e gasman came quickly up the street, lit, as by an electric
touch, the bright burners that in close ranks lined either side-walk,
and in a moment more was out of sight.

Gertrude sighed. "It was no such easy task for poor old Uncle True,"
said she; "there have been great improvements since his time."

"There have, indeed!" said Willie, glancing round the well-lit, warm,
and pleasantly-furnished rooms of his own and Gertrude's home, and
resting his eyes at last upon the beloved one by his side, whose beaming
face but reflected back his own happiness--"such improvements, Gerty, as
we only dreamt of once! I wish the dear old man could be here and share
them!"

A tear started to Gertrude's eye; but, pressing Willie's arm, she
pointed reverently upward to a beautiful, bright star just breaking
forth from a silvery film which had hitherto half overshadowed it; the
star through which Gertrude had ever fancied she could discern the smile
of the kind old man.

"Dear Uncle True!" said she; "his lamp still burns brightly in heaven,
Willie; and its light is not yet gone out on earth!"

* * * * *

In a beautiful town about thirty miles from Boston, and on the shore of
those hill-embosomed ponds which would be immortalized by the poet in a
country less rich than ours with such sheets of blue transparent water,
there stood a mansion-house of solid though ancient architecture. It had
been the property of Philip Amory's paternal grandparents, and the early
home and sole inheritance of his father, who so cherished the spot that
it was only with great reluctance, and when driven to the act by the
spur of poverty, that he was induced to part with the much-valued
estate.

To reclaim the venerable homestead, repair and judiciously modernize the
house, and fertilize and adorn the grounds, was a favourite scheme with
Philip. His ample means now rendered it practicable; he lost no time in
putting it into execution, and the spring after he returned from his
wanderings saw the work in a fair way to be speedily completed.

In the meantime Gertrude's marriage had taken place; the Grahams had
removed to their house in town (which, out of compliment to Isabel, who
was passing the winter with her aunt, was more than ever crowded with
gay company), and the bustling mistress was already projecting changes
in her husband's country-seat.

And Emily, who had parted with her greatest treasure, and found herself
in a