begin.

Aunt Geoffrey, kneeling at the table, read the prayers, and Fred took
the alternate verses of the Psalms. It was the last day of the month,
and as he now and then raised his eyes to his mother's face, he saw
her lips follow the glorious responses in those psalms of praise, and a
glistening in her lifted eyes such as he could never forget.

"He healeth those that are broken in heart, and giveth medicine to heal
their sickness."

"He telleth the number of the stars, and calleth them all by their
names."

He read this verse as he had done many a time before, without thinking
of the exceeding beauty of the manner in which it is connected with the
former one; but in after years he never read it again without that whole
room rising before his eyes, and above all his mother's face. It was a
sweet soft light, and not a gloom, that rested round that scene in his
memory; springtide sights and sounds; the beams of the declining sun,
with its quiet spring radiance; the fresh mild air; even the bright
fire, and the general look of calm cheerfulness which pervaded all
around, all conduced to that impression which never left him.

The service ended, Aunt Geoffrey read the hymn for the day in the
"Christian Year," and then left them for a few minutes; but strange as
it may seem, those likewise were spent in silence, and though there
was some conversation when she returned, Fred took little share in it.
Silent as he was, he could hardly believe that he had been there more
than ten minutes, when sounds were heard of the rest of the family
returning from Church, and Mrs. Geoffrey Langford went down to meet
them.

In another instant Henrietta came up, very bright and joyous, with many
kind messages from Aunt Roger. Next came Uncle Geoffrey, who, after a
few cheerful observations on the beauty of the day, to which his sister
responded with pleasure, said, "Now, Freddy, I must be hard-hearted; I
am coming back almost directly to carry you off."

"So soon!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Am I to be cheated of all the pleasure
of seeing you together?"

No one seemed to attend to her; but as soon as the door had closed
behind his uncle, Fred moved as if to speak, paused, hesitated, then
bent forward, and, shading his face with his hand, said in a low voice,
"Mamma, say you forgive me."

She held out her arm, and again he sank on his knee, resting his head
against her.

"My own dear boy," said she, "I will not say I have nothing to f