Delighted Hannah could not pass a biscuit without a courtesy.
That evening the hickory fire glowed and turned to bright and fragrant coals as in the days past, but Annie looked wistfully toward her father's vacant chair, and sighed, "If father were only here!"
"Don't grieve, darling," said Gregory, tenderly. "He is at home, as we are."
A few evenings later Gregory brought up from the city a large, square bundle.
"What have you there?" said Annie, greeting him as the reader can imagine.
"Your epitaph."
"O, Walter! so soon?"
His answer was a smile, and quickly opening the pack age, he showed a rich, quaint frame containing some lines in illuminated text. Placing it where the light fell clearly, he drew her to him and said, "Read that."
"God sent His messenger of faith,
And whispered in the maiden's heart,
'Rise up and look from where thou art,
And scatter with unselfish hands
Thy freshness on the barren sands
And solitudes of death.'"
"O beauty of holiness,
Of self-forgetfulness!"