The next day was the Sabbath, and spent as that holy day usually was by our friends at Ion, Woodburn, and by their near kindred on the neighboring estates. To Zoe, rejoicing in her new hope—the blessed hope that she was indeed a child of God and an heir of glory—it was a sweetly solemn and happy day, and to her young husband almost equally so. They attended church in company with the other members of the family and received many kindly greetings and inquiries in regard to the narrow escape of Thursday night.

Grace Raymond seemed very thoughtful on the homeward drive. “Papa,” she asked at length, “do trees often fall suddenly like that one that came so near killing Aunt Zoe and the rest?”

“I think not very often, daughter,” he replied. “I have heard of only one other such occurrence. Some years ago, out in Wisconsin, two little girls, sisters, were walking along near the edge of one of those pretty little lakes of which there are so many in that State, when suddenly a tree fell, striking one of the children to the ground, crushing her to death instantly. Her sister, who had escaped unhurt, but was of course terribly frightened and distressed, tried hard to move the tree and drag her out from under it, but could not, so had to leave her there and go for help.

“They were the children of a poor woman who was washing for some one who lived on the other side of the lake, and it was while the little girls were on their way to their mother, probably to see her home when her day’s work was done, that this dreadful accident happened.”

“Oh, how sad!” sighed Grace; “and was the little girl the tree fell on dead, did you say, papa?”

“Yes, quite dead; probably instantly killed by the blow. It seems very sad; yet it is quite possible she may have suffered less than she would had she died after weeks of sickness and pain.”

“Oh, it makes me feel afraid to go into the woods again, to walk or to play.”

“It need not, daughter; it is a rare occurrence. We all have to die somewhere and somehow, and the only thing that need concern us is to be ready whenever God shall call. It is wrong to needlessly rush into danger and throw our lives away; we have no right to do that, though we have a right and it is a duty to brave danger when by so doing we can save others. And if we love the Lord Jesus and trust in him for salvation, we need not be afraid of sudden death, for sudden death will be to us sudden glory. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”

“It is very sweet to know that Jesus will be with us through that dark valley, papa. Oh, I should be so afraid to go alone, and even you, my dear father who loves me so dearly, could not go with me.”

“No, my darling, dearly as I love you, I will have to let you go alone should God call you first,” he said with emotion. “But you need not fear to go nor I to part with you, for you will be ‘safe in the arms of Jesus, safe on his gentle breast.’”

“Yes, papa; and if I go first, how glad I’ll be when you come, and if you go first, how glad you’ll be to see me when I come.”

“Yes, indeed, my precious child; and to greet all my other loved ones when they too are brought home, and we are all there together free from sin and sorrow and pain, never to part again, but to dwell forever with the Lord, serving him in joy and peace and love throughout a blest eternity.”

“Oh, what a blessed hope it is!” said Violet, tears shining in her eyes. “And how thankful I am that almost every one whom I love very dearly is a Christian!

Marian had been greatly impressed by the sermon, the subject of which was the shortness and uncertainty of life. She was very quiet and thoughtful that afternoon and evening, but woke the next morning full of thoughts of the shopping expedition of that day, which would be a rather new experience to her.

She rose an hour earlier than usual, busied herself with her lessons for the day, and at breakfast-time was able to tell the captain that she felt prepared to recite then or on her return from the city, if it suited him to hear her.

“Yes,” he said, “at either time, as you may prefer.”

“Oh, thank you sir!” she returned; “then, if you please, let it be before I go, for it will be a relief to have them off my mind and nothing to think of but the purchases we are going to make.”

So it happened that the recitations were over before the arrival of the carriage from Ion bringing Grandma Elsie to join the shoppers, Rosie and Walter to attend to school duties.

It was not quite time to begin work in the school-room, so those who were to remain behind gathered on the veranda to see the shoppers off.

Lulu watched them rather wistfully, and could not quite repress a little sigh of regret that she was not to be of the number, but catching her father’s eye and smile, her face grew bright again.

He had just turned and stepped back into the veranda, after handing the ladies into the carriage, and it was driving away toward the great gates opening on the high-road.

“Are you all sadly disappointed at being left behind?” he asked, addressing the little group collectively.

“I should be, sir, if I had had any expectation of going,” replied Rosie, putting on a hurt and indignant air, “but when mamma was invited the other evening, through the telephone, and nothing said about me, of course I understood that I was not wanted in the party.”

“No, little sister, it was rather that you were wanted in the school-room,” replied the captain with a slightly amused look. “Now let us all go there, and perhaps we may pick up something more valuable than we could have found in the city stores.”

“I think perhaps we may, papa,” Grace said with a bright, pleased look and slipping her hand into his.

