ver in the _Walter Raleigh_. I wish you to be in readiness
to accompany me to-morrow when I go to bring them down."

"My father, yes," were the only words that escaped the formal and
frozen girl.

A week after this conversation the still life of the beautiful
cottage was enlivened. A lovely boy played before the door, while a
pale mother watched him from within. That pale mother was not yet
thirty years of age, yet her cheeks were sunken, her eyes dim, and her
hair streaked with silver. Truly, the face was breaking fast, but the
heart was breaking faster. But the boy! Oh, he was a noble child! Tall
for his age (he was but five years old), his dark hair, parted over a
high, broad forehead, fell in sable curls upon his shoulders; his
large black eyes, now keen and piercing as the young eagle's, now soft
and melting as the dove's. His dark eyes wore their softest shade as
he stole to his mother's side, and, twining his little arms around her
neck, drew her face down to his, saying, with a kiss: "Willie is so
sorry?"

"For what should Willie be sorry?" said the mother, tenderly caressing
him.

"Because mamma is sad. Does she want Willie to do anything?"

"No, sweet boy, she wants nothing done that Willie can do."

"If mamma's head aches, Willie will hold it."

"Her head does not ache."

"If mamma wants Willie to stop teasing her and go to bed, he will go."

"You are not teasing me, dear Willie, and it is rather too early for
you to go to bed."

The widow strove to chase the gloom from her brow, that she might not
darken by its shadow the bright sunshine of her child's early life,
and with an effort at cheerfulness she exclaimed: "Now go, Willie, and
get the pretty book Cousin Elizabeth gave you, and see if you can read
the stories in it."

Willie ran off to obey with cheerful alacrity.

The doctor was not able to do more for his sister-in-law than to give
her the cottage and supply her with the necessaries of life; and to do
this, he cheerfully curtailed the expenses of his own household. It
was delightful to see the affectionate gratitude of the widow and
child toward their benefactor. And that angel child, I wish I could do
justice to his filial devotion. He seemed, at that early age, to feel
as though he only lived to love and bless his mother. To be constantly
at her side, to wait upon her, even to study her wants and anticipate
her wishes, seemed to be the greatest joy of the little creature.

"Willie,