the
bitterness of the pang from the bereaved mother, while her loss was yet
new. It had never been left to rankle in that warm heart, which had
room for every living child, while it cherished, in tenderness above
all sorrow, the child that was no more.

John and I, in our walk, stood a moment by the low churchyard wall, and
looked over at that plain white stone, where was inscribed her name,
"Muriel Joy Halifax,"--a line out of that New Testament miracle-story
she delighted in, "WHEREAS I WAS BLIND, NOW I SEE,"--and the date when
SHE SAW. Nothing more: it was not needed.

"December 5, 1813," said the father, reading the date. "She would have
been quite a woman now. How strange! My little Muriel!"

And he walked thoughtfully along, almost in the same footprints where
he had been used to carry his darling up the hillside to the brow of
Enderley Flat. He seemed in fancy to bear her in his arms still--this
little one, whom, as I have before said, Heaven in its compensating
mercy, year by year, through all changes, had made the one treasure
that none could take away--the one child left to be a child for ever.

I think, as we rested in the self-same place, the sunshiny nook where
we used to sit with her for hours together, the father's heart took
this consolation so closely and surely into itself that memory
altogether ceased to be pain. He began talking about the other
children--especially Maud--and then of Miss Silver, her governess.

"I wish she were more likeable, John. It vexes me sometimes to see how
coldly she returns the mother's kindness."

"Poor thing!--she has evidently not been used to kindness. You should
have seen how amazed she looked yesterday when we paid her a little
more than her salary, and my wife gave her a pretty silk dress to wear
to-night. I hardly knew whether she would refuse it, or burst out
crying--in girlish fashion."

"Is she a girl? Why, the boys say she looks thirty at least. Guy and
Walter laugh amazingly at her dowdy dress and her solemn, haughty ways."

"That will not do, Phineas. I must speak to them. They ought to make
allowance for poor Miss Silver, of whom I think most highly."

"I know you do; but do you heartily like her?"

"For most things, yes. And I sincerely respect her, or, of course, she
would not be here. I think people should be as particular over
choosing their daughter's governess as their son's wife; and having
chosen, should show her almost eq