"My precious mother!" "My dear, dear child!" we cried simultaneously; and my sister enfolding us both in her arms, exclaimed with a happy laugh, "I can not wait! I will not be left outside!" and disengaging one arm, I threw it about her into the happy circle of our united love. Oh, what an hour was that! I did not dream that even heaven could hold such joy. After a time my brother, who had shared our joy, said: "Now, I can safely leave you for a few hours to this blessed reunion, for I have other work before me." "Yes," said my father, "you must go. We will with joy take charge of our dear child." "Then for a brief while good-by," said my brother kindly. "Do not forget that rest, especially to one but recently entered upon the new life, is not only one of the pleasures, but one of the duties of heaven." "Yes, we will see that she does not forget that," said my father, with a kindly smile and glance. CHAPTER IV. O joys that are gone, will you ever return To gladden our hearts as of yore? Will we find you awaiting us, some happy morn, When we drift to Eternity's shore? Will dear eyes meet our own, as in days that are past? Will we thrill at the touch of a hand? O joys that are gone, will we find you at last On the shores of that wonderful land? Soon after my brother's departure my mother said, grasping my hand: "Come, I am eager to have you in our own home;" and we all passed out of the rear entrance, walked a few hundred yards across the soft turf, and entered a lovely home, somewhat similar to our own, yet still unlike it in many details. It also was built of marble, but darker than that of my brother's home. Every room spoke of modest refinement and cultivated taste, and the home air about it was at once delightfully perceptible. My father's study was on the second floor, and the first thing I noticed on entering was the luxuriant branches and flowers of an old-fashioned hundred-leafed rose tree, that covered the window by his desk. "Ah!" I cried, "I can almost imagine myself in your old study at home, when I look at that window." "Is it not a reminder?" he said, laughing happily. "I almost think sometimes it is the same dear old bush, transplanted here." "And it is still your favorite flower?" I queried. He nodded his head, and said, smiling: "I see you remember still the childhood days." And he patted my cheek as I gathered a rose and fastened it upon his breast. "It seems to me this ought to be your home, dear; it is our father's home," said my sister wistfully. "Nay," my father quickly interposed. "Col. Sprague is her legitimate guardian and instructor. It is a wise and admirable arrangement. He is in every way the most suitable instructor she could possibly have. Our Father never errs." "Is not my brother's a lovely character?" I asked.