But don't you miss him very much, Aunt Chle?" asked Evelyn softly, her voice tremulous with the thought of her own beloved dead, and how sorely she felt his absence.

"Yes, chile, sho I does, but 'twont be for long; Ise so ole and weak, dat I knows Ise mos' dar, mos' dar!"

The black, wrinkled face uplifted to the sky, almost shore with glad expectancy, and the dim, sunken eyes grew bright for an instant with hope and joy.

Then turning them upon Evelyn, and, for the first time, taking note of her deep mourning, "Po' chile," she said, in tender, pitying tones, "yo's loss somebody dat yo' near kin?"

Evelyn nodded, her heart too full for speech, and Elsie said softly, "Her dear father has gone to be forever with the Lord, in the blessed, happy land you have been speaking of, mammy.'

66

99

"Bressed, happy man!" ejaculated the aged saint, again lifting her face heavenward, "an' bressed happy chile dat has de great an' mighty God for her father; kase de good book say, He is de father of de fatherless."

A momentary hush fell upon the little group. Then Mr. Leland, who had been looking into the condition of field and garden, as his wife into that of the house, joined them and suggested that this would be a good time and place for the telling of the story Eva had been asking

for; especially as, in Aunt Chloe, they had a second eye-witness.

Elsie explained to her what was wanted.

"Ah, chillens, dat was a terrible time," returned the old woman, sighing and shaking her head.

66

'Yes, mammy," assented Elsie; "you remember it well?"

"Deed I does, chile;" and rousing with the recollection into almost youthful excitement and energy, she plunged into the story, telling it in a graphic way that enchained her listeners, though to two of them it was not new, and one occasionally assisted her memory or supplied a missing link in the chain of circumstances.*

*For the details of this story, see "Elsie's Motherhood."

CHAPTER VIII.

"Next stood hypocrisy, with holy leer,
Soft smiling and demurely looking down,
But hid the dagger underneath the gown."
-DRYDEN.

WHILE old mammy told her story to her three listeners in the veranda at Ion, a train was speeding southward, bearing Edward and Zoe on their homeward way.

Zoe, in charmingly becoming and elegant traveling attire, her fond young husband by her side, ready to anticipate every wish and gratify it if in his power, was extremely comfortable, and found great enjoyment, now in chatting gaily with him, now sitting silent by his side watching the flying panorama of forest and prairie, hill, valley, rock, river and plain.

At length her attention was attracted to something going on within the car.

"Tickets!" cried the conductor, passing down the aisle, "Tickets!"

Edward handed out his own and his wife's. They were duly punched and given back.

The conductor moved on, repeating his call, "Tickets?"

Up to this moment Zoe had scarcely noticed who occupied the seat immediately behind herself and Edward, but now turning her head, she saw there two young women of pleasing appearance, evidently foreigners. Both were looking anxiously up at the conductor who held their tickets in his hand.

"You are on the wrong road," he was saying; "these are through-tickets for Utah."

"What does he say? something is wrong?" asked the younger of the two girls, addressing her companion in Danish.

"I do not understand, Alma,” replied the other, speaking in the same tongue.

"Ah, did we but know English! I do not understand, sir; I do not know one word you say," she repeated with a hopeless shake of the head, addressing the conductor.

"Do you know what she says, sir?" asked the man, turning to Edward.

"From her looks and gestures it is evident that she does not understand English," replied Edward, "and I think that is what she says. Suppose you try her with German.”

"Can't, sir; speak no language but my mother tongue. Perhaps you will do me the favor to act as interpreter?"

"With pleasure;" and addressing the young woman, Edward asked in German if she spoke that language.

She answered with an eager affirmative; and he went on to explain that the ticket she had offered the conductor would not pay her fare on that road; then asked where she wished to go. "To Utah, sir," she said. "Is not this the

road to take us there?"

"No, we are traveling south, and Utah lies toward the northwest; very far west."

"O sir, what shall we do?" she exclaimed in distress. "Will they stop the cars and let us out?"

"Not just here; the conductor says you can get off at the next station and wait there for a train going back to Cincinnati; it seems it must have been there you made the mistake and left your proper route, and there you can recover it." She sat silent, looking sadly bewildered and distressed.

66

"I feel very sorry for you," said Zoe kindly, speaking in German; "we would be glad to help you, and if you like to tell us your story, my husband may be able to advise you what to do."

"I am sure you are kind and good, dear lady, both you and the gentleman, and I will gladly tell you all," was the reply, after a moment's hesitation; and in a few rapid sentences she explained that she and Alma, her younger sister, had been left orphaned and destitute in Norway, their native land, and after a hard struggle of