Elsie listened earnestly to these words; a faint smile passed over her face, as she replied: "I ken something o' your story, Mary; it was a sad one; very much like the song o' 'Auld Robin Gray;' but your sorrows are amaist owre, Mary; and on the ither side, a' will be plain and clear." A few more days, and the ministering angel called for the faithful mother, and bore her peacefully, happily, over the swellings of Jordan, to the bosom of the Redeemer whom she loved. Roland stood in the presence of the dead with solemn, tender dignity; for he felt that no common loss was his in parting with such a friend and counsellor in life's trials and sorrows; but his hopes of reunion were so strong, so bright, that time appeared but as a little span, at the end of which he should again meet the spirit of that sainted parent. Effie was not so strong--poor, timid, loving child! It seemed to her as if life would weep itself away in the first burst of anguish that filled the chamber of the dead. Aunt Matilda undertook the expenses of the widow's funeral, and the family at the Hall joined the humble procession. Elsie Gibson was a sincere mourner, and made many mysterious remarks which none could explain. About a week after the funeral, Roland and Effie bent their steps to the village grave-yard. When they came in sight of the grave, what was their surprise! to see Elsie and a man wrapped up in a heavy cloak, in earnest conversation. He stood with his handkerchief to his face, as though deeply affected; but as soon as Elsie perceived the approach of the two, she hurried away with her mysterious companion. They were both surprised, and wondered who it could be thus interested in their mother. They were paying their last visit ere disposing of the furniture at the cottage. Aunt Matilda had offered Effie a home, where she was to make herself useful with her needle. Roland was preparing to obey his mother's request of seeking an education. All was ready for his departure, and Madeline sent for him to come up to the cemetery in the evening. When reaching his mother's grave, there sat Madeline on the humble mound, at the head of which was placed a simple head-stone of white marble, with his mother's name and age inscribed, with the sweet words, "Asleep in Jesus." "Is this your work, Madeline?" asked the boy. "Yes, Roland; it was the last thing that I could do for you; you have been a faithful friend to me, and it is a small return." "I cannot tell you, Madeline, how grateful I am for this act of kindness; it was a trial to me to think that my mother must lie in the grave without any sign to mark the place of her burial." "When do you leave us, Roland?"