Margaret took it to her room and read it eagerly, and amid a rain of tears. Even she had not realized what a lovely character the little one possessed, and every little detail interested her. "This book ought to be published!" she said, as she returned it. "It would not touch the public as it does you," replied Belle. "It would touch anybody who had a heart," said Mrs. Grey. Belle caught it nervously, and locked it up. Mrs. Grey smiled, and said she never meant to urge its publication. At the end of a fortnight she and Margaret returned to Greylock, sent the boys back to Mr. Heath, and everything went on as usual till spring; Mrs. Grey going hither and thither on all sorts of Christian work; Margaret eagerly engaged in painting a portrait of Mabel, partly from a photograph, partly from memory, and busy with her studies also. And now a long-promised visit to Laura was to be made as soon as Gabrielle's vacation should begin, when she was to go home for a visit. Laura lived on the beautiful banks of the Hudson, and so near to the city that her husband could attend to his business there, and go home every afternoon. Since Mrs. Grey had been there, they had built a new house, and Laura was full of delight in the prospect of exhibiting it to her mother and Margaret. She charged the latter to bring her painting-materials, so as to make sketches of some of the fine views in the neighborhood. "I don't know about that," said Margaret. "I doubt if I ought to do anything of that sort till Mabel's portrait is done. That will be such a delightful surprise to Belle." "On the other hand, it would be running some risk to take it with you," Mrs. Grey replied. "Do you mean from the children?" "Not exactly. I don't know what I do mean. I only know that I have an impression that it is best to leave it at home. You have put a great deal of work in it, and it would take months to replace it." "I don't think I could forgive Pug and Trot if they bedaubed this as they did the only other large picture I ever took. I'll leave it." On a beautiful afternoon in. June they met Harry on the steamboat, on their way to his home. He was in splendid health and spirits, and seemed delighted at the prospect of their visit. They sat upon deck, read a little, looked at the blue sky and green banks, and talked when they felt like it. "We shall soon be there," Harry said, at last. "You'll get a glimpse of the house as we skirt this island. Hollo! what's that?" he cried, starting to his feet and running forward. "It's fire!" said Margaret, putting out her hand for Mrs. Grey's. "We are near the shore; there is no danger," said Mrs. Grey. "Why doesn't Harry come back?" asked Margaret. "He ought not to expose himself for Laura's sake. Oh, aunty, see how the flames are rushing between us and him!" There was great rushing to and fro, the flames spread rapidly; orders were given in a loud voice, above which could be heard the cries of the terrified passengers.