n as she had some one besides Martha to call on. Then
her meals must be given to her, and nothing tasted right, and the
children were so noisy, and the older boys so uncouth.

Wearily Pauline toiled up the narrow stairs with Polly as the clock
struck nine. She laid the sleeping child on her bed softly, so as not to
wake Lemuel, and knelt down by the window. Not a sound broke the
stillness. Her thoughts flew to the blue-draped chamber, and the soft
lighted library, where she could almost see Uncle Robert and Aunt
Rutha, and Belle and Richard, and Russell and Gwen. But they might not
be there yet; they had set apart this night, she remembered, to run over
for a look through the big telescope. Last week that was, before she had
decided to come to Sleepy Hollow, and broken up all their happy plans.
Only last week! Then she thought of Tryphosa, lying with closed eyes in
her darkened room, waiting patiently for the sleep which so often
refused to come, while the angel of pain brooded over her pillow. Then
her eyes sought the stars.

'You dear things!' she whispered. 'God put you in your places and told
you to shine, and for all these hundreds of years you've just kept on
shining. Oh! my lady, ask God to help me to make this dark place
bright.'

She knelt on in the clear, cold moonlight until at last the hush of
God's peace crept into her heart, and there was a great calm.

The winter crept on steadily. Jack Frost threw photographs of fairyland
upon the windows, and hung the roofs with fringes of crystal pendants,
while the snowflakes piled themselves over the fences and made a shroud
for the trees, and every day Pauline, with this strange peace in her
heart, did her housework to the glory of God.

There were bright spots here and there, for the Boston letters came
freely, and the magazines which she had liked best, and now and then a
book, as Belle said, 'to keep Mr Hallam company.' They would not let her
drop out of their life, these kind friends, and she took it all
thankfully, though she could only glance at the magazines, and never
opened the books. There would be time by-and-by, she said to herself
cheerfully. There was so much waiting for her in the beautiful
by-and-by.

'It beats me,' said Mrs Harding fretfully, as Pauline hushed Polly to
sleep, 'what you do to that child. I used to sing to her till my throat
cracked, but you just smooth her hair awhile with those fingers of
yours, and off she goes. I wish you'd