"Farewell; God knows when we shall meet again."

Mildred was in her pretty sitting-room busily plying her needle, little Percy playing about the floor—rolling a ball hither and thither.

Both mother and child were neatly attired—the little one in spotless white, his golden curls hanging about his neck, and half-shading a round rosy face with big blue eyes; the mother in a dark cashmere, which fell in soft folds around her graceful figure, and was relieved at throat and wrists by dainty white ruffles of lace; her hair was becomingly arranged, and she had never presented a more attractive appearance, even in the days of her girlhood.

Mildred was not one of those who are less careful to please the husband than the lover; she studied Charlie's tastes and wishes even more carefully now than had been her wont before they were married. Perhaps in that lay the secret of his undiminished and lover-like devotion to her.

Both he and she had a great aversion to mourning, therefore were glad that Fan had particularly requested that none should be worn for her.

It was a little past their usual hour for tea, and the open dining-room door gave a glimpse of a table covered with snowy damask and glittering with polished silver, cut glass, and china; but Dr. Landreth was closeted with some one in his office on the other side of the hall, and his wife waited the departure of the patient a trifle anxiously, fearing that her carefully prepared viands would lose their finest flavor, if not be rendered quite tasteless by standing so long.

"Shall I make de waffles in de iron, ma'am?" asked Gretchen, coming to the door.

"No, not yet," said Mildred, "they would be cooked too soon; the doctor likes them best just as they are ready."

"De iron gets too hot," observed the girl.

"Yes, take it off, Gretchen. I can't tell just how soon the doctor will be in, so we will have to keep him waiting while we heat the iron."

The girl went back to her kitchen, and Percy, dropping his toys, came to his mother's side with a petition to be taken into her lap.

She laid aside her sewing, took him on her knee, and amused him with stories suited to his baby mind.

At length she heard the office door open, and a familiar voice saying, "Well, Charlie, I shall take the matter into consideration. Am much obliged for your advice, whether I follow it or not."

Mildred hastily set Percy down, and ran to the door.

"Rupert," she said, "won't you stay to tea?"

"Thank you, Milly, not to-night," he answered. "I have already declined a warm invitation from Charlie." And with a hasty "Good-by" he hurried away.

Mildred thought her husband's face unusually grave, even troubled, as he came into the sitting-room, and a sudden fear assailed her.

"Charlie," she cried, her cheek paling, "what—what was Rupert consulting you about?"

"Don't be alarmed, Milly, love," he answered, taking his boy upon one arm and putting the other about her waist.

"I have thought for some time that Rupert was growing thin and haggard," she said brokenly, tears filling her eyes, and—"O Charlie, I have often noticed, and heard it remarked, that one death in a family is apt to follow closely upon another."

She ended with a sob, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Don't ky, mamma," cooed little Percy, patting her cheek; "oo baby boy tiss oo, make oo all well."

She lifted her head, returned the caresses lavished upon her by both husband and child, then asked earnestly and half pleadingly, "Won't you tell me if—if Rupert is seriously ill?"

"He is broken down with overwork; has been devoting himself too closely to business, and needs an entire change for a time," replied her husband, speaking in a cheerful tone. "If he will take that at once and for a long enough time he may, I think, be restored to full health and vigor."

"Surely, surely he will do so without delay?"

"I can't say; he thinks it almost impossible to leave his business at present, and would rather try half-way measures first."

"He must be persuaded out of that, and I think can be," she said, her countenance brightening. "Now you must excuse me for a few minutes, my dear; Gretchen is improving, but I cannot yet trust her to bake your waffles quite to my mind."

"Let her try, Milly; how else is she ever to learn?"

"I shall after I have seen that the iron is properly heated and filled," she answered, as she hastened away to the kitchen.

Celestia Ann was at the front gate as Rupert neared it. She turned her head at the sound of his footsteps.

"So here you be at last!" she exclaimed; "and I was lookin' right in the wrong direction. Been up to the doctor's, I s'pose? Well, they're set down to the table without ye. We waited a spell, an' then I told your mother t'want no use, fer ye don't eat nothin' nohow, let me fix up the victuals good's I can."

