“She wasn't quite sure about it, but I declare till I die I will never forget the wonder and the delight in her face. I tell you I wept that night, but not at the play. And how she criticised the actors; even Booth himself didn't escape,” continued Harry; “and so I say it's a beastly shame that you should spend your whole life in the backwoods there and have so little of the other sort of thing. Why you are made for it!” “Harry,” answered Mrs. Murray, in surprise, “that was my work, given me to do. Could I refuse it? And besides after all, fun, as you say, passes; music stops; books get done with; but those other things, the things that Ranald and I have seen, will go on long after my poor body is laid away.” “But still you must get tired,” persisted Harry. “Yes, I get tired,” she replied, quietly. At the little touch of weariness in the voice, Kate, who was looking at the beautiful face, so spiritual, and getting, oh, so frail, felt a sudden rush of tears in her eyes. But there was no self-pity in that heroic soul. “Yes, I get tired,” she repeated, “but, Harry, what does that matter? We do our work and then we will rest. But oh, Harry, my boy, when I come to your city and see all there is to do, I wish I were a girl again, and I wonder at people thinking life is just for fun.” Harry, like other young men, hated to be lectured, but from his aunt he never took anything amiss. He admired her for her brilliant qualities, and loved her with a love near to worship. “I say, auntie,” he said, with a little uncertain laugh, “it's like going to church to hear you, only it's a deal more pleasant.” “But, Harry, am I not right?” she replied, earnestly. “Do you think that you will get the best out of your life by just having fun? Oh, do you know when I went with Kate to the Institute the other night and saw those boys my heart ached. I thought of my own boys, and--” The voice ceased in a pathetic little catch, the sensitive lips trembled, the beautiful gray-brown eyes filled with sudden tears. For a few moments there was silence; then, with a wavering smile, and a gentle, apologetic air, she said: “But I must not make Harry think he is in church.” “Dear Aunt Murray,” cried Harry, “do lecture me. I'd enjoy it, and you can't make it too strong. You are just an angel.” He left his seat, and going over to her chair, knelt down and put his arms about her. “Don't you all wish she was your aunt?” he said, kissing her. “She IS mine,” cried Kate, smiling at her through shining tears. “She's more,” said Ranald, and his voice was husky with emotion. But with the bright, joyous little laugh Ranald knew so well, she smoothed back Harry's hair, and kissing him on the forehead, said: “I am sure you will do good work some day. But I shall be quite spoiled here; I must really get home.”