"Oh!" screamed Bella, joyfully, "mamma coming home? Oh! oh! oh!" and she commenced to dance about the room, and laugh, and sing so many little songs, that Edith thought there must be a musical snuff-box inside of her; particularly as she stopped to give two funny little sneezes, and then went on again. She could hardly sit still a moment all the rest of the day; and she begged to be put to bed earlier than usual, so that the "next day might come faster."

Sure enough! the next day a carriage drove up to the door. It was raining, and Bella had to stay in the room for fear she would take cold. She fastened her face to the window, and trembling with eagerness, saw the coachman open the door. A gentleman got out—Bella's face looked as if somebody had thrown a pail of cold water in it—but, the next moment, the gentleman handed out her mamma, her very own mamma! and then in an ecstasy of delight, the little girl rushed to the door, and then it was worth more than all Barnum's Museum to see the meeting. I believe I can't tell it—I cannot write it well enough; but all you dear little children know how glad you are to see your kind mothers after they have been away from you; and you can feel this, much better than I can write it.

And so ended the Little Nightcap Letters; and though Bella cherished them as her dearest treasures, and means to keep them, she says, to show to her children; yet, she would rather have her own "real, true" mamma to kiss, and love, and keep close to; and she never means to part with her again, if she can help it.

That is just the way you feel, isn't it, you little darling?

THE END.