ust reached, and looked thoughtfully upon the bowed figure near
her.

"You'll come every day to see him while I am gone--won't you, Rosalie?
and try to keep him contented and happy? It seems so sad," continued
she, "to have no real comfort in life excepting one little gleam, and
then to have even that taken from you! Never mind, grandpa, Jennie will
come back again, soon."

The old man picked up, one by one, some white petals that had fallen
upon his knees from a tree near them, and, letting them drop again,
said, "Don't stay long, dear little Jennie. Simon, is the swing safe?
You'd better see that it is tied firmly to the branches."

"Yes, sir," said Simon; "I'll attend to it, sir. It is well, miss," he
added, "that we have the old swing to fall back upon. Every day while
you were gone, when your grandpa seemed uneasy about you, and asked
often for you, I'd have to say, 'she's down to the old Buttonwood,
sir--only down to the old Buttonwood;' and then he'd rest easy like. The
time seemed weary and long to me, miss, as I put him off from day to
day; but a year and a day is all the same to him, miss--all the same."

"Well, Simon," said Carrie, "I'm so glad you are here with him; I should
never take a bit of comfort if you were not. Even in those strange
countries, where there was so much that was new and beautiful to
interest me, I could not forget the dear old figure beneath the trees at
home, and the thought that you understood him and could cheer him was
all that kept me contented and happy."

"Ah, miss, it's a dreadful bereavement!" said the old butler, shaking
his head. "Such a noble-looking old gentleman as your grandfather was
before this came upon him! I used to watch him as he walked up and down
these avenues with Miss Jennie, that's dead and gone, upon his arm, and
a prouder father I never saw. He's only a wreck now, Miss Carrie, a
pitiful wreck!" and the good servant drew his coat-sleeve across his
face, and turned hastily away.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Meantime frequent communications had passed between Mrs. Dunmore and her
daughter, and now came glad anticipations of a speedy return to the home
and child of her love. Her mission was accomplished. "The silver string
was loosed, the golden bowl broken;" and the old and wearied body laid
away for its long and peaceful rest. For months had she soothed its
pains, and rendered its pathway to the tomb easy and pleasant, and now
that the green earth covered