" Mr. Dinsmore said at length, leading the way
through a beautiful boudoir and dressing-room into an equally elegant and
attractive bedroom beyond, "they tell me you were born, and your beloved
mother passed from earth to heaven."

"An' eberyting in de room stands jees' as dey did den, honey," said Aunt
Chloe. And approaching the bed, her eyes swimming in tears, and laying her
hand upon the pillow, "jes' here my precious young missus lie, wid cheeks
'mos' as white as de linen, an' eyes so big an' bright, an' de lubly curls
streamin' all roun', an' she say, weak an' low, 'Mammy, bring me my baby.'
Den I put you in her arms, darlin', an' she kiss you all ober your tiny
face, an' de tears an' sobs come fast while she say, 'Poor little baby; no
fader no mudder to lub her! nobody but you, mammy; take her an' bring her
up to lub de dear Lord Jesus.'"

Silent tears rolled down Elsie's cheeks as she looked and listened; but
her father drew her to his breast and kissed them away, his own eyes
brimming, his heart too full for speech.

Presently he led her back to the boudoir, and showed her the portraits of
her maternal grandparents, and one of her mother, taken at ten or twelve
years of age.

"What a lovely little girl she was," murmured Elsie, gazing lovingly upon
it.

"Very much like what her daughter was at the same age," he answered. "But
come, this, too, will interest you." And lifting the lid of a dainty
work-basket, he pointed to a bit of embroidery, in which the needle was
still sticking, as though it had been laid down by the deft fingers but a
few moments ago.

Elsie caught it up and kissed it, thinking of the touch of those dear dead
fingers, that seemed to linger over it yet.

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

"She was the pride
Of her familiar sphere, the daily joy
Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze,
And in the light and music of her way
Have a companion's portrait,"
--WILLIS' POEMS.

Elsie had fallen asleep thinking of the dear mother whose wealth she
inherited, and whose place she was now filling; thinking of her as
supremely blest, in that glorious, happy land, where sin and sorrow are
unknown. Thinking, too, of Him, through whose shed blood she had found
admittance there.

The same sweet thoughts were still in the loving daughter's mind, as she
woke to find the morning sun shining brightly, a fire blazing cheerily on
the hearth, and Aun