It was near noon of a bright warm day early in October. Mrs. Keith was alone in her pretty sitting-room, busily plying her needle at the open window looking out upon the river.

Occasionally she lifted her head and sent a quick, admiring glance at its bright, swiftly-flowing waters and the woods beyond, beautiful and gorgeous in their rich autumnal robes.

There was a drowsy hum of insects in the air; and mingling with it the cackle of a rejoicing hen, the crowing of a cock and other rural sounds; the prattle of childish voices too came pleasantly to her ear, from the garden behind the house where the little ones were at play, calling, once and again, a tender, motherly smile to her lips.

Yet a slight cloud of care rested on her usually calm and placid features and thought seemed very busy in her brain.

It was of Mildred she was thinking. Father and mother both had noticed with a good deal of anxiety, that the young girl did not recover fully from the severe strain of the long weeks of nursing that had fallen to her lot during the past summer.

She was mush paler and thinner than her wont, had frequent headaches and seemed weak and languid, a very little exertion causing excessive fatigue.

Only last night they had lain awake an hour or more talking about it, and consulting together as to what could be done for the "dear child."

They feared the severity of the coming winter would increase her malady, and wished very much that they could send her away for some months, or a year, to a milder climate; but the difficulty—apparently an insuperable one—was to find means.

It took no small amount to feed, clothe and educate such a family as theirs, and sickness had made this year one of unusual expense.

As the loving mother sat there alone she had turned over in her mind plan after plan for accomplishing this, which for her child's good, she so ardently desired to do; but only to reject each in turn as utterly impracticable.

Aunt Wealthy, she knew, would gladly receive Mildred into her pleasant home for as long a time as her parents might be willing to spare her; but still there was the money to be provided for the journey, and besides a yet milder climate than that of Lansdale was desirable.

But the slight cloud lifted from Mrs. Keith's brow, and a sweet expression of perfect peace and content took its place as she bethought of her best Friend and His infinite love and power. He could clear away all these difficulties and would do so in answer to prayer, if in His unerring wisdom He saw that it would be for their real good—their truest happiness.

Her heart went up to him in a silent petition; and then a sweet, glad song of praise burst half unconsciously from her lips.

As she ceased a rap at the door into the hall—which as well as the outer one, stood wide open—caught her ear.

She turned her head to see a tall gentleman, a fine looking, middle-aged man standing there and regarding her with a pleased smile.

"Uncle Dinsmore! is it possible! Oh how glad I am to see you!" she cried, dropping her work and springing toward him with both hands extended.

He took them, drew her to him and kissing her affectionately, first on one cheek, then on the other, said gayly, "I flattered myself you would be, else I should not have traveled some hundreds of miles for the express purpose of paying you a visit. Fair and sweet as ever, Marcia! Time deals more gently with you than is his wont with the most of the world."

"Ah, I remember you as always given to pretty compliments," she returned, with a pleased, but half incredulous smile, as she drew forward the most comfortable chair in the room and made him seat himself therein, while she relieved him of his hat and cane.

"So I have taken you by surprise?" he said inquiringly and with a satisfied look.

"I did not even know you were at the North. When did you leave Roselands? Were they all well? Are any of them with you?"

"One question at a time, Marcia," he said with a good-humored laugh. "I left home in June, bringing all the family with me as far as Philadelphia. They are visiting now in eastern Pennsylvania. I went on to New York a month ago to see Horace off for Europe, then concluded to come on into Ohio and Indiana, to have a look at this great western country, your Aunt Wealthy and yourself. I purpose spending a week or two with you, if quite convenient and agreeable, then to return, taking Lansdale in my way, and paying a short visit there."

"Convenient and agreeable!" she cried, with a joyous laugh, and glad tears shining in her eyes, "sunlight was never more welcome, and the longer you stay, the better. You came by the stage? Where is your luggage?"

"Yes, by the stage. My valise is—Ah!" half rising from his chair, with extended hand, as a handsome, intelligent looking lad of fifteen or sixteen, in working dress, but neat and clean, came in from the hall, carrying a valise.

"I found this on the porch," he began, but broke off abruptly at sight of the stranger.

"Rupert, our eldest son," said Mrs. Keith, with a glance full of motherly pride directed toward the lad. "Rupert, this is Uncle Dinsmore, your Cousin Horace's father."

The two shook hands warmly, Rupert saying, "I am very glad to see you, sir, I have heard mother speak of you so often."

The gentleman answering, "Thank you, my boy. Yes, your mother and I are very old friends, though I am older than she, by a score of years or more."

"That must be your uncle's, Rupert, take it to the spare room," said Mrs. Keith, glancing at the valise.

"A fine looking fellow, but all Keith, isn't he, Marcia?" remarked her uncle, as the lad left the room. Then as Cyril bounded in at another door, "Ah! this one's a Stanhope! Come and shake hands with your uncle, my man."

Don and the two little girls were close behind Cyril, and these had scarcely been introduced, when Mr. Keith came in from his office, bringing with him Mildred, Zillah and Ada, whom he had met on the way.

Mr. Dinsmore was a stranger to them all, but every one seemed glad that he had come to visit them, and he was quite charmed with the cordiality of his reception, and the bright, intelligent faces, and refined manners of both parents and children.

They made him very welcome, very comfortable, and spared no exertion for his entertainment.

Being an observant man, he soon discovered that Mildred, toward whom he felt specially drawn from the first, was ailing, and immediately proposed taking her home with him to spend the winter in the sunny South.

This was on the afternoon of the day succeeding that of his arrival, as he and Mr. and Mrs. Keith sat conversing together in the parlor, the young people having scattered to their work or play.

The father and mother exchanged glances, each reading in the other's face a longing desire to accept the invitation for their child, mingled with the sad conviction that it was impossible to do so.

