WE are all at home together once more. The parting with mother was very painful. Every year that she lives now increases her loneliness, and makes me long to give her the shelter of my home. But in the midst of these anxieties, how much I have to make me happy! Little Ernest is the life and soul of the house; the sound of his feet pattering about, and all his prattle, are the sweetest music to my ear; and his heart is brimful of love and joy, so that he shines on us all like a sunbeam. Baby is improving every day, and is one of those tender, clinging little things that appeal to everybody's love and sympathy. I never saw a more angelic face than hers. Father sits by the hour looking at her. To-day he said:
"Daughter Katherine, this lovely little one is not meant for this sinful world."
"This world needs to be adorned with lovely little ones," I said.
"And baby was never so well as she is now."
"Do not set your heart too fondly upon her," he returned. "I feel that she is far too dear to me."
"But, father, we could give her to God if He should ask for her
Surely, we love Him better than we love her."
But as I spoke a sharp pang shot through and through my soul, and I held my little fair daughter closely in my arms, as if I could always keep her there. It may be my conceit, but it really does seem as if poor father was getting a little fond of me. Ever since my own sickness I have felt great sympathy for him, and he feels, no doubt, that I give him something that neither Ernest nor Martha can do, since they were never sick one day in their lives. I do wish he could look more at Christ and at what He has done and is doing for us. The way of salvation is to me a wide path, absolutely radiant with the glory of Him who shines upon it; I see my shortcomings; I see my sins, but I feel myself bathed, as it were, in the effulgent glow that proceeds directly from the throne of God and the Lamb. It seems as if I ought to have some misgivings about my salvation, but I can hardly say that I have one. How strange, how mysterious that is! And here is father, so much older, so much better than I am, creeping along in the dark! I spoke to Ernest about it. He says I owe it to my training, in a great measure, and that my mother is fifty years in advance of her age. But it can't be all that. It was only after years of struggle and prayer that God gave me this joy.
NOVEMBER 24.-Ernest asked me yesterday if I knew that Amelia and her husband had come here to live, and that she was very ill.
"I wish you would go to see her, dear," he added. "She is a stranger here, and in great need of a friend." I felt extremely disturbed. I have lost my old affection for her, and the idea of meeting her husband was unpleasant.
"Is she very sick?" I asked.
"Yes. She is completely broken down. I promised her that you should go to see her."