peacefully after that. Her father grew daily more
childish, and needed more constant watching, but she found time to read
to Polly many a snatch from her favourite authors, and Tryphosa's Bible
lay always open near her hand.

At last the day came when, in the full noontide, her father had called
to her in his weak voice, 'It's gettin' dark, Pawliney, and Lemuel's not
come home.'

And she had answered with her brave, sweet faith, 'Not yet, father, but
he'll come by-and-by. God knows.'

'Yes, God knows,' said the old man with a peaceful smile, 'I think I'll
go to sleep now, I'm very tired. You've been a good girl, Pawliney; a
good girl. God bless you, my dear.'

When the evening came Pauline laid her hand softly on the wrinkled brow,
from which the shadows had forever lifted. 'Dear old father,' she
whispered, 'how little I thought, when I wished you and I could leave
Sleepy Hollow, that you would be the first one to go away!'

* * * * *

'You ought always to dress in silk, Pauline, instead of calico. I wish
you could,' and Polly's eyes rested on her with a world of love in their
depths.

Pauline laughed as she kissed her.

'You silly child! Don't you know that cotton grows, and silk has to be
spun, which makes it costly? and cotton is content to be washed in
spring water, while silk has to be bathed in tea. Can you spare me for a
whole afternoon do you think, if I leave Carlyle and Whittier by your
pillow?'

'Where are you going?'

'Well, I want to take some apple custard to that poor Dan who fell from
the haymow, and I must go and see how Susan's children are getting
through the measles. Then old Mrs Croaker wants to be sung to, and the
widow Larkin wants to be read to, and Matilda Jones is "jest pinin' fer
a talk."' She laughed merrily.

'I never saw anyone get so much into their lives,' said Polly wistfully.
'I am so useless.'

'You blessed child!' cried Pauline, with the tears in her eyes; 'you are
our Angel of Patience. Don't ever call yourself useless, dear, you are
the centre of gravity for Stephen and me.'

When the twilight fell she sat in her favourite position near the open
door, looking up at the rose-tinted clouds, as she made Polly laugh with
merry descriptions of her different visits.

Suddenly she grew still, for a sun-browned, bearded man had crossed the
threshold, and thrown a paper into her lap, saying huskily:--

'There's the mortgage, Pauline, to make