This Mr. Keith presently put into words, accompanied with warm thanks for the intended kindness to Mildred.

"Tut, tut," said Mr. Dinsmore, "don't talk of kindness, the obligation will be on my part; and as to the impossibility, it is all in your imaginations. I, of course, shall bear all the expense of the journey, and—No, Marcia, don't interrupt me. I owe it to you, for I can never repay the kindness you showed your aunt in her last sickness, and to poor Horace and myself after she was gone. And you owe it to your child not to refuse for her what is really necessary to her restoration to health."

"Dear uncle, you are most kind, you must let me say it," said Mrs. Keith, with tears in her eyes. "I will not deny that the expense is the greatest obstacle, for the family purse is low at present, and I will not let my pride stand in the way of the acceptance of your generous offer, but there are other difficulties. I do not see how I could get her ready in the few days to which you have limited your visit here."

"I'll stretch it to a fortnight, then, if that'll answer," he returned, in a short, quick, determined way, that bespoke him little used to opposition to his will. "Besides," he went on, "what need of so much preparation? purchases can be made to much better advantage in Philadelphia, and sewing done at Roselands, where we have two accomplished seamstresses among the servants. I've heard Mrs. Dinsmore boast that one of them can cut and fit, make and trim a dress as well as any mantuamaker she ever saw."

Mrs. Keith expressed a lively sense of his kindness, but suggested that in all probability Mrs. Dinsmore found plenty of employment for the two women in sewing for herself and family.

Her uncle scouted the idea, asserting that they had not enough to do to keep them out of mischief.

Mrs. Keith was driven from her last refuge of excuse, and truth to tell was not sorry to have it so. Mr. Keith gave consent, Mildred was summoned and the plan laid before her to her great astonishment and delight.

"Oh, Uncle Dinsmore, how kind!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing, her eyes sparkling. "It seems too good to be true, that I shall see Roselands, the beautiful place mother has so often described to us! But no, no, it will never do for me to go and leave mother to bear the cares and burdens of housekeeping and the children all alone!" she cried with sudden change of tone. "How could I be so selfish as to think of it for a single moment. Mother dear, I don't want to go, indeed I do not."

"But my dear child, I want you to go," Mrs. Keith said, smiling through unshed tears. "You need rest and change of scene; and though I shall miss you sadly, I shall enjoy the thought that you are gaining in many ways, and in the prospect of soon having you at home again."

"Yes," said Mr. Dinsmore, "travel is improving, and you can go on with your studies at Roselands if you fancy doing so: we have an excellent, thoroughly educated lady as governess, and masters coming from the city twice a week to give instruction in music and drawing. You shall share their attentions if you will.

"Come, it is not worth while to raise objections; for I can overrule them all, and am quite determined to carry my point.

"Mr. Keith," he added, rising and looking about for his hat, "suppose we take a walk round the town, leaving the ladies to talk over the necessary arrangements."

The gentlemen went out together, but the next moment Mr. Dinsmore stepped back again to hand Mrs. Keith a letter, saying, as he did so,

"I owe you an apology, Marcia, for my forgetfulness. Horace entrusted this to my care and it should have been given you immediately on my arrival. Au revoir, ladies!" and with a courtly bow he was gone.

Mrs. Keith broke the seal and unfolded the sheet. There was an enclosure, but she did not look at it until she had read the note, which she did almost at a glance, for it was plainly written and very brief.

"The dear generous fellow!" she exclaimed, tears starting to her eyes: then as she unfolded the bank note, "A trifle, indeed! Mildred, child, it is a hundred dollars!" and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"But you will not take it, mother, surely!" said Mildred, her cheeks flushing hotly; her pride up in arms at once at the thought of coming under such an obligation, even to a relative.

"My child," said Mrs. Keith, "I could not bear to hurt him as I well know he would be hurt by a rejection of his kindness. We will accept it: if not as a gift, as a loan to be repaid some day when we are able. Another reason why I feel that we ought not to let pride lead us to refuse this, is that it seems to have come—it and your uncle's invitation also—so directly in answer to prayer."

She went on to tell Mildred of their anxiety in regard to her, and in particular of the petitions she had been putting up on her behalf, just before Mr. Dinsmore's arrival.

"Ah!" she said in conclusion, "how good is our God! He has fulfilled to me his gracious promise, 'And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer, and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.'"

A moment's silence, then Mildred said in half tremulous tones, "Oh, it is a blessed thing to trust in God! I hope my faith will grow to be as strong as yours, mother, and I hope I am thankful for this money, but—mother, am I very wicked to feel it something of a trial to have to take it?"

"I hope not," Mrs. Keith answered, with a smile and a sigh, "I do not want to see my children too ready to take help from others. I trust they will always prefer any honest work by which they may earn their bread, to a life of luxury and ease and dependence. That they will always remember the command, 'Every man shall bear his own burden' but, since we are also told to bear one another's burdens, and that it is more blessed to give than to receive, I must believe there are cases where it is right, yes, even a duty, to accept some assistance from those who give freely and gladly, and from their abundance, as I know Cousin Horace does."

"Well, I must try not to be so selfish as to grudge him his blessedness," remarked Mildred, playfully, though tears still shone in her eyes. "But, mother, how are you to do without me?"

"Oh, very nicely! Zillah and Ada are growing very helpful, Annie is no longer a mere baby, and—why, there is Celestia Ann!" she exclaimed joyously, suddenly breaking off her sentence, as a casual glance through a window showed her the tall, muscular figure of their former and most efficient maid-of-all-work coming in at the gate.

"Oh! if she has only come to stay, I shall feel as if I can be spared," cried Mildred, "Mother, how strangely difficulties are being taken out of the way."