Carry was to be married the last of July. The middle of June brought Mrs. Dana and the children, under Charley's protection. For the week of his stay, he was the life of the house. One cloud was upon the spirits of all;--Lynn was missed and mourned, and by none, with more sorrowful tenderness, than by his vivacious friend; but he was unselfish even in this. Ida could win him to speak of their loss; to the others, he never mentioned it of his own accord. She was correct in saying that he had grown more communicative and affectionate. He seemed to have transferred to her the watchful love that had been Lynn's safeguard and solace. "Nothing changes you, Mars' Charley?" said Uncle Ike, the plantation patriarch, halting at the piazza steps one afternoon, when he had crawled out into the sunshine. "I should like to say the same for you, Uncle Ike; time and sickness have not treated you as well as you deserve." "Better'n I desarve, Mars' Charles!--heap better'n I desarve! Time for me to be packed and shoed for my journey. I'se lived in these low-grounds of sorrow, nigh 'pon ninety years, and many' the young folks I've seen step down into the grave before me. When I heard that poor, handsome Mars' Lynn had gone too, 'pears-like I was ready to grumble 'cause 'twant me--but 'twas the Almighty's will, Mars' Charles,--'twas his will. It 'joices me to see you so well and lively--jest like you used to be. You don't take trouble, I reckon, Marster." "No; it's against my principles;--beside, we'll have a plenty given to us." "Fact, Marster! You ain't knowed much yet; but 'the evil days will come, when you shall say, I have no pleasure in them!'" Charley kept his seat upon the step for some time after the old man had gone:--once he sighed heavily. Ida was in the parlor, and longed to go out to him, for she guessed the tenor of his thoughts, but doubted the propriety of intruding upon them. He got up, presently, and began to walk the porch, whistling an opera air. Spying her through the window, he came in. "You are ruining your eyes and health with this eternal stitching;" said he. "As I live, you are boring holes in that piece of cloth, for the pleasure of sewing them up again! No wonder woman's work is never ended! What are you making?" "A handkerchief." She displayed the corner, in which she was embroidering, "Carry Carleton." "Where are the others?" he inquired. "Mrs. Dana is in the nursery; Carry asleep; Dr. Carleton and Arthur abroad." "Come, walk with me!" requested he. "Any handkerchief,--a wedding mouchoir--can wait an hour." Their course was along the brink of a deep ravine; overshadowed by large old trees; and bridged by fallen trunks. The sides were grass-grown, and at the bottom rolled the rivulet, which had fretted out the gorge; blending its complainings with the low rush of the wind through the forest. "So one feeling often wears away the soul!" remarked Charley, reflectively. "Man is but clay after all!"