Mrs. Staunton was sitting in her favorite seat by the window. Her face was scarcely at all paler than it had been a week ago. She sat then by the window, looking out at her trouble, which showed like a speck in the blue sky. The shadow which enveloped her whole life was coming closer now, enveloping her like a thick fog. Still she was bearing up. Her eyes were gazing out on the garden--on the flowers which she and the doctor had tended and loved together. Some of the younger children had clustered round her knee--one of them held her hand--another played with a bunch of keys and trinkets which she always wore at her side. "Go on, mother," said little Marjory, aged seven. "Don't stop." "I have nearly finished," said Mrs. Staunton. "But not quite. Go on, mother; I want to hear the end of the story," said Phil. Mrs. Staunton did not see Dorothy, who stood motionless near the door. "They got so tired," she began in a monotonous sort of voice--"so dreadfully tired, that there was nothing for them to do but to try and get into the White Garden." "A _White Garden_!" repeated Phil. "Was it pretty?" "Lovely!" "Why was it called a White Garden?" asked Marjory. "Because of the flowers. They were all white--white roses, white lilies, snowdrops, chrysanthemums--all the flowers that are pure white without any color. The air is sweet with their perfume--the people who come to live in the White Garden wear white flowers on their white dresses--it is a beautiful sight." "It must be," said Marjory, who had a great deal of imagination. "Are the people happy?" "Perfectly happy--rested, you know, Marjory. They are peaceful as you are when you are tucked up in your little bed." "I like best to play and romp," said Marjory in a meditative voice; "but then, you see, I am never tired." "Dorothy is standing at the door," exclaimed Phil. "Come in, Dorothy, and listen to mother's beautiful story." "Do you want me?" asked Mrs. Staunton, standing up. She began to tremble--the children looked at her anxiously. Dorothy went straight up and took her hand. "Dr. Staunton wishes to see you," she said. "Will you come with me?" She looked anxiously toward the door. Mrs. Staunton put up her hand to her head. "Good-bye, my darlings," she said, looking at the little pair, who were gazing up at her with puzzled faces. "Go and play in the garden, and don't forget the White Garden about which we have been speaking." She stooped down and deliberately kissed both children, then she held out her hand to Dorothy. "I am quite ready," she said. At that moment George entered the room. He put his arms round his mother. He was a big fellow--his arms were strong. The muscles in his neck seemed to start out, his eyes looked straight into his mother's. "You have got _me_, mother; I am George," he said. "Come, let us go to my father together."