wing between their dark boughs; where every quiet, snug, old wooden
house, with its gables and old-fashioned green or white front-door with
a brass or bronze knocker, and almost every shop and sign even, seemed
an old friend.

The lingering glow still lay full on the front of our old home, which
now had "Philemon Physick, M. D." on the corner. As we stopped before
it, I thought I spied a sweet little watching face, for one moment,
behind a pane of one of the second-story windows. But if I did, it was
gone before I was sure.

"Here she is!" called out the Doctor. "Julia!--Wait a minute, Kate, my
dear,--no hurry. Julia!" Up he ran, while "Julia" ran down, said
something, in passing, to him on the stairs, kissed me at the foot three
times over,--affectionately, but as if to gain time, I thought,--led me
into the parlor to take off my bonnet, and told me Fanny was not quite
ready to see me just then, but would be, most likely, in two or three
minutes. The Doctor had gone up to see about it, and would let me know.

"O, didn't I see her at the window?"

"Yes, dear, you did; and that was just the trouble. She saw you were
there; and she was so pleased, it made her a little faint. The Doctor
will give her something to take; and as soon as she is a little used to
your being here, of course you can be with her all the time."

The Doctor came down, speaking cheerily. "She is all right now. Run up,
as fast as you like, and kiss her, Kate, my child; but tell her I forbid
your talking till to-morrow. In five minutes, by my watch, I shall call
you down to tea; and when you are called, you come. That will give her
time to think about it and compose herself. Julia's _help_ shall stay
with her in the mean while. Afterwards, you shall share your own old
chamber with her. Julia has it, as usual, all ready for you."

Fanny had sunk back on her white pillows, upon the little couch before
the window from which she watched for me. How inspired and beautiful she
looked!--she who was never thought of as beautiful before,--the very
transfigured likeness of herself, as I hope one day to behold her in
glory,--and so like our mother, too! She lay still, as she had been
ordered, lest she should faint again; but by the cheerful lamp that
stood on the stand beside her, I saw her smile as she had never used to
smile. The eyes, that I left swollen and downcast, were raised large and
bright. But as she slowly opened her arms and clasped me to her, I