"I am late, and am sorry if the meal has been kept waiting," Rupert answered, as he hurried past her into the house.

His mother gave him a kindly affectionate smile as he entered the dining-room, and stopped his apology half way.

"Never mind, my son, it is no matter, except that your meal will not, I fear, be quite so good and enjoyable, which is a pity, as your appetite is so poor of late."

There was some anxiety in her look and tone, also in the glance his father gave him as he seated himself at the table.

"I fear you are working too hard, Rupert," he said; "confining yourself too closely to business."

"Just what Charlie has been telling me," the young man responded with a half sigh; "but how is it to be helped?"

"By putting health before business," his mother said, with decision. "My dear boy, if you lose your health, what will become of your business?"

"True, mother," he sighed; "but I have not quite given up the hope that I may regain the one without relinquishing the other."

"A pound of prevention is worth an ounce of cure," remarked Aunt Wealthy absently, rather as if thinking aloud than addressing the company.

"What does Charlie advise?" asked Mrs. Keith.

"An entire change for some months or a year, including a journey to some distant point. Quite impracticable, is it not, father?" Rupert asked, turning to him.

"If you want my opinion," replied Mr. Keith, "I say nothing is impracticable which is necessary to the preservation of your life or even of your health. We cannot spare you, my son," he continued with emotion; "it is to you more than any of the others that your mother and I look as the prop and support of our old age."

"Thank you, father," Rupert said with feeling; "that pleasing task would, of course, naturally fall to me as the eldest son, though if I were taken away, my brothers, I am sure, would be no less glad to undertake it."

"No; it would be the greatest joy in life," said Don with warmth, glancing affectionately from one to the other of his parents. "I can answer for Cyril as well as myself."

"I haven't the least doubt of it, Don," replied his father, while the mother said, with glistening eyes, "We are rich in the affection of our children, both boys and girls," she added, with a loving look into Annis's blue eyes.

The eyes filled with tears. Annis was thinking how often she had heard Fan say that she was to be the one always to stay at home and take care of father and mother; dear Fan, who had now been nearly two months in heaven.

Oh, how they all missed her at every turn, though Annis strove earnestly to supply her place.

Leaving the table, they all repaired to the sitting-room; but Don, after lingering a moment, took up his cap, and moved toward the hall door.

"Don't forsake us, Don," said his mother, following his movements with a look of mingled love and sadness. It was no secret to her that the house seemed to him unbearably desolate, deprived of the loved presence of his favorite sister.

"Only for a few minutes, mother; I want a chat with Wallace, and this is about the best time to catch him at leisure."

"My poor boy!" sighed Mrs. Keith, as the door closed on him.

"Yes, he feels very sad and lonely," said Rupert. "But I am glad he has left us for a little while, for I want to have a talk with you and father about him; myself also," he added, with a faint smile. "Don't go, Aunt Wealthy," as Miss Stanhope rose as if to leave the room; "what I have to say need be no secret from you, and I think we will all be glad of your counsel in the matter."

She sat down again, and Annis asked, "May I stay too, Rupert?"

"Yes," he said, inviting her to a seat by his side.

He then proceeded to give an account of his interview with Dr. Landreth, stating that he strongly advised him to wind up his business, or make some sort of arrangement for leaving it for a year or more, and join a party preparing to go to California; the journey across the plains he thought would prove the very thing for him; nothing else so likely to restore his shattered health.

"And I have been thinking," added Rupert, "that it might be the very best thing for Don if you, father and mother, would consent to let him go with me, in case I follow Charlie's advice. He seems to me as ill mentally as I am physically, and we would be mutual helpers.

"I have no idea that we should make our fortunes at gold-digging, but I doubt if the boy will ever be content till he has tried his hand at it. But let his dreams be dispelled, and he will be ready to settle down at home."

"If he ever gets home again," remarked the father. "It may be that you are right though, Rupert, and your mother and I will take the matter into consideration."

"Yes, sir, in regard to us both, I hope; I want your advice as to my own course; it will go far to help me decide what I ought to do."

