It was early morning at Ion, breakfast awaiting the return of Mr. Edward Travilla, who had ridden into the village on some business errand, leaving word that he would be back within the hour to partake of the morning meal with his wife.

Zoe, tastefully attired, was on the veranda, and the twin babies, fresh from their bath, looking, the young mother averred, like little angels in their dainty white robes, were toddling about there, laughing, cooing, and prattling. They were the idols of her heart. She romped and played with them now, but with frequent pauses to listen for the sound of a horse's hoofs or gaze down the avenue, saying in joyous tones to the babies, "Papa is coming, coming soon; dear, dear papa! and mamma and his darlings will be so glad to see him. Ah, there he is at last!" she added at length, as a horseman turned in at the great gates and came at a quick canter up the avenue.

He lifted his hat with a bow and smile to his wife as he drew near; then alighting at the steps, where a servant took the reins and led the horse away, he hastily ascended them, and the next moment was seated with a little one upon each knee.

"Papa's darlings!" he said, caressing them in turn; "papa's dear pets!"

"Tell papa we have been wanting him," said Zoe, standing alongside, smoothing Edward's hair with softly caressing hand, and smiling down fondly into the faces of the three; "tell him he stayed so long we did not know how to wait."

"I must acknowledge I am a trifle late, my dear," Edward said, smiling up into the pretty, rosy face, "detained by business; but here is my atonement," handing her a telegram which he took from his pocket.

Zoe read it aloud. It was an invitation to a wedding (whose it did not say), at Viamede to take place in three weeks from that day.

"Why, who on earth can be going to be married?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Rosie? Evelyn? Lulu? Every one of them is too young." Then with a look into Edward's laughing eyes, "Now you needn't laugh, Ned. I know and acknowledge that Rosie is a little older than I was when we married, but we would not have made such haste except under those peculiar circumstances."

"Quite true, my dear," he responded. "But I suppose you will hardly think it necessary to decline the invitation on that account?"

"Oh, no indeed," was the quick, laughing rejoinder. "I am altogether in favor of accepting—shall begin my preparations at once. But there's the breakfast bell."

When they had fairly begun their meal the subject was renewed, Edward remarking, "My dear, you will want a new dress. If you like we will drive into the city this morning, make necessary purchases, and at once set Alma or some other dressmaker at work."

"Oh, thank you, dear Ned," she returned, her eyes shining with pleasure; "no woman ever had a more generous husband than mine. But there are so many ways for your money to go, and I have several that would be, with remodelling and retrimming, tasteful, handsome, and becoming as any new one."

"But you must have a new one, my love," Edward replied decidedly. "I can easily afford it, and it is a great pleasure to me to see my little wife well and becomingly dressed."

"A very nice speech, my dear husband," returned Zoe laughingly, "and really I have not the heart to refuse you the pleasure of seeing your wife arrayed in finery just suited to your taste. So I am very glad you are willing to go with me and assist in the selection. Shall we take the babies along?"

"To help with the shopping? I doubt if we would find them of much assistance."

"They are good little things though, and would not be any hindrance," returned the young mother laughingly. "But the trip might interfere with their morning nap, so if you think best we will leave the darlings at home."

"I really think they would have a more comfortable time," Edward said; "we also. Hark! there's the telephone. Excuse me a moment, my dear."

"Certainly, my love, but as I may possibly be the one wanted, I'll go along; by your leave," she added laughingly, running after him as he left the room.

The call proved to be from Mrs. Elsie Leland. A telegram from Viamede had reached them also, and they would be at Ion in the course of an hour to talk over necessary arrangements for the journey, if, as they supposed, Edward and Zoe would like to take it in company with them. They too were invited, of course?

"Yes," Edward answered; "mamma would certainly not neglect her eldest son at such a time. Come over as soon as you like, prepared to drive into the city with us to make necessary purchases before setting the dressmakers at work upon suitable adornments for the ladies of our party."

"Nothing to be bought for the gentlemen, I suppose?" was Elsie's response, accompanied by a low, sweet laugh. "Will be happy to accept your invitation. Good-by till then."

"Now let us go back and finish our breakfast," said Zoe. "If the Lelands are to be here in half an hour we have no time to spare."

They were turning away when the bell rang again.

It was Ella Conly who called this time. The same invitation for herself and brothers had just been received. They knew that Ned and Zoe must of course have shared the summons to Viamede, and, if convenient, they would call at Ion after tea that evening to talk over plans and preparations.