“I think so too, papa, and mean to try my very best,” said Lulu, taking possession of his other hand and moving on with him and Grace in the direction of the school-room, Rosie and Walter following.

Rosie’s vexation was all pretence; she set diligently to work, as did each of the others, and all went swimmingly with them and their teacher till the day’s tasks were done and they dismissed to their sports.

Rosie and Walter had permission to stay at Woodburn until their mother’s return, which was not till near tea-time. So they dined with the captain and his children, and they were a very merry little party, the captain jesting with them all in a way to both entertain the older ones and help the babies to forget their mother’s absence.

They seemed to do so, and to be content and happy with their father and sisters, yet when mamma returned to them received her with demonstrations of delight.

Both the captain and Violet urged Grandma Elsie to stay to tea, keeping Rosie and Walter there with her.

“We want a little visit from you, mother,” added the captain; “would be very glad to have you stay all night and as much longer as you will, but our family carriage will be at your service to carry you to Ion whenever you desire to go.”

“Yes, mamma, do stay at least till after tea,” urged Walter; “it is very pleasant here, about as pleasant as at home, and I think the change may be of benefit to you.”

“So you are turning doctor, are you, Walter?” laughed Rosie. “It might be well to engage Cousin Art to superintend your studies as well as those of Harold and Herbert; though it seems to me it would be rather a mistake to put so many lads out of one family into one profession.”

“That is a question that may be considered at some other time,” returned Walter, with unmoved gravity. “Mamma, you will stay, will you not?”

“Yes, since a visit here is the prescription of my little new doctor,” Elsie returned with a smile; “and since the host and hostess are both so kindly urgent.”

“Thank you, mamma,” said Rosie. “I am well pleased with your decision, for I am just aching to question Marian as to all that has been bought to-day for the furnishing of Beechwood.”

“Then suppose you and Lulu and Grace come with me to my room,” proposed Marian. “I feel quite in the humor for talking, but must at the same time make myself neat for the tea-table.”

The invitation was promptly accepted, and Marian made her toilet with the others looking on and occasionally giving some little assistance.

“I suppose you bought beautiful things, Marian?” observed Rosie interrogatively.

“Oh, yes, I think so,” was the reply. “Cousin Ronald was, oh, so kind! Cousin Hugh also. They both seemed to want me to have everything to suit my taste, particularly in my room; and the things we chose are very pretty, I think, though of course not nearly so expensive as the furnishings here in this room or in yours and Grace’s, Lulu.”

“But why shouldn’t they be?” queried Lulu. “Cousin Ronald seems to have plenty of money and to think everything of you.”

“I really don’t know how much money he has,” returned Marian, “but I do know that there is Beechwood to be paid for, besides the ground for the factory, and the buildings that have to be put up, and I’m sure it must take heaps of money to do it all. So I am more than content to have pretty furnishings that do not cost nearly so much as what you have here.”

“And I’m sure that’s just the right way to feel about it,” said Rosie, “though I’m not at all sure it would have occurred to me to take all that into consideration.”

“Very likely it might not to me if I hadn’t had to struggle with poverty nearly all my life,” said Marian.

Then she went on to give a minute and, to the listening girls, interesting description of the purchases made. The talk at the tea-table that evening was first of Beechwood and a few repairs and alterations needed there, then about the building of the factory, the engagement of workmen and women, and the markets to be found for the textile fabrics to be made by them under Hugh’s direction and supervision.

Then plans for the usual summer outing in the cooler climate of the North were discussed. Grandma Elsie, Captain Raymond, and Violet were of the opinion that the start for that section should be made within a week.

“You will go with us, Cousin Ronald, will you not?” asked Grandma Elsie, turning to him.

“I think not, cousin,” he replied. “I want to be here to help my laddie with his building and the adorning of the house that’s to make a home for Marian here and ourselves,” smiling kindly upon his young relative as he spoke. “But I quite approve of her accompanying you, for she’s been a diligent scholar, the captain tells me, and occasional rest and diversions are very good and desirable things for the young.”

“No better than for the old, Cousin Ronald,” returned Marian with a grateful, loving look into his eyes; “and if you don’t need them I do not, I am sure. I’ve had a very great change of scene and life, and a long journey too, within the last few months, you know, and now there is nothing I should enjoy more than staying here and helping you to put the new home in order and place the pretty furniture we bought to-day.”

Cousin Ronald and Hugh both looked much pleased with her choice.

“Ah, lassie, you appreciate your privileges,” said Mr. Lilburn, “which is more than can be said of everybody.”

“But everybody has not so many privileges or so great as mine,” returned Marian, her eyes shining.