Both parents looked gratified, while Miss Stanhope remarked, "You are quite right in that, Rupert; you could not have wiser counsellors than they, and certainly none so deeply interested in your welfare; nor will you, or any one, ever lose by honoring parents."

"I am very fortunate in having parents worthy of all honor, Aunt Wealthy," he said, with an affectionate glance from one to the other. "Mother, dear, do not look so sad," perceiving that her eyes were full of tears; "I cannot think of going, if it is to be at the risk of breaking your heart."

"No, my heart will not break," she said in a determinately cheerful tone; "the promise is sure, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' And it will be better to part with you for a time than forever in this life," she added with a tremble in her voice. "Also I should be more willing to see two of my boys go together than any one of them alone."

"Then if I go, you will consent to Don's accompanying me?"

"Yes."

"And you, father?"

"I feel just as your mother does about it," was Mr. Keith's reply.

"But if Don should not wish to go?" suggested Miss Stanhope, in a tone of inquiry.

"Oh, no fear of that, auntie," laughed Annis; "he's been crazy to go ever since the first news of the gold, and you can't scare him out of it either; the more you talk of Indians, bears, and wolves, and all other dangers, the more he wants to try it. He says life in this little slow town is altogether too tame to suit a fellow of spirit."

"Better suited to the humdrum class represented by his father and older brother, I presume," said Rupert, with a good-humored smile.

As Don stepped in at Wallace Ormsby's gate, Zillah opened the front door, ran out, and hastily caught up little Stuart, who was digging in the sand, and carried him struggling and screaming into the house.

"It's too cold for you to be out; mamma can't let you; mamma told you not to go out," she was saying as Don followed her into the sitting-room.

"I will doe out! Ope de door!" screamed the child; "me wants pay in de sand."

"No, you can't go out any more to-night," replied the mother, giving him a hug and kiss. "Oh, he's mamma's darling! there never was such a boy in all the world! there never was! Mamma loves him ever so much."

Meanwhile the child was struggling with all his baby might to get away from her, kicking, striking, screaming at the top of his voice, "I will doe out! I will! I will! Shan't 'tay in de house!"

"Oh, now, be a dear good boy," entreated Zillah; "he's mamma's own pet, the dearest, sweetest boy in the world; mamma thinks there never was such a boy!"

"I should hope not, if that's the way he carries on," remarked Don, seating himself and regarding his nephew with a look of disgust and disapproval. "I think he's spoiling for a spanking, and if he were my child he'd get it."

Zillah flushed hotly. "Men and boys have no patience with children," she said. "There, Stuart, stop crying, and mamma will get you something good."

"No; ope door; me want doe out; me will doe out!" screamed the child.

"Oh, now, do be good; do stop crying, and mamma will get you some candy," said Zillah, in her most coaxing tones.

"Tanny, mamma?" asked the child, the screams suddenly ceasing, and smiles breaking through the tears.

"Yes," Zillah said, drying his eyes and kissing him fondly, then rising with him in her arms and going to a cupboard.

But the size of the piece she offered did not suit the ideas of the young tyrant; he refused to accept it, and bursting into screams again demanded a bigger one.

"Take this in one hand, and you shall have a bigger piece in the other," said the over-indulgent mamma, and peace being restored she sat down with him on her lap, and began talking with Don.

"Where's Wallace?" the latter presently inquired.

"He went down-town again after tea, but said he wouldn't be gone very long. Do you want to see him particularly?"

"I would like a talk with him," Don said, with a sigh. "I wish he would try to get father and mother to consent to my joining the party that are going to California."

"O Don, how can you suggest such a thing now when they are feeling so sad over poor Fan?" exclaimed Zillah, tears starting to her eyes.

"Don't think me hard-hearted or wanting in love for them," Don returned with feeling; "but the truth is I don't know how to endure life here now that Fan's gone. I miss her at every turn. I think it would be different in a new place where I had not been accustomed to her sweet society." His words were almost inaudible from emotion as he concluded.

"I know," Zillah said in trembling tones; "we all miss her sadly, but I suppose it must be harder, perhaps, for you than any of the rest. Still you will soon grow in a measure used to it, no doubt. I have always heard that time assuages the bitterness of grief."

