e could go on--"but he would
have you stay away till September, not risking a return during the hottest
season; and, if you wish, he will attend to the plantation, hiring blacks
to work it."

"My poor, poor old father!" Mr. Dinsmore exclaimed, with emotion. "Welcome
in my house? If I had but a dollar, I would share it with him."

"He shall never want a home, while any of us live!" sprang simultaneously
from the lips of Mr. Allison and Mr. Travilla.

Adelaide and Elsie were too much moved to speak, but each gave her husband
a look of grateful affection.

"Thank you both," Mr. Dinsmore said. "Adelaide, I shall write my father
to-day. Does Lora say that he is well?"

Mrs. Allison could hardly speak for tears, as she answered, "He is not
ill, but sadly aged by grief and care. But you shall read the letter for
yourself. Stay to breakfast with us (there's the bell), and I'll give it
to you afterwards."

"Thanks; but I fear they may wait breakfast for me at the other house."

"No; I will send them word at once that we have kept you."

There was an effort after cheerfulness as they gathered about the
plentiful board; but too many sad thoughts and memories had been called up
in the hearts of the elders of the party: and only the children were
really gay.

Edward Allison was pale and thin, his health having suffered from the
hardships incident to his army life.

Elsie remarked it, in a tone of grief and concern; but he answered with a
smile, "I have escaped so much better than many others, that I have more
reason for thankfulness than complaint. I am hearty and robust compared
to poor Harold."

A look of deep sadness stole over his face as he thus named his younger
brother.

Elsie understood it when, an hour later, the elder Mr. Allison entered the
parlor, where she and Adelaide were chatting together, with Harold leaning
on his arm.

They both shook hands with her, the old gentleman saying, "My dear, I am
rejoiced to have you among us again;" Harold silently, but with a sad,
wistful, yearning look out of his large bright eyes, that filled hers with
tears.

His father and Adelaide helped him to an easy chair, and as he sank back
pantingly upon its cushions, Elsie--completely overcome at sight of the
feeble, wasted frame, and wan, sunken features--stole quickly from the
room.

Adelaide followed, to find her in the sitting-room on the opposite side of
the hall, weeping bitterly.

"Oh, Aunt Adie," she sobbed; "