"Come, I am eager to have you in our own home;" and we all passed out of the rear entrance, walked a few hundred yards across the soft turf, and entered a lovely home, somewhat similar to our own, yet still unlike it in many details. It also was built of marble, but darker than that of my brother's home. Every room spoke of modest refinement and cultivated taste, and the home air about it was at once delightfully perceptible. My father's study was on the second floor, and the first thing I noticed on entering was the luxuriant branches and flowers of an old-fashioned hundred-leafed rose tree, that covered the window by his desk.

"Ah!" I cried, "I can almost imagine myself in your old study at home, when I look at that window."

"Is it not a reminder?" he said, laughing happily. "I almost think sometimes it is the same dear old bush, transplanted here."

"And it is still your favorite flower?" I queried.

He nodded his head, and said, smiling:

"I see you remember still the childhood days." And he patted my cheek as I gathered a rose and fastened it upon his breast.

"It seems to me this ought to be your home, dear; it is our father's home," said my sister wistfully.

"Nay," my father quickly interposed. "Col. Sprague is her legitimate guardian and instructor. It is a wise and admirable arrangement. He is in every way the most suitable instructor she could possibly have. Our Father never errs."

"Is not my brother's a lovely character?" I asked.

"Lovely indeed; and he stands very near to the Master. Few have a clearer knowledge of the Divine Will, hence few are better fitted for instructors. But I, too, have duties that call me for a time away. How blessed to know there can never again be long separations! You will have two homes now, dear child-your own and ours."

"Yes, yes!" I said. "I shall be here, I suspect, almost as much as there."

At this moment a swift messenger approached my father and spoke a few low words.

"Yes, I shall go at once," he replied, and, waving his hand in adieu, departed with the angelic guide.

"Where do my father's duties mostly lie?" I asked my mother.

"He is called usually to those who enter life with little preparation-that which on earth we call death-bed repentance. You know what wonderful success he always had in winning souls to Christ; and these poor spirits need to be taught from the very beginning. They enter the spirit-life in its lowest phase, and it is your father's pleasant duty to lead them upward step by step. He is devoted to his work and greatly beloved by those he thus helps. He often allows me to accompany him and labor with him, and that is such a pleasure to me! And do you know"-with an indescribable look of happiness-"I forget nothing now!"

It had been her great burden, for some years before her death, that memory failed her sadly, and I could understand and sympathize with her present delight.

"Dear heart!" I cried, folding my arms tenderly about her, "then it is like the early years of your married life again?"

"Precisely," she answered joyously.

A little later my sister drew me tenderly aside and whispered, "Tell me of my boy, of my precious son. I often see him; but we are not permitted to know as much always of the earthly life as we once believed we should. The Father's tender wisdom metes out to us the knowledge he sees is best, and we are content to wait his time for more. All you can tell would not be denied me. Is he surely, surely coming to me sometime? Shall I hold him again in my arms, my darling boy?"

"I am sure-yes, I am sure you will. Your memory is very precious to him."

Then I told her all I could recall of the son with whom she had parted while he was but a child-now grown to man's estate, honored and loved, with home and wife and son to comfort and bless him.

"Then I can wait," she said, "if he is sure to come to me at last, when his earthly work is done, bringing his wife and son. How I shall love them, too!"

At this moment I felt myself encircled by tender arms, and a hand was gently laid on my eyes.

"Who is it?" some one whispered softly.

"Oh, I know the voice, the touch!-dearest, dearest Nell!" I cried, and, turning quickly, threw my arms about the neck of my only brother.

He gathered me a moment warmly to his heart, then in his old-time playful way lifted me quite off my feet in his strong arms, saying:

"She has not grown an inch; and is not, I believe, a day older than when we last parted! Is she, Joe?" turning to our sister.

"It does not seem so," said my sister, "but I thought she would never come."

"Trust her for that!" he said. "But come, now; they have had you long enough for the first visit; the rest of us want you for awhile. Come with us, Jodie. Mother, I may have them both for a little time, may I not? or will you come, too?" turning to our mother with a caressing touch.