They were cordially urged to do so. Then Edward called to his Uncle Horace at the Oaks, his Aunt Rose at the Laurels, and Aunt Lora Howard at Pinegrove, and learned to his satisfaction that all had received, and would accept the same invitation. But they had not yet settled upon their plans in regard to needed preparations and the time of setting out upon their journey.

Edward suggested that it might be satisfactory for all to meet at Ion that evening and talk the matter over, an invitation which was promptly accepted by all.

"Now let us finish our breakfast," Edward said, leading the way back to the table.

"Yes," said Zoe, "for I am sure that I for one have no time to waste if I'm to be ready to start for the city in an hour."

She was ready, however, when, in less than an hour, the Fairview carriage drove up bringing the Lelands. Elsie declined an invitation to alight. "We have none too much time now," she said, "for shopping cannot always be done in haste, and we are not making a very early start. Just get in here with us, you two, will you not? There is plenty of room, and we can talk over matters and settle plans as we drive."

"A very good idea, and we are much obliged," returned Edward, handing Zoe in and taking a seat by her side.

"Who is to be married, Elsie?" asked Zoe. "Surely it could not be mamma herself?" she added, with a light laugh. "I feel quite sure she would not accept the best and greatest man upon earth."

"And I feel as sure of that as you do," said Mrs. Leland. "She thinks of my father not as lost to her but waiting for her to rejoin him in the better land. I have been trying to think who the coming bride is to be, and suppose it is Betty Johnson."

"But it may be that the groom and not the bride belongs to our family," remarked Lester. "Who more likely than Dick Percival?"

"Why, yes, to be sure!" exclaimed Edward. "It is about time Dick had a wife. And mother would of course be interested and ready to do anything in her power to make it pleasant for him and her."

"Well, I should really like to know something more about it before choosing gifts for her," remarked Zoe.

"I too," said Elsie.

"Then suppose we let that wait for another day, and content ourselves with purchasing what is needed for the adorning of you two ladies," suggested Edward; and that was what, after a little further consultation, was decided upon.

The city was reached in safety, and some hours later they returned, as Zoe said, "Laden with lovely things for their own adornment."

The babies were on the veranda waiting, watching eagerly for papa and mamma, who, their nurse kept telling them, would soon be seen coming up the avenue. When they did appear, alighting from the Fairview carriage, they were recognized with a glad cry, and Zoe, forgetting her weariness, ran to the little ones, embraced first one and then the other, put a toy in the hand of each, spent another minute or two caressing them, then hurried to her own apartments to dress for tea and the family gathering expected in the evening.

Elsie and her husband had driven home, but would return for the informal assembly of the members of the connection.

The guests came early, Ella Conley and her brothers from Roselands being the first. Ella was in high glee. She had long felt an ardent desire to visit Viamede, and now hailed with delight the opportunity to do so. The circumstances of both brothers had greatly improved; they were disposed to be very generous to the only sister remaining at home with them, and had told her she must have a new, handsome dress for the wedding, and everything else she needed to fit her out well for the journey and a sojourn of some weeks at Viamede.

Zoe felt flattered by being consulted in regard to necessary or desirable purchases, and greatly enjoyed exhibiting her own, and describing Elsie's, of that day.

Then the other families, or delegates from them, arrived in rapid succession, and a merry sociable interview ensued. All were quite resolved, should nothing interfere, to accept the invitation to Viamede, but some of them could not yet decide upon the exact time when they would be prepared to leave their homes for that distant point, and for an absence of several weeks. But the Ion, Oaks, Fairview, and Roselands people would all go in two weeks in company.

It was still early, when wheels were heard approaching from the direction of the village, a hack turned in at the gate, drove rapidly up the avenue, halted at the veranda steps, and an old gentleman alighted.

"Cousin Ronald!" exclaimed Elsie Leland, Edward, and Zoe in a breath, and they and the others gathered about him with words of cordial greeting and welcome.

"You have given us a most pleasant surprise, Cousin Ronald," Edward said when the old gentleman was comfortably seated in an easy chair. "You have not been to tea?"

"Yes, laddie, I took that in the village yonder where I alighted frae the cars. But the auld folks seem to be missing here," glancing about in search of them as he spoke. "I dinna see your honored grandsire, his wife, or my sweet Cousin Elsie, your mither. The bairns Rosie and Walter, too, are not here; what's become o' them a', laddie? They're no ill, I hope?"

"They were quite well at last accounts, sir," replied Edward. "They have spent the winter and early spring at Viamede, and will not return for some weeks yet."

"Ah ha! um h'm! ah ha!" murmured the old gentleman reflectively. "It's no the best o' news to me—an auld mon who has been wearyin' for a sight o' your mother's sweet face."

"Don't say that, cousin, for we are going there ourselves, and shall be glad indeed to take you with us. I know of no one who would be a more welcome guest to my mother."

"Have a care, sir, that ye dinna tempt an auld mon too far," laughed Cousin Ronald.

"Oh, but you must go with us, sir," said Zoe. "What would mamma say if we failed to bring you? Besides, we want your company even if mamma would not be displeased were you not with us."

"Ah ha! um h'm! ah ha! Weel, my bonny leddy, I can no refuse an invitation that holds out so great a prospect of enjoyment."

"No, you must not think of refusing, Cousin Ronald!" exclaimed Edward and his sister Elsie, speaking simultaneously.

"Indeed no," said Mr. Horace Dinsmore; "we can assure you of a hearty welcome, and my sister, as Zoe says, would be by no means pleased should we fail to take you along with us. But since the first division of our company does not start for two weeks, there will be abundance of time to hear from her on the subject."

"Certainly there will, uncle," responded Edward. "I shall write to mamma to-night. Several of us have heard from her to-day by telegraph, Cousin Ronald, and we think we shall surely have letters soon."

Then followed the story of the telegrams received that day, and the guesses and surmises as to whose wedding they were invited to attend.

Mr. Lilburn was evidently much interested and more than willing to yield to their persuasions to accompany them to Viamede.

"Well, friends and cousins," he said, "there is scarce anything I can think of at this moment that would delight me more than to gang with you to see them at that lovely spot—an earthly paradise, as it may well be called. I am somewhat fatigued the now, but rest for a few days—the days that must come and go afore you start—will no doubt supply the needed strength for the new journey; and the wedding festivities to follow will not come amiss even to a man of my ain venerable age."

"No, indeed!" exclaimed Zoe, "I should think not. Surely people of any age may enjoy gay and festive scenes and doings. It has always been a source of regret to me that Edward's and my nuptials were graced by none of them."

"Possibly there may be better luck for you next time, my dear," remarked Edward laughingly.

"Indeed I want no next time," she returned with spirit. "I've no intention of trying a second husband lest I might do worse than I did in taking you."

"It strikes me there might be a possibility of doing very much worse, my dear niece," remarked Mr. Horace Dinsmore pleasantly.

"As it does me," responded Zoe, with a proudly affectionate look into her young husband's eyes.

"I am glad to hear it," was his answering remark, given with a smiling, affectionate glance into the bright, sweet face.

For the next two weeks Zoe and the other ladies of the connection were very delightfully busy with their preparations for the wedding.

Letters had come telling that Betty was, as had been conjectured, the prospective bride; also who was to be the groom, where the ceremony was to take place, the bridal feast to be partaken of, with other interesting particulars. The dresses of bride, bridesmaids, and maids of honor were not described, as they would be seen by all the relatives at, if not before, the wedding.

The journey to New Orleans was made by rail; from there they took a steamboat for Berwick Bay, preferring to make the rest of the journey by water. The party consisted of the Dinsmores, Lelands, Travillas, Conleys, and their Aunt Adelaide, Mrs. Allison of Philadelphia, who had come on from her home shortly before to join these relatives in their trip to Louisiana; for she too had been urgently invited to attend the wedding; and last but not least was Mr. Ronald Lilburn.

They were a cheerful set, the younger ones quite gay and mirthful. There were a few other passengers, among whom was a lady clad in deep mourning—widow's weeds—who kept her face carefully concealed by her thick crape veil and sat apart, seeming to studiously avoid all contact with her fellow voyagers; observing which they refrained from making advances toward acquaintanceship. But now and then Dr. Conley turned an observing eye upon her. There was a droop about her figure that struck him as an indication of illness or exhaustion from some other cause.

At length he rose, and stepping to her side, said in a low sympathizing tone, "I fear you are ill, madam. I am a physician, and if I can do anything for you my services are at your command."

