One evening a casual mention of having some years before spent a number of weeks on the island of Jamaica aroused a degree of excitement among them that surprised her.

"Jamaica!" exclaimed Blanche. "Oh, Miss Seldon, did you meet any of the well-to-do people? any of the rich planters?"

"Yes," was the reply, "I had letters of introduction to several families and found them very hospitable; some of them most interesting and agreeable people. I particularly remember one old couple, of English descent, without children, I think--at least I did not hear of any--who made my visit of a couple of days very enjoyable, indeed."

"What was their name, Miss Seldon?" asked Ethel half breathlessly, for her heart was beating fast between a newly aroused hope and the fear that it might not be realized.

"Eyre," returned Miss Seldon. "But why do you ask? Oh, what is it?" for every face at the table had brightened visibly, and there was an exchange of rejoicing, exulting, excited glances.

"I think they must have been our grandparents," said Ethel, scarcely able to speak from emotion, "mamma's father and mother, whom we have never been able to find because we did not know their address. Oh, how glad--how glad I am!" and she wept for joy and thankfulness.

Harry and the others were scarcely less excited; they could talk of nothing else while together at the table, but soon after leaving it, Ethel, taking Miss Seldon with her, accompanied by Harry as escort, set out for her old home to inform her uncles of the discovery just made, and ask their advice in regard to the best way of opening communication with her grandparents.

"This is good news, Ethel--at least I hope it will prove so," said her Uncle George when the story had been told; "but I am extremely doubtful if your grandparents are still living; for in that case they would surely have been hunting up their daughter's children. But we must set on foot such enquiries as will remove all doubt, and in case of their death recover for you and your brother and sisters any property they may have left."

At that Ethel's eyes filled. "I want my dear grandparents a great deal more than I do their property," she said.

"I have no doubt of that, Ethel," said her Uncle Albert, "but in case of their death the property will be yours by right, and not to be despised; and they of course would have wished it to fall to their daughter's children rather than to anyone else."

"I should think so; yes, I am quite sure of it," she said, adding with a smile, "and it will be a great help to us all in getting a start in the world."

"Yes," he returned, "and for that reason I shall be very glad if it turns out that there is a good deal of it."

"We will make enquiries for you, Ethel," said her Uncle George, "and set about it at once. So you need give yourself no farther trouble, my dear."

"Thank you both very much, indeed, