Life at Ion moved on in its accustomed quiet course, Mr. Travilla's removal seeming, to outsiders, to have made very little change except that Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore now took up their abode there for the greater part of the time, leaving the younger Horace and his wife in charge at the Oaks.

An arrangement for which Elsie was very thankful, for her father's presence and his love were as balm to her wounded spirit.

Her strongest support in this, as in every trial of her life, was in her almighty Saviour; on Him she leaned every hour with a simple childlike faith and confidence in His unerring wisdom and infinite love; but it was very sweet to lean somewhat upon the strength and wisdom of the earthly father also, and to feel that the shield of his care and protection was interposed between her and the cold world.

Both his and Rose's companionship had ever been delightful to her, and were now a great solace and pleasure.

She gave no indulgence to a spirit of repining because her chief earthly treasure had been taken from her for the remainder of her life in this world, but was filled with gratitude for those blessings that were left, ever deeming God's goodness to her far beyond her deserts.

And her own sorrow was often half forgotten in tender compassion for her fatherless children. For their sakes, as well as because such was her Christian duty, she strove after a constant abiding cheerfulness; and not without success.

But it was not sought in forgetfulness of the dear one gone. They talked freely and tenderly of him, his looks, his words, his ways; his present happiness and the joy of the coming reunion with him. He was not dead to them, but living in the blessed land where death could never enter, a land that grew more real and attractive because he was there.

Elsie found great comfort in her children—dear as her own offspring, and dearer still because they were his also. They were very good and obedient, loving her so devotedly that the very thought of grieving her was pain.

Her unselfish love seemed to call forth its counterpart in them: they vied with each other in earnest efforts to make up to her the loss of their father's love and ever watchful tender care. They were very fond of their grandfather too, and always yielded a ready obedience to his commands or directions.

He never had shown to them the sternness that had been one of the trials of their mother's youthful days, but was patient and gentle, as well as firm and decided. Mr. Travilla's example as a father had not been wasted on him.

He was wont to say "he had three reasons for loving them—that they were the children of his friend, Elsie's children, and his own grandchildren."

It was very evident that they were very dear to him, and they loved him dearly in return.

Mr. Travilla had left no debts, no entanglements in his affairs; his will was short, plainly expressed, and its conditions such as there was no difficulty in carrying out.

Elsie and her father were joint executors, and were associated in the guardianship of the children also. The estate was left to her during her natural life, to Edward after her death.

Hitherto the education of all the sons and daughters had been carried on at home, but now Edward was to go to college.

It had been his father's decision, and his wishes and opinions were sacred; so neither the lad nor any one else raised an objection, though all felt the prospect of parting sorely just at this time. There had been some talk of sending Harold and Herbert away also to a preparatory school; but to save them and their mother the pain of separation, Mr. Dinsmore offered to prepare them to enter college.

Elsie was in fact herself competent to the task, but gladly accepted her father's offered assistance; desiring to increase as much as possible his good influence over her boys, hoping that so they would learn to emulate all that was admirable in his character.

They were of course leading a very quiet and retired life at Ion; but with her household cares and the superintendence of the education of her younger children to attend to in addition to other and less pressing duties, Elsie was in no danger of finding time hanging heavy on her hands.

One of the numerous demands upon her maternal responsibility and affection was found in the call to cheer, comfort and console her namesake daughter under the trial of separation from her betrothed, delay in hearing from him, and a morbid remorse on account of having, as she expressed it, "troubled poor, dear papa by grieving and fretting over Lester's departure."

"Dear child," the mother said, "he sympathized with but did not blame you, and would not have you blame yourself so severely now and embitter your life with unavailing regrets. He loved you very, very dearly, and has often said to me, 'Elsie has been nothing but a blessing to us since the hour of her birth.'"

"O mamma, how sweet! Thank you for telling me," exclaimed the daughter, tears of mingled joy and sorrow filling her eyes. "He said it once to me, when I was quite a little girl—at the time grandpa—your grandpa—and Aunt Enna were hurt, and you went to Roselands to nurse her, leaving me at home to try to fill your place. Oh I shall never forget how dear and kind he was when he came home from taking you there! how he took me in his arms and kissed me and said those very words. Mamma, I cannot recall one cross word ever spoken by him to me, or to any one."

"No, daughter, nor can I; he was most kind, patient, forbearing, loving, as husband, father, master—in all the relations of life. What a privilege to have been his cherished wife for so many years!"

The sweet voice was very tremulous, and unbidden tears stole over the fair cheeks that had not quite recovered their bloom; for scarce a month had passed since the angel of death had come between her beloved and herself.

"Dear mamma, you made him very happy," whispered Elsie, clasping her close with loving caresses.

"Yes, we were as happy together, I believe, as it is possible for any to be in this world of sin and sorrow. I bless God that he was spared to me so long, and for the blessedness that now is his, and the sure hope that this separation is but for a season."

"Mamma, it is that sweet hope that keeps you from sinking."

"Yes, dearest, that and the sweet love and sympathy of Jesus. My father's and my dear children's love does greatly help me also. Ah how great is the goodness of my heavenly Father in sparing me all these! And keeping me from poverty too; how many a poor widow has the added pang of seeing her children suffering sore privations or scattered among strangers, because she lacks the ability to provide them with food and clothing."

"Mamma, how dreadful!" cried Elsie. "I had never thought of that. How thankful we ought to be that we do not have to be separated from you or from each other. To be sure Edward is going away for a time," she added, with a sigh and a tear, "but it is not to toil for a livelihood or endure privations."

"No, but to avail himself of opportunities for mental culture for which we should be grateful as still another of the many blessings God has given us. He will be exposed to temptations such as would never assail him at home: but these he must meet, and if he does so looking to God for strength, he will overcome and be all the stronger for the conflict. And we, daughter, must follow him constantly with our prayers. Thank God that we can do that!"

To Edward himself she spoke in the same strain in a last private talk had with him the night before he went away.

"I know that you have a very strong will of your own, my dear boy," she added, "and are not easily led; and because I believe it to be your earnest desire and purpose to walk in the way of God's commands, that is a comfort to me."

"You are right in regard to both, mother," he said with emotion: "and oh I could sooner cut off my right hand than do aught to grieve you, and dishonor the memory of—of my sainted father!"

"I believe it, my son, but do not trust in your own strength. 'Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.'"

"Yes, mother, I know, I feel that otherwise I shall fail; but 'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.' Mother," he added, turning over the leaves of his Bible (they had been reading together), "in storing my memory with the teachings of this blessed book, you have given me the best possible preparation for meeting the temptations and snares of life."

"Yes," she said, "'Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path;' 'Thy testimonies also are my delight and my counsellors.' Let them ever be yours, my son; in doubt and perplexity go ever to them for direction—not forgetting prayer for the teachings of the Holy Spirit—and you cannot go far astray. Make the Bible your rule of faith and practice, bring everything to the test of Scripture. 'To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.'"

"Mother," he said, "I think I have a pretty clear idea of some of the temptations of college life: doubtless there are always a good many idle, profane, drinking, dissolute fellows among the students, but it does not seem possible that I shall ever find pleasure in the society of such."

"I hope not indeed!" she answered with emphasis. "It would be a sore grief to me. But I hardly fear it; I believe my boy is a Christian and loves purity: loves study too for its own sake. What I most fear for you is that the pride of intellect may lead you to listen to the arguments of sceptics and to examine their works. My son, if you should, you will probably regret it to your dying day. It can do you nothing but harm. If you fill your mind with such things your spiritual foes will take advantage of it to harass you with doubts and fears. 'Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.' He who would rob you of your faith in God and His holy word is your greatest enemy. Study the evidences of Christianity and be ever ready to give a reason for the hope that is in you."

"Mother," he said, taking her hand in his, "I will heed your counsels, but it seems to me that having seen Christianity so beautifully exemplified in your life and my father's, I can never doubt its truth and power."

Then after a pause in which tears of mingled joy and sorrow fell freely from her eyes, "Dear mother, you have given me a very liberal allowance. Can you spare it? I do not know, I have never known the amount of your income."

"I can spare it perfectly well, my son," she answered, with a tender smile, pleased at this proof of his thoughtful love. "It is the sum your father thought best to give you—for we had consulted together about all these matters. I do not wish you to feel stinted, but at the same time would have you avoid waste and extravagance, remembering that they are inconsistent with our Saviour's teachings, and that money is one of the talents for whose use or abuse we must render an account at the last."