She made an inarticulate reply, in tones quivering with emotion, staggered to her feet as she spoke, made one step forward and would have fallen had he not caught her with his arm.

Her head dropped upon his shoulder, and instantly the other members of his party gathered about them with hurried, excited exclamations. "What is the matter?" "Is she ill?" "Do you know her, Art? She has fainted, has she not?" The last exclamation and query came from the lips of Mrs. Elsie Leland.

"Yes; she is quite unconscious," was Arthur's low toned reply "and this thick, heavy veil is smothering her."

The next instant he had succeeded in disentangling it. With a quick movement he threw it back, lifted the seemingly lifeless form, laid it on a settee with the head low, laid his finger on her pulse for an instant, then began compressing the ribs and allowing them to expand again.

"I will have to loosen her clothing," he said, leaning over her to do so; then for the first time catching sight of her face, he started back with a low, pained exclamation: "My sister Virginia! is it possible!"

"Virginia!" exclaimed Adelaide and Calhoun in a breath; for both were standing near; "can it be?" The others exchanged glances of astonishment; then Ella asked in low, terrified tones, "O Art, is she—is she dead? Poor, poor Virgie!"

"No; it is only a faint," he answered, going on with his efforts to restore consciousness, in which he was presently successful.

Virginia's eyes opened, looked up into his with evident recognition, then closed, while tears stole down her cheeks. He leant over her in brotherly solicitude.

"Virgie, my poor, dear sister," he said in tones tremulous with emotion, "you are with relatives and friends who will gladly do anything and everything in their power for your comfort and happiness. I think you are not well——"

She seemed to be making an effort to speak, and, leaving his sentence unfinished, he bent down over her with his ear almost touching her lips.

"Starving," was the whispered word that came in reply, and he started back aghast, his features working with emotion.

"Can it be possible!" was his half suppressed exclamation.

"What is it?" asked Calhoun; "what does she say?"

"She is faint and ill with hunger," returned his brother in a moved tone. "Get me a glass of hot milk as quickly as you can, Cal," and Calhoun hurried away in quest of it.

In a very few minutes he was back again with a large tumbler of rich, sweet milk, which Virginia drank with avidity. Some more substantial food was then given her, and after a little she was able to exchange greetings with the other relatives on board and to give some account of herself.

"Henry Neuville is dead, and I set out on my journey to beg a home with Isa as soon as I had seen him laid decently away," she said. "I have no means at all—unfortunate creature that I am—but perhaps I can make myself useful enough to earn my bread."

"And your brothers will be both able and willing to clothe you," said the doctor, Calhoun adding, "certainly; and to give you a home, too, should Isa and her husband find it inconvenient to do so."

At that tears coursed down Virginia's cheeks.

"You are good, kind brothers," she said; "far better to me than I deserve. But living with a man of the stamp of Henry Neuville has taught me how to appreciate true gentlemen."

"O Virgie, did he die as he had lived?" asked her cousin Elsie.

"I saw no sign of repentance or reformation," returned Virginia; "he died of drink and with curses on his tongue. I can't mourn his loss; how could I? but I'm the most unfortunate woman—the poorest in the whole connection. I wasn't brought up to support myself either, and can't do it."

"Perhaps you may learn how," said Zoe encouragingly. "There are many avenues to self-support now open to women, you know."

A look of disgust and annoyance was Virginia's only response to that.

A few moments of silence ensued, broken only by the prattle of the little ones, then there was a sudden sound as of some heavy body plunging into the water, and a shrill cry: "Man overboard!"

A great commotion instantly followed, the captain giving his orders to lower a boat and go in search of the man, and at the same time slowing the movements of the steamer.

Our party were much interested and excited, most of them full of concern for the drowning one, who seemed to have strangely disappeared, for not a trace of him could be seen as the boat was rowed hither and thither; and at length, resigning all hope of finding even the lifeless body, the men returned to the larger vessel to report their failure.

The ladies were in tears, and as the captain drew near, Zoe asked in tones tremulous with emotion, "Is there no hope at all of saving the poor fellow, captain?"

"I'm afraid he's gone to the bottom, ma'am, though it's odd he couldn't keep up for the few minutes it took to launch the boat; but I suppose the wheel must have struck him. By the way," he added, as if struck by a sudden thought, "I don't know yet who it was. I must have the crew mustered on deck and see who is missing."

He proceeded to do so at once, when to the surprise of all it was discovered that no one was missing.