"I can't believe it, I don't believe it!" he cried impatiently; "at least I am sure it will not be so in my case for years, unless I can get away into new scenes that will help me to forgetfulness."

At that instant Stuart, who had got down from his mother's lap to play about the room, tripped and fell to the floor, striking his head against a chair.

He set up a loud scream, and Zillah ran to the rescue, picking him up with a cry of "Oh, poor darling, mamma is so sorry! oh, it is just dreadful how many falls he gets! But there, never mind; it was a naughty chair that hurt my baby so. We'll give it a good whipping," striking it with her hand several times as she spoke.

Stuart ceased screaming to pound the chair energetically with his tiny doubled-up fist, then consented to be bribed into quiet with another piece of candy.

Zillah sat down again with him on her lap, and presently he dropped asleep there.

"He ought to be in bed," remarked Don.

"Yes; but he didn't want to go, and I do so hate to have a battle with him."

"I rather think it will have to come to that sooner or later," said Don, "and I should think the longer you put it off the harder it will be. I've been at Milly's a good deal the last few weeks, besides watching her when she was at home with us, and I think she could give you some valuable hints about managing a child."

"It is a vast deal easier to talk than to act, I can tell you, Don," was Zillah's half-offended retort.

"I dare say; but people can act as well as talk; father and mother did with us—we always had to obey, and that without being petted and wheedled into it—and Milly does too."

"I think it's a great deal better to coax than to beat them," Zillah said half angrily.

"Circumstances alter cases," said Don. "I don't think it's just the thing to pet and fondle a child, and tell him he's 'a darling; there never was such a boy,' and all that, when he's kicking up a row just because he isn't allowed to do exactly as he pleases. Percy began that very behavior the other evening when he had to go into the house before he considered it quite time."

"Well, what did Milly do with him?" inquired Zillah, with some curiosity.

"She first told him firmly and quietly that he must stop screaming on the instant, or she would shut him into a room by himself till he was ready to be good; and as she always keeps her word, not threatening over and over again before she acts, as some people do, he did stop promptly; then she took him on her lap and amused him with stories and rhymes a little while, when she carried him off to bed.

"She's always gentle with him, but firm as a rock; as regular as clock-work too; he's put to bed when the hour comes, and left there to go to sleep by himself, and he does it without a whimper."

"I suppose that's the orthodox way," said Zillah, "but I can't bear to force Stuart to bed when he cries to stay up. The sweet darling, I do love him so!" bending down to kiss the round rosy cheek.

"I've no doubt you do," said Don; "but I remember to have heard mother say it was but a poor selfish kind of love that couldn't bear the pain of controlling a child for its own good, but would rather let it become so wilful and ill-behaved as to be a torment to itself and everybody else. Ah, here comes Wallace," he added, glancing from the window.

"Then I'll leave you to have your talk with him while I put this boy to bed," returned Zillah, rising and leaving the room.

Wallace was no sooner seated than Don made known his errand.

Wallace looked grave. "I don't like the idea, Don," he said. "I wish you could be persuaded to give it up. If you should be unsuccessful, of which there are ten chances to one, it would involve the loss of some of the best years of your life."

"One must take a risk in anything one tries," interrupted Don, impatiently.

"True," replied Wallace, "but in this more than in many others."

"'Nothing venture, nothing have,'" muttered Don.

"I thought you were to go to college in the fall," remarked Wallace.

"That has been father's plan for me, but as I have no fancy for a profession, I think a college course would be almost time thrown away—money too. Ru has proposed to make a druggist of me, but that isn't to my fancy either."

"I wish you would go in with Ru, if you are determined not to take a collegiate education. I can see that he, poor fellow, is sadly overworked, and to have a brother in with him—one whom he could trust—would doubtless prove a great relief."

"Ru hasn't seemed well of late," assented Don in a reflective tone, "but I was laying it all to—to grief. Wallace, the house isn't what it used to be. I've thought I couldn't stand it. I've been a selfish dog, but I'll try to forget self and think of other people. Good-evening. I promised mother I'd be back soon," he added, as he rose and took his departure.

