, I told the girls not to
lose sight of you, Pansy."

"But they did," said Pansy, with a blissful smile, as though she had
done something great. "They bothered me dreadfully, saying: 'Come,
Pansy,' 'Don't go there, Pansy,' till I went right off for sure 'thout
telling one body, and then I got losted mos' right away, and I wished I
could hear somebody say 'Come, Pansy,' but nobo