"Eric, my boy," she said to him, "if you trust in God, and pray to Him every day, as long as you live, it will not be an evil thing to be a genius. The Pastorinna says that to be one means nothing evil, but only that you have wings hidden away in your shoulders that will grow and grow and grow till you are a man, and then they will unfold and be two great, white, strong pinions, that will carry you all over the world, if you like; and that sounds to me like being an archangel, such as we read about in the Bible." The boy slipped his hand under his blouse, and felt his shoulder. "I think I feel a very, very little wing growing," he said. "But I sha'n't want to fly all over the world; I shall fly up to heaven to see the dear Lord." Viola's heart gave a great bound of pain. "You would fly away from us who love you so?" she cried. "Only to see the dear Lord," said Eric, solemnly. Then an inward voice spake to Viola, and said: "Better that than off into the wide, wicked world; better that than name and fame and riches, and a despised, forgotten mother! Even so, Father, if so it seem good in Thy sight." Laura stopped reading, folded her manuscript, and looked shyly about her. "Oh, Laura! you don't mean that you killed that beautiful boy?" cried Belle. "How could I help it?" asked Laura, the tears running down her cheeks. "He _would_ die! I tried all I could to have him live, and so did his father and mother, and all of them. But the wings grew and grew, and he mounted upward, and passed through the golden gate; but he left it ajar for Viola." "Mamma, you'll have to look out," said Frank. "Laura is catching up with you rather too fast." "I like to keep step with those I walk with," she replied, with a smile. "She may catch up, and welcome." "I never did you any kind of justice, Laura," said Belle. "That was not your fault. How _can_ one do justice to a butterfly, as long as it's an ugly chrysalis?" "But, Laura, how could you have the heart to take both Eric and Viola away from Olaf?" asked Margaret. "Poor Olaf, indeed?" cried Laura, "just as if men never survived the loss of their wives. I have no doubt that by the time the first year was out he trotted down into Italy and married that pretty little Italian girl who reminded him so of Viola, and who took such a fancy to him." "But she was a Romanist," objected Belle. "So was Viola; yet he converted her. On the whole, I think I sacrificed her in a proselyting spirit." "Well, what put Eric into your head?" asked Cyril Heath. "What puts anything into anybody's head?" she responded, saucily. "And when I had got him on my hands, I didn't know what to do with him, and his death was a mercy." "I am going to have this story published," said Harry. "I'm right proud of my wife." "Suppose I put it into my book," said Mrs. Grey. "Would you, mamma?" cried Laura, eagerly. "That would be splendid. How can you bring it in?"