I acted on Patience’s hint, and opened the door noiselessly. How cosy the room looked in the firelight! and could any sight be more pleasant to my eyes than dear Aunt Agatha sitting in her favourite low chair, in her well-worn black silk and pretty lace cap. I shall never forget her look of delight when she saw me. “Merle! Oh, you dear child, do you mean it is really you? Come here and let me look at you. I want to see what seven weeks of hard work have done for you.” But Aunt Agatha’s eyes were very dim as she looked. “There, sit down, and get warm,” giving me an energetic little push, “and tell me all about it. Your letters never do you justice, Merle. I must hear your experience from your own lips.” What a talk that was. It lasted all the afternoon, until Patience came in to set the tea-table, and we heard Uncle Keith’s boots on the scraper; even that sound was musical to me. When he entered the room I gave him a good hug, and had put some of my violets in his button-hole long before he had left off saying “Hir-rumph” in his surprise. “She looks well, Agatha, does she not?” he observed, as we gathered round the tea-table. “So the scheme has held out for seven weeks, eh? You have not come to tell us you are tired of being a nurse?” “No, indeed,” I returned, indignantly. “I am determined to prove to you and the whole world that my theory is a sensible one. I am quite happy in my work—perfectly happy, Uncle Keith. I would not part with my children for worlds. Joyce is so amusing, and as for Reggie, he is such a darling that I could not live without him.” “It is making a woman of Merle, I can see that,” observed Aunt Agatha, softly. “I confess I did not like the plan at first, but if you make it answer, child, you will have me for a convert. You look just as nice and just as much a lady as you did when you were leading a useless life here. Never mind if in time your hands grow a little less soft and white; that is a small matter if your heart expands and your conscience is satisfied. You remember your favourite motto, Merle?” “Yes, indeed, Aunt Agatha, ‘Laborare est orare.’ Now I must go, for Uncle Keith is pulling out his watch, which means I have to catch my train.” But as I trudged over the bridge beside him in the starlight, and saw the faint gleams lying on the dark, shadowy river, a voice seemed to whisper to my inner consciousness, “Courage, Merle, a good beginning makes a glad ending. Hold fast to your motto, ‘Laborare est orare.’” (_To be continued._) [Illustration] THE BROOK AND ITS BANKS. BY THE REV. J. G. WOOD, M.A., Author of “The Handy Natural History.” CHAPTER III.