"A stowaway, evidently!" growled the captain, "and he's got his desserts; though I wouldn't have let him drown if I could have helped it."

At that instant a light broke upon Edward Travilla and Dr. Conley, and both turned hastily toward their guest, Mr. Ronald Lilburn.

He was sitting near, quietly listening to the talk, his features expressing grave concern, yet they could perceive a sparkle of fun in his eye.

Edward stepped to his side, and, bending down over him, spoke in an undertone close to his ear. "I think you could tell us something of the man, Cousin Ronald."

"I, laddie? What would I ken o' the folk i' this part o' the world?" queried the old gentleman, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Ah, sir, who is to say he belonged to this part of the world?" laughed Edward. "I must own that I strongly suspect he was a countryman of yours; a Scotchman, at least."

Then going to the side of his wife he said a word or two in an undertone that chased away her tears, while she sent a laughing glance in Cousin Ronald's direction.

But they were drawing near their journey's end, and presently everything else seemed to be forgotten in gazing upon the ever changing beauties of the landscape as they threaded their way through lake and lakelet, past swamp, forest, plain, and plantation. They gazed with delight upon the cool, shady dells carpeted with a rich growth of flowers, miles upon miles of smoothly shaven lawns, velvety green and shaded by magnificent oaks and magnolias, lordly villas peering through groves of orange trees, tall white sugarhouses, and the long rows of cabins of the laborers, forming all together a panorama of surpassing loveliness.

"Oh, it is an earthly paradise, is it not, Ned?" cried Zoe, clasping her hands in an ecstacy of delight.

"Very, very beautiful," he responded, his eyes shining with pleasure. "But you know this is not, like yours, my first sight of it; I spent a very happy winter here in the days when my dear and honored father was with us."

"And I," said his sister Elsie, softly sighing at the thought that that loved parent had left them to return no more. "It will not seem the same without him; yet with so many dear ones left—especially our dear, dear mother—our visit can hardly be otherwise than most enjoyable. Ah, Ned, is not that our own orange orchard just coming into view?"

"It is, my dear sister; we will be there in a very few minutes now."

"At home and with mamma!" she exclaimed in joyous tones; then called to her little sons, "Come here, Ned and Eric. We are almost at dear grandmamma's house, and she will soon have you in her arms."

At that the little fellows came running to her with a joyous shout, for they dearly loved their Grandma Elsie, and to their infant minds the time of separation from her had seemed very long.

To their Aunt Adelaide, the Conleys—Arthur excepted—and the young Dinsmores the scenes were equally new, and called forth from one and all demonstrations of admiration and delight. Very soon the boat reached and rounded to at the landing, where were gathered all the members of the Viamede, Magnolia Hall, and parsonage families to meet and welcome these dear ones from their own old homes farther to the north.

It was an altogether joyous meeting, Cousin Ronald and Virginia, as well as the rest, receiving most kind and cordial greeting, though the latter was an entirely unexpected guest.

Isadore took her sister in her arms, kissed and wept over her as a near and dear one who had gone through great trials during the years of their separation.

"What a long, long while it is since we parted, and what sore trials you have gone through in the meantime, Virgie!" she sighed. "Ah, I hope the future may have better things in store for you."

"I should say it ought indeed, considering all I've had to suffer in the past," returned Virginia. "I've come to beg a home with you, Isa, as you might have had to of me if I had been the lucky one in the matter of drawing a prize in the matrimonial lottery."

"I will try to do the very best I can for you, Virgie," was Isadore's pleasant toned reply, though it was not with unmingled satisfaction that she saw opening before her the prospect of receiving this selfish, indolent sister into her peaceful, well regulated household as a permanent addition to it.

Zoe was in ecstasies over the beauties of Viamede—the large, palatial mansion, the beautiful grounds, the lovely scenery.

"Oh, mamma," she exclaimed, pausing on the veranda to take a general survey, "it is just too lovely for anything! It really exceeds my expectations, though they were raised very high by all I have heard of the beauties of Viamede. I wonder you can ever resign yourself to leaving it for a longer time than the hot season, when it is not so healthy as your more northern home."

"Yes, I sometimes wonder at myself," Elsie said with a smile; "and yet both Ion and the Oaks are very dear to me—so many happy years of my life have been passed in them. Ah, no, I could not give up those dear homes entirely any more than I could this."

"Ah, you are a most fortunate woman, cousin mine," remarked Mr. Lilburn, standing by, "and worthy of it all; no one more so."

"Ah, Cousin Ronald, you, like all the rest of my friends, are only too ready to pass my imperfections by and see only virtues; some of them altogether imaginary, I fear," she returned with a smile. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you here again, and I hope you may so greatly enjoy your sojourn among us that you will be pleased to repeat your visit whenever opportunity offers."

"Ah, many thanks, cousin, but have a care lest you should be in danger of seeing me here oftener than will be found agreeable," was his laughing reply.

At that Elsie only shook her head with a playful smile, then turned to baby Lilly, who was reaching out her little arms to grandma, crying, "Take! take, gamma!"

"No, no, mother dear," Edward said, coming up to them and taking his little daughter from the nurse's arms, "I can't have you wearying yourself with her." Then to the child, "Papa is going to carry you upstairs, little pet. Dear grandma has been sick and is not strong enough to carry you about. The friends and relatives will all be here for some time, mother?" turning to her again.

"Yes," she replied; "they will all stay to tea."

"And Zoe and I will join you and them again in a few minutes," he said, moving on through the hall, in the direction of the stairway.

All scattered to their rooms then, but reassembled on the veranda some few minutes before the call to the tea-table. It was a large, merry, informal tea-party, Grandma Elsie having been most hospitably urgent that everyone should stay, partake with her and the others who had been making Viamede their home for months past, and spend the evening.

The approaching wedding and matters connected with it were naturally the principal themes of discourse, and Betty was good-humoredly rallied on the conquest she had made and the pleasant prospect of having a home of her own with at least one loyal subject. Zoe insisted on a description of the trousseau, especially the wedding dress.

"Drive over to Magnolia Hall day after to-morrow and you shall see everything for yourself, Zoe," Betty said, laughing and blushing; "at least all but the gifts which have not yet come in."

"Thank you; I think I'll accept that invitation," returned Zoe. "But I suppose there is something to be seen here?"

"Yes; the dresses of the bridesmaids and maids of honor," said Rosie; "and we who are to wear them think them quite beautiful. Don't we, girls?" turning toward Evelyn and Lulu, who answered with an emphatic, "Yes, indeed!"

"Suppose you come and take a look at them, Zoe," proposed Rosie, as they left the table, and Zoe promptly accepted the invitation, Betty, Elsie Leland, Ella, and Virginia, and the Dinsmore cousins going along.

"Oh, they are lovely!" was the united exclamation at sight of the dresses, Zoe adding, "I can't say which is handsomest."

"That's just how it is with me," laughed Betty; "but I own to thinking the bride's dress a trifle handsomer than any of these."

"Ah, yes; but just think how we may outshine you when our turns come to wear a wedding dress," said Rosie. "I mean to have one that shall be a marvel of beauty and taste. Don't you, Eva and Lu?"

"I very much doubt whether I shall ever have any," replied Evelyn, with her grave, sweet smile.

"If you don't it will be your own fault, I am sure," said Rosie. "And it will be just the same with Lu."

"I'm not going to get married ever!" cried Lulu emphatically. "I wouldn't leave my father for all the rest of the men in all the world."

"Ah, your father is glad to hear it," said a voice close at her side, while a hand was laid affectionately on her shoulder. "But my dear eldest daughter is still quite too young to be even thinking of such things."

"Then I won't think of them if I can help it, papa dear," she said, lifting loving, smiling eyes to his face, "for indeed I do want to obey even your slightest wish."

"I don't doubt it, daughter," he returned, pressing affectionately the hand she had slipped into his.

"Now, Elsie," said Zoe, addressing Mrs. Leland, "let us show our wedding finery. You, Ella Conley, I suppose won't care to open your trunks, as they are to be carried over to the Parsonage."

"They have already gone," said Isadore, she also having joined the party of inspection, "but the finery can be shown there just as well."

"Yes, it can wait," returned Ella, "and will perhaps be all the more appreciated for not being seen along with so many other beauties."

"I am the only one who has no finery to exhibit," remarked Virginia in an ill used tone. But they were already on the way to Mrs. Leland's room and no one seemed to hear or heed the complaint, everybody being too much engrossed with the business in hand to take notice of her ill-humor.

But it was Saturday evening and the Parsonage and Magnolia Hall people returned to their homes at an early hour, taking their guests with them.

"Now, daughter," Captain Raymond said, turning to Lulu as the last carriage disappeared from sight, "go at once to your own room and prepare for bed."

"Yes, sir; and must I say good-night now to you?" she asked in a low tone, close at his ear.

"No," he returned, with a smile, "I will be with you presently for a few minutes."

She looked her thanks, and hastened to obey.

"I am quite ready for bed, papa," she said when he came into her room. "Please mayn't I sit on your knee for five or ten minutes?"

"That is just what I want you to do," he said, taking possession of an easy chair and drawing her to the coveted place. "I must have a little talk with my dear eldest daughter," he continued, smoothing her hair and cheek caressingly.

"What about, papa dear?" she asked, nestling closer in his arms. "I haven't been misbehaving, have I? You are not displeased with me, are you?"

"No, dear child; only afraid that you may be caring too much about dress and finery, and that perhaps I am not altogether blameless in regard to that—that I may not have guarded my dear little girl against it as I should."

"I am afraid that perhaps I do care too much about it, papa dear," she sighed, hanging her head, while blushes dyed her cheek; "but I'm sure it is all my own fault, not yours at all; so please don't feel badly about it."

He took up her Bible, opened it, and read, "Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. For after this manner in the old time the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves."

"Papa, is it wrong to wear nice, pretty clothes, and to enjoy having them?" she asked, as he closed the book and laid it aside. "Is that what is meant in those verses?"

"I think not," he said; "if I understood it in that way I should feel it wrong to allow a daughter of mine to wear them. I think it means that you are not to care too much about such adornment, but more, much more, for that other and greater adornment, even the hidden man of the heart, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, remembering that in the sight of God it is of great price, worth infinitely more than any ornament of gold, the richest jewels, or the finest attire. Cultivate that with all diligence, my own darling child, if you desire to please and honor your heavenly Father and make yourself even dearer than you now are to your earthly one, and lovelier in his eyes."

"Oh, I do, papa! I do want to please and honor God, and you too; I want to be just a joy and blessing and comfort to you, my own dear, dear father! I don't think you have any idea how very, very dearly I love you, papa," putting her arms about his neck and kissing him over and over again. "Gracie and I think—indeed we feel quite sure—that no other children ever had such a dear, good, kind father as ours. And I know Max thinks the same."

"Well, daughter, I delight in having you and all my children think so, however mistaken you maybe," he said, with a pleased smile, holding her close and returning her caresses; "and it certainly is the earnest desire of my heart to be the best, kindest, and dearest of fathers to the darling children God has given me."

"As I am sure you are, dear papa," she said. "I never have any doubt of it at all, even when you punish me. And, papa," she added, with an effort, "if you think finery bad for me, I am willing to be dressed just as plainly as you think best."

"That is my own dear little girl," he returned, with a gratified look; "but I have not been dressing you better—more richly, gayly, or tastefully—than seems to me right and proper; also, I think quite as much sin may be committed by being proud of plainness in dress as proud of wearing finery. What I am aiming at is to have my little daughter look upon dress as a secondary matter, and feel far more anxious to be one who is pleasing in the sight of her heavenly Father than one admired and envied by some earthly creature as the possessor of wealth, and fine or costly raiment. In short, I want you to feel that the style and richness of your attire is a matter of little consequence, while to live in the light of God's countenance, pleasing and honoring him and growing in holiness and conformity to his will, is to be desired and striven for beyond everything else."

"Yes, papa," she said softly, "I will ask God to help me to do so; and you will pray for me too, won't you?"

"Indeed I will, my darling; we will kneel down and ask him now; ask for help to keep from indulging in worldly mindedness and vanity, and that our earnest desire and effort may ever be to serve and honor and glorify him in all our words and ways."

"My own dear father," she said, when they had risen from their knees, "I am sure that if I don't grow up a good Christian the fault will not be yours." Then, glancing at the bed where Grace lay in a profound sleep, "I am so glad and thankful that I am not feeble like poor, dear Gracie, because if I had to go to bed and to sleep so early as she almost always does, I'd miss these nice talks from you. But, fortunately, she doesn't need so much help to be good as I do. Ah, papa, I've given you a great deal more trouble to train me up right than she ever has, or will."

"My darling," he said, "if you only grow up to be a noble, useful Christian woman, such as I hope one day to see you, I shall feel more than repaid for all the anxiety, care, and trouble of your training."