ame, at least, on each note is good."

"Everything comes back, like Job's prosperity. This repays us for all
our anxiety."

"If Alice had not run away!"

"But we shall have her again,--poor motherless child!"

So with mutual gratulations they passed the evening. My readers who now
enjoy a mother's love, or look back with affectionate reverence to such
scenes in the past, will pardon these apparently unimportant portions
of the story. Sooner or later all will learn that no worldly success
whatever, no friendships, not even the absorbing love of wife and
children, can afford a pleasure so full, so serene, as the sacred
feeling which rises at the recollection of a mother's self-sacrificing
affection.

Very commonplace, no doubt,--but still worth an occasional thought. As
for those who demand that natural and simple feelings shall be ignored,
and that every chapter shall record something not less startling than
murder or treason, are there not already means for gratifying their
tastes? Do not the "Torpedo" and the "Blessing of the Boudoir" give
enough of these delicate condiments with the intellectual viands they
furnish? Let old-fashioned people enjoy their plain dishes in peace.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The reader may be quite sure that Greenleaf lost no time in presenting
himself at Easelmann's studio on the morning after his last interview.

"On hand early, I see," said the elder. "And how fresh you look! The
blood comes dancing into your face; you are radiant with expectation."

"You mummy, what do you suppose I am made of, if the thought of meeting
Alice should not quicken my blood a little?"

"If it were my case, I think my cheeks would tingle from another cause."

"Now you need not try to frighten me. I will see her first. I don't
believe she has forgotten me."

"Nor I; but forgetting is one thing, and forgiving is another. Besides,
we haven't seen her yet."

"I haven't, I know; but I'll wager you have."

"Well, my Hotspur, I sha'n't entice her away from you."

"Let us go," said Greenleaf.

"Presently; I must finish this pipe first; it lasts thirty-six minutes,
and I have smoked only--let me see--twenty-eight."

"Well, puff away; but you'll burn up my patience with your tobacco,
unless you are ready soon."

"Don't hurry. You'll get to your stool of repentance quite soon enough.
Have you heard the news? The banks have suspended,--ditto Fletcher, a
banker's clerk.

"What do you mean?"

"Plain enou