"I cannot go, dear boy; I must be here when your father returns. Take your sisters; it is a blessed sight to see you all again together."

"Come then," he said; and, each taking one of my hands, we went out together.

"Halt!" he suddenly called, in his old-time military fashion, after a short walk, and we stopped abruptly in front of a dainty house built of the finest polished woods. It was beautiful both in architecture and finish.

"How lovely!" I cried; and with a bow of charming humility he said:

"The home of your humble servant. Enter."

I paused a moment on the wide veranda to examine a vine, wreathed about the graceful columns of highly-polished wood, and my brother laughingly said to my sister:

"She is the same old Sis! We will not get much good out of her until she has learned the name of every flower, vine and plant in heaven."

"Yes, you will," I said, shaking my head at his happy face, "but I mean to utilize you whenever I can; I have so much to learn."

"So you shall, dear," he answered gently. "But come in."

Stepping inside a lovely vestibule, out of which opened, from every side, spacious rooms, he called softly "Alma!" At once from one of these, a fair woman approached us.

"My dear child!" I said, "it does not seem possible! You were but a child when I last saw you."

"She is still her father's girl," said my brother, with a fond look. "She and Carrie, whom you never saw, make a blessed home for me. Where is your sister, daughter?"

"She is at the great music-hall. She has a very rich voice that she is cultivating," Alma said, turning to me. "We were going to find our aunt when she returned," she added.

"True, true," said my brother; "but come."

Then they showed me the lovely home, perfect and charming in every detail. When we came out upon a side veranda, I saw we were so near an adjoining house that we could easily step from one veranda to the other.

"There!" said my brother, lightly lifting me over the intervening space. "There is some one here you will wish to see." Before I could question him, he led me through the columned doorway, saying, "People in heaven are never 'not at home' to their friends."

The house we entered was almost identical in construction and finish with that of my brother Nell, and, as we entered, three persons came eagerly forward to greet me.

"Dear Aunt Gray!" I cried. "My dear Mary-my dear Martin! What a joy to meet you again!"

"And here," said my aunt reverently.

"Yes, here," I answered in like tone.

It was my father's sister, always a favorite aunt, with her son and his wife. How we did talk and cling to one another, and ask and answer questions!

"Pallas is also here, and Will, but they have gone with Carrie to the music hall," said Martin.

"Martin, can you sing here?" I asked. He always was trying to sing on earth, but could not master a tune.

"A little," he answered, with his old genial laugh and shrug; "we can do almost anything here that we really try to do."

"You should hear him now, cousin, when he tries to sing," said his wife, with a little touch of pride in her voice. "You would not know it was Martin. But is it not nice to have Dr. Nell so near us? We are almost one household, you see. All felt that we must be together."

"It is indeed," I answered, "although you no longer need him in his professional capacity."

"No, thanks to the Father; but we need him quite as much in many other ways."

"I rather think I am the one to be grateful," said my brother. "But, sister, I promised Frank that you should go to your own room awhile; he thought it wise that you should be alone for a time. Shall we go now?"

"I am ready," I answered, "though these delightful reunions leave no desire for rest."

"How blessed," said my aunt, "that there is no limit here to our mutual enjoyment! We have nothing to dread, nothing to fear. We know at parting that we shall meet again. We shall often see each other, my child."

Then my brother went with me to my own home, and, with a loving embrace, left me at the door of my room.

Once within, I lay down upon my couch to think over the events of this wonderful day; but, looking upward at the divine face above me, I forgot all else, and, Christ's peace enfolding me like a mantle, I became "as one whom his mother comforteth." While I lay in this blissful rest, my brother Frank returned, and, without rousing me, bore me in his strong arms again to earth. I did not know, when he left us in our home, upon what mission he was going, though my father knew it was to return to my dear husband and accompany him upon his sad journey to his dead wife; to comfort and sustain and strengthen him in those first lonely hours of sorrow. They deemed it best, for wise reasons, that I should wait awhile before returning, and taste the blessedness of the new life, thus gaining strength for the trial before me.