Mr. Bond sits beside his center-table with his legs crossed and his eyes fixed upon the portrait. He wonders what Betty Lathrop would advise him to do about the poor girl if she could speak. He hears a great deal about spiritual manifestations and communications, but he has no faith in them, and even if he had he wouldn't be guilty of disturbing a departed soul unless for something of great moment.

He thinks he reads her approbation of his conduct, thus far, in the mild eyes that seem to look encouragingly upon him. Good old man, it would puzzle the saints to find fault with any of thy pure impulses!

He wonders if Nannie ever went to school, and if she has read the Pilgrim's Progress? He'll take it round there some day, her education mustn't be neglected, and she can't be spared from Winnie to go to school now. He hasn't any body to care for, and why shouldn't he make those children his especial charge! Puss rises slowly from the rug, where she has been lying curled up this long time, shakes herself, and puts her two fore paws on Mr. Bond's knees, as if to remind him that he has something to care for and cherish, and then walks back again and puts herself in the old position, while her great orbs are rolled up at the master.

"It will not make any difference to you, puss," says Mr. Bond, leaning over and stroking the warm fur; "there's milk enough for you and Winnie too, and she'd have done it, I know," pointing upward to the portrait, as if the cat understood it all; then he took his hat and cane in his hand and went down stairs, stopping at his landlady's room to tell her "if a poor little girl with a baby should come to see him, not to send her away, but to let her go to his room and rest."

"Pretty piece of business!" said Mrs. Kinalden, as he left the house; "tisn't any beggars' brats I'll have tracking the dirt up my stair-ways, I'll warrant ye!" and she flourished her soup-ladle as if in defiance of all such encroaches upon her blessed domain.

Mr. Bond didn't hear nor see it, though, for his elastic step was away down the street, and if he had he would have thought it only Mrs. Kinalden's way, and would not have taken offense at it. There was so much that was bright and good in his own heart that he could not feel the ill that was in other people's natures, and his life passed as smoothly as if he were not continually subjected to petty annoyances from those about him who imposed upon his forbearance and amiability.

Earth was beautiful to him, and so was life; there had been but one dark spot in his whole existence, and that was when Betty Lathrop twined her young arms around his great neck and told him she must die.

Her grave was very green, though, and there were roses of his own planting around it, and a pure white lily; and there was a holy light always visible to him just above it, as of an angel with glorious wings hovering. He didn't feel as if she had departed wholly from him because he could not see her bodily presence, for he knew that the love was still with him, and this it was that shed such a halo all about his pathway, and there can not be sadness nor gloom where such a consciousness exists.

There are not many Peter Bonds in the world though!