Nellie looked at him enquiringly, and Tom said, though his lips quivered a little, "They are to remind me—Light Affliction now, Weight of Glory afterwards." Nellie buried her head on his pillow, and clasped her arms round him. "Oh, Tom! Poor little Tom! Dear little Tom!" And then he whispered tenderly, though with a sob in his voice— "'These light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' For, Nellie darling, the things that we see are but for a time, but the things we do not see are for ever." * * * * * * * On this evening of their return from Hampstead, Tom lay looking at them all, and when Dr. Arundel came in, they all gathered round the tea-table. Then they told their little histories over again, with some new ones in addition; and the evening flew away so fast that Netta and Isabel were astonished when their mamma said, "It is eight o'clock, my dears; and you must go to bed." Tom generally was glad to retire soon after tea; the days were long enough for him; but on rare occasions, when his mother saw he was interested, she did not break in on his happiness, but let him enjoy as much as he could. When Ada laid her head on her pillow that night, after she had said good-night to Nellie, the thought which she had banished so peremptorily would force itself unbidden upon her. This was the thought, and it made her shiver, "What would home be without mamma?" Her mind went round and round the corners of the house—the sitting-rooms, the bedrooms, the nursery; and for once in her life, Ada Arundel was thoroughly frightened at the desolation her imagination had conjured up. A soft footstep entered the dark room, a footstep she knew and loved. "Is either of you awake, dears?" said a gentle voice. "I am, mamma," answered Ada, starting up with such an overpowering sense of relief that she burst into tears. "I was only afraid of frightening you," answered Mrs. Arundel. "I came up for the glycerine." "Oh, mamma, do kiss me!" said Ada in a broken voice. Mrs. Arundel made her way to the side of the bed, and, feeling for her eldest daughter, folded her in her arms. "Oh, mamma," said Ada again, "I did not know I loved you so much!" "My dear," questioned Mrs. Arundel, while she kissed the wet face fondly. "Oh, don't leave us, mamma!" sobbed Ada. "Not if it is God's will," gently answered her mother. "It would be hard to think of you without me; but, Ada, my child, do not cry about it now; tell it all to God. He knows best, my dear." Kissing her again, Mrs. Arundel tucked her up smoothed her hair, wiped away her tears, and turned to the dressing-table. Ada jumped out of bed, and gave her the glycerine, and with one more kiss jumped in again, and buried her head far beneath the clothes.