The night that Mr _Norris_ was buried in the churchyard of _Minster Lovel_, as we sat again our two selves by the fireside, Aunt _Joyce_ saith to me, or may-be to herself-- "I should think I may go now." "Whither, _Aunt_?" said I. "Home, _Edith_," she made answer. "Home--to _Leonard_ and _Anstace_, and to _Christ_. The work that was set me is done. `_Nunc dimittis, Domine_!'" "Dear Aunt _Joyce_," said I, "I want you for ever so long yet." "If thou verily do, _Edith_," saith she, "I shall have to tarry. And surely, she that hath borne forty years' travel in the darkness, can stand a few days' more journeying in the light. I know that when the right time cometh, my Father will not forget me. The children may by times feel eager to reach home, but the Father's heart longeth the most to have them all safe under His shelter." And very gravely she added--"`They that were ready went in with Him to the wedding: and the gate was shut up.'" THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Joyce Morrell's Harvest, by Emily Sarah Holt