mething special happens, but in
everything that we do, we must strive to act according to His holy will.
If we never think of Him, except when we are unhappy, we shall not then be
able easily to find the way to him, and that is the greatest grief of
all."

Dora repeated that she would ask God to keep her in the right way, and as
she spoke, her father softly stroked her hand, as it lay in his. He did
not speak again for a long time, but his eyes rested so lovingly and
protectingly on his little girl, that she felt as if folded in a tender
and strengthening embrace.

The sun sank in golden radiance behind the green lindens, and slowly the
father and child wended their way towards the high house in the narrow
street.

CHAPTER II.

LONG, LONG DAYS.

It was not many days after the events mentioned in the last chapter. Dora
sat by her father's bedside, her head buried in the pillows, vainly
striving to choke down her tears and sobs. It seemed as if her heart must
break. The Major lay back on his pillow, white and still, with a peaceful
smile on his calm face. Dora could not understand it, could not take it
in, but she knew it. Her father was gone to join her mother in heaven.

In the morning her father had not come as usual to her bedside to awaken
her, so when at last she opened her eyes, she went to seek him, and she
found him still in bed, and lying so quiet that she seated herself quite
softly by his side, that she might not disturb him.

Presently the servant came up with the breakfast, and looking through the
open door into the bed-room where Dora sat by her father's bed-side, she
called out in terror,

"Oh God, he is dead! I will call your aunt, child," and hurried away.

Dora's heart seemed cut in two by these words. She put her head upon the
pillow and sobbed and wept. Presently she heard her aunt come into the
room, and she raised her head and tried to control herself, for she
dreaded the scene that she knew was coming. And it came--cries and sobs,
loud groans and lamentations. Aunt Ninette declared that she could never
bear this terrible blow; she did not know which way to turn, nor what to
do first.

In the open drawer of the table by the side of the bed, lay several
papers, and as she laid them together, meaning to lock them up, she saw a
letter addressed to herself. She opened it and read as follows:

"Dear Sister Ninette,

"I feel that I shall shall soon leave you, but I will not