The summer went joyously on, and the minister and child roamed about amid the green things of the earth. All the loveliest haunts of that pleasant spot had echoed the grave, but gentle tones of the man of God, and the answering prattle of the little one who went tripping on by his side, sometimes thoughtful and earnest, sometimes merry and glad; and now the time had come for Mrs. Dunmore to return to her city residence, and they must bid their kind friends at the Rectory good-by. Mrs. Colbert sat with her son upon the rustic bench, and the child was between them holding a hand of each. Mr. Colbert pushed her dark hair from her forehead, and said, as he looked in her tearful eyes; "Jennie is sorry to part with her old friends, but perhaps she will forget them before another summer?"

"I fear we shall not be able to return to —— for several years to come;" said Mrs. Dunmore. "I have just received a summons from my husband's mother, who is in very feeble health, and as I shall devote myself to her during her life, I must forego the pleasure of my summer home for awhile. Jennie will be placed at Madame La Blanche's school during my absence, and my separation from her will be another pang added to that which I feel on leaving you all for an indefinite period." A shade passed over the face of the young minister; but it gave place to a smile as the child said, "But you promised that I should come back some day, and keep house for you in this good old place, and then you know"—she added, smiling through the tears that had bedimmed her eyes, "I should go away no more, but we could be always happy here together."

Jennie could not understand Mrs. Colbert's earnest manner as she pressed her fondly to her bosom, and said "God grant it, my sweet child!" but she returned the caresses so lavishly heaped upon her, and then jumped down to play with old Skip, the house-dog, who was leaping about her as if to share in the adieus. Mrs. Dunmore took the vacant seat, and the three friends conversed long and seriously upon the former years of happiness spent in each other's society, and the interval that might ensue ere they should be gathered again beneath the spreading maples; and as they conversed, one heart dwelt with greater than usual tenderness upon the little figure that was flitting about in the soft twilight.

The night came, the twilight had faded out, and the little figure, too, had vanished, leaving that one breast desolate, save when a lightsome shadow flitted across its ever-verdant memory. The summer cottage looked dreary, with its closed blinds, and the autumn leaves rustling about it in the bleak winds; but the little tombstone still gleamed in the sunlight, that cast a pleasant and warm halo upon it, and the birds and squirrels sung and leaped about in the beauteous grove as blithesome and glad as if life's rolling seasons brought no sad changes. The man of God walked quietly up and down the silent avenue, striving to think only of the blue sky into which it seemed to open. The gentle widow went out on her mission of love and mercy, to smooth the dying pillow of the sick and aged, and the child was again in the heart of the mighty city, not a penniless, uncared-for thing, but surrounded by a joyous group of happy children, and watched over by a kind and faithful teacher.