Year: 1879

mond sat beside her solitary fireside In
deep thought-in thought that, truth to
tell, was tinctured with sadness. It was
not often that she sat thus, for she was
the most cheerful and busy of little
women, the best of sisters and aunts,
and the kindest of neighbors. This
being the case, she found little leisure
for thought or solitary musings, for in
some one of these relations work
enough was always provided for her.


But tonight she seemed to have ar
rived at one of the halting- places in her
life. Her young sister Sophia, the last
of her charges, had that morning been
married. The old gray homestead had
been left desolate when her smiling
face went from it--at least SO Elsie
thought. True, she had tribe OF small
nephews and nieces staying with her,
while their mother, Elsie's sister Mary,
and her husband accompanied the
bridal party on their tour, but they had
long been asleep, and there was no
token of their presence in the some
what trim-looking room, except great
basket of playthings in the corner, and
a row of shoes, headed by Willie's "new
boots" and closed by baby Elsie's tiny
bronzed slippers, that were ranged
against the wall


Elsie's father had died suddenly, the
victim of a fatal accident, and his
widow, overwhelmed by the sad and
serrible bereavement, soon followed
him. With her dying breath she COM
mended her youngest children to the
care of their oldest sister, and exacted
from her promise that she would de-
vote her life to them. The girl could
hesitate at no demand made in the last
feeble accents of her dying mother.
She lifted the little unconscious babe
from the feeble arms that clasped it,
and holding it close to her bosom, and
looking upon the fearful faces of the
little group gathered around that DEATH
bed, gave the required promise.


In an hour her mother had ceased to
breathe, end Elsie's life-work had be-
gun. But it was not until the sad cere-
monies of the funeral was over, and
the little family had returned to the
desolate home. that Elsie fully COM
pretended all that she had under
taken.


None who have truly loved will fail
to comprehend the struggle that for the
following weeks went on in Elsie's soul.
It was no slight sacrifice that was de-
manded of Elsie; duty and love, her
promise to the dead mother and her
vows to the living, were the antagonists
that contested every inch of ground.
John Francis loved Elsie full well
enough to have aided her in her life
task. He saw no reason in the duties
she had undertaken why she should not
fulfill her VOWS, and in becoming his
wife divide the burden of her responE-
bilities and care.


But she thought differently. She
felt that she had no right to allow his
generosity to lead him into such sacri-
fee. He was young and life lay bright
and long before him. Should she al
low the shadow of her care to project
across the sunny path? Should she
seek to lay upon his shoulders the bur
den that weighed her down and doomed
her to life of toil2 She could endure
and sacrifice much for the children, SO
dear to her by ties of blood-the sacred
legacy of her dead parents. But to
him they we're nothing, save for her
sake, and she might have seen him grow
weary and discontented with the un-
timely cares that marriage with her
must throw upon him.


So Elsie and John Francis parted, as
they feared, forever, When her lover
found that no arguments nor prayers
could change her purpose, that she had
solemnly recorded her VOW to the dead,
and was fully prepared to perform it to
the uttermost, even to the sacrifice of
her dearest hopes and most cherished
wishes, he disappeared from the neigh
borhood without farewell to any who
had known him.


After time letter came to the par
ish clergyman to tell that he was safe,
and about to sail for foreign land, and
from that hour, for all those twenty
years, no tidings of John Francis had
fallen upon Elsie Raymond's ears.
When she knew that he was gone and
would not return, she carefully gath
cred together every little memento of
the happy season of her love, and
locked them in the casket he had gwen
her, thenceforth to be the shrine Of her
affections. Then sternly and uncom-
plainingly she turned to her life task.


Year after year rolled on. Elsie spun
and wove, and directed her maidens and
her farm laborers, and taught and nursed
her brothers and sisters, and in all
things strove to supply to them the
place of the parents they had lost.


In time the wounds of her heart
healed, at least they ceased to bleed at
every touch, and learned to find solace
in the affection of her children, as she
called them, while habit made her du-
ties light and almost pleasant.


The midnight hour had already
passed when Elsie rose to retire. Her


ong, lonely vigil had made her mind
tinid and nervous, and she could hardly