“It will still be a hard struggle for my poor mother,” said Horton, after his full heart had so far found vent as to enable him to turn his thoughts once more on his sorrowing parent; “but she loves us both too well to grieve long when she sees us so happy.” “And though,” said Lucy, “she will have to live in a much smaller house, and to exchange her large and beautiful garden for a very circumscribed one, she will still have the rich garden of nature to look at; and beside, she will have another child to watch over her, and administer to her comfort.” The day of sale arrived, and it having been proposed by Lucy that Norman should bring his mother to spend that day with her, that she might be out of the way of the noise and bustle with which the house would necessarily be surrounded. The old lady came at an early hour, and Lucy exerted her every art to amuse her, and divert her mind from what was going on at home. As she was still a great invalid, she was obliged to recline almost constantly on the sofa, but she proved how much her thoughts clung to the home that was about to be so cruelly taken away from her, by the frequent questions she asked. “Are the people beginning to gather yet, Lucy?” she asked, as she observed Lucy’s face turned toward the window which commanded a view of the place. “Every thing seems very quiet yet,” returned her affectionate attendant. “I see two, three, nine, seven wagons,” said Lucy’s little sister. “And I see a great many men riding,” said a little fellow still younger than she who had just spoken. Lucy, anxious to stop the children’s remarks, enticed them away from the window by giving them a picture-book to look at. Then turning to Mrs. Horton, she asked if she could not read something to her to amuse her. “Amusement is out of the question, dear,” said the invalid, “but you may read something that will give me a useful lesson. Take the Bible, my child, and read the sermon on the mount. I always feel myself a better woman after I have read it.”