"He did in his last letter to you, and he is a faithful promiser." Seated in her accustomed place, Effie listens eagerly for every step, for her remaining senses are made more acute by the loss of one; the step on the gravelled walk, then on the piazza, the closing of the front door, the firm tread along the hall, and the voice so beloved, sends a glow of joy over the face of the blind girl, and rising, she gropes her way hastily to the entry, where she is soon folded to the bosom of her "dear, dear Roland." He gazes sadly for one moment upon the sightless eyes, the pale drooping form, and the hectic bloom on the thin face, and feels that Effie is following their mother to the land of the blessed. But Roland has a cheerful spirit, and nothing but strong comforting words pass his lips when alone with his little sister. He tells her of his plans, of his success in business, and his News-boys' Home, of incidents connected with the history of several, and amusing accounts of their first entrance upon civilized life. "Would you believe it, Effie, that one poor little fellow did not know the use of a staircase, and we found him groping up on his hands and feet as he had been accustomed to do by the ladder of his gloomy garret. There was a looking-glass in the matron's room, and the same little fellow was pushing through, thinking it was another room." Effie laughed at these stories, and thought her brother the most entertaining company that she had ever met. "Now, brother, tell me all about Madeline's book; did the boys like it?" "It was the very book for them; they are always asking for 'The Boy in Earnest;' each one is to have a copy on Christmas morning." Turning to Madeline, he continued, "You must go on with your stories; the publisher was delighted, and wants more from the same source. I have some matter which I can give you, and you can weave it into the form of a tale for us--you see that my advice was good, Madeline, although you were so afraid to try." "It is always right, Roland; you never advised me for anything but my good, but you ought to hear Aunt Matilda make fun of these things; she says that I shall forget to wash my face and hands after awhile; do you think that there is really any danger of such a calamity?" and Madeline smiled archly on her friend. "Not if I may judge by present appearances;" was the reply, as Roland gazed with an admiring look upon the perfect lady-like neatness of hair, dress, and manner that always distinguished Madeline. "I never could tell what you wear, but I think that your aunt need not wish anything different." Madeline blushed at the compliment so unusual from the lips of Roland, and made a low mischievous courtesy, with the witchery of former times. "Thank you, kind sir, you had better take care, lest you make me vain, instead of a 'blue stocking;' and one is as bad as the other." "Pure motives, Madeline, will make all right; everything in its proper place, but God over all."