His heart was filled with grief and disappointment; he crossed the street slowly, with head bent and eyes on the ground, battling earnestly with himself, striving to put aside his own inclinations for the sake of others.

He found the family still gathered in the sitting-room, Dr. Landreth and Mildred with them.

As he entered the doctor was saying to Rupert, "I have been considering your objections to my plans for you, and think I can see a way out of the difficulty in regard to leaving your business."

"What is that?" Rupert asked, and Don, aroused to eager interest, dropped into a chair and listened for the doctor's explanation with bated breath. "Could it be that Rupert was going from home? and if so, where? and what difference might it make in his own plans?"

"Simply this," returned Dr. Landreth, with his genial smile, "that I will take charge of it and carry it on for you, if that arrangement seems to you entirely satisfactory."

"A most generous offer, Charlie!" exclaimed Rupert, flushing with surprise and gratitude, "but would it not interfere with your professional duties?"

"No; not necessarily. I should merely take the oversight, keeping the good clerk you have, and getting another equally competent—the two to do the work between them."

"Many thanks," said Rupert, grasping his brother-in-law's hand; "you have removed my greatest difficulty. I begin to think I can follow out your prescriptions, if"—and he turned smilingly to Don—"if Don is as ready to sacrifice himself for my sake."

"I hope so, Ru; what is it?" the boy asked, a trifle huskily, for his momentary gleam of hope died out at the question.

It shone out with tenfold brilliancy at his brother's reply. "Charlie thinks I am in danger of permanent loss of health unless I give up my business for a time, and have an entire change of scene; so he advises me to join the party about starting for California. He thinks the journey across the plains just the thing for me. But I ought to have some friend—say a brother—with me; so it may depend upon your willingness to go."

"My willingness?" interrupted Don eagerly; "I'd be delighted, Ru, and do the very best for you that I know how."

The mother was regarding them with glistening eyes, her lips quivering with emotion.

"And let him give you the care and oversight an elder brother should?" asked the father gravely.

"Yes, if he doesn't try to exert more than his rightful share of authority," returned Don, a slight reluctance perceptible in his tone.

"On that condition your mother and I consent to your going," Mr. Keith said, "though, my boy, it will be hard indeed for us to part with you our youngest son."

Don saw the tears in his mother's eyes, noted that his father's tones were not quite steady, and his heart went out in love to both. "I will never, never do anything to cause them shame or grief on my account," was the firm resolve he whispered to himself.

There was necessity for speedy decision, and it was arrived at within twenty-four hours. The young men were to go. The allotted time was short for needed preparation, particularly that which fell to the mother's share; but her three remaining daughters and Miss Stanhope coming to her assistance, and all working with a will, the thing was done well and in season; nothing forgotten, nothing overlooked that could add to the comfort of the loved travellers.

And it was well for all that matters were so hurried, leaving no leisure for sad forebodings or unavailing regrets.

The parting was a hard one, almost harder, the mother thought, than the last she had been called to pass through; for while her beloved Fan was safe from all sin, and sorrow, and suffering, these dear ones were to be exposed to many dangers and temptations.

But she bore up wonderfully as she bade them adieu and watched the slow-moving train out of sight; they were not going beyond the reach of prayer; they would still be under the protecting care of Him who has said, "Behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of."

"Wherever they might be, He would cover their defenceless heads with the shadow of His wing."

Annis's tears fell much longer and faster than her mother's; the letter she wrote to Elsie, giving a graphic account of the preparations and departure, was all blistered with them, even more so than the one telling of Fan's last hours.

"I am the only child left at home now," she wrote. "That was what mother said when we got back from seeing the long train of wagons, with their ox-teams, starting on that long, dangerous journey. She took me in her arms, and cried over me for a few minutes; then she wiped away her tears, and kissed me over and over, saying, 'But we won't murmur, darling, or make ourselves unhappy about it; for they are all in God's good keeping, and one day, I trust, we shall all meet in that better land where partings are unknown.'

"And I have great reason to be thankful that Mildred and Zillah are so near us; it is almost as if they were still at home."

The letter wound up with an earnest request to Elsie that she would pray daily for the safe return of Rupert and Don.