“Oh, I love you already!” she cried. “Dear Ethel, dear sister!” “Sister!” Ethel exclaimed. “Ah, I never thought to find any one who had the right to call me that! I had dear, adopted parents, who, until the day of their death, I supposed were indeed my own, but I never had a brother or sister, and I have often envied those who had. But how is it that I did not see you before, and that you know all about me?” she asked, looking from sister to brother. “We were not far in the rear of our parents when they came upon the picture, and we heard and saw all that passed,” said Ellis. “And understood it,” added Dora with eager animation, “for all our lives long mamma has talked to us of her dear, first-born baby, her darling little Ethel, lost in so sad a manner, and we have known that she was always looking for you and hoping to find you. Poor dear mamma!” “Dear, happy mamma now!” corrected Ellis, with a smile and an affectionate, admiring glance at his newly-discovered sister. For a short space overpowering emotion kept Ethel silent. How sweet it was to know that there had never been a time since her birth when she had not had a warm place in that loving mother-heart! “Yes,” said Dora, “you are right there, Ellis. What joy there was in her face--although she was weeping, too--as I caught sight of it as papa helped her into the carriage that brought them here, and placed sister Ethel by her side.” “That reminds me,” said Ethel, with sudden recollection, “that you did not come with us--you three. How did you get here?” “The artist gave us the address while father was putting you ladies into the hack,” replied Ellis. “He told us, too, that it was our aunt’s house; and knowing that you were our sister we felt pretty secure of a welcome, so followed on. The distance, you know, is not great, and the street-cars brought us part of the way.” “Now, Ellis, let our new sister talk awhile; I think it’s her turn,” said Nannette; and coming to Ethel’s side, and looking coaxingly into her face, “Won’t you please tell us where you’ve been all this time, and what you’ve been doing?” she asked. “How could you ever do without mamma, ’specially when you had no papa either?” “I have wanted her very, very much since--since my dear adopted mother died,” Ethel answered, tears trembling in her eyes, while she put her arms about the child and kissed her tenderly. “Yes, little sister, I will tell you what you have asked,” and she went on to give a rapid sketch of her life, dwelling more at length upon her early childhood than on the events of after-years. All three listened with intense interest, one or another putting an occasional question when there was a pause in her narrative. Then she asked for a return of her confidence, and her request was granted with evident pleasure. Ellis was the chief speaker, the girls now and then assisting his memory till they had given Ethel quite a clear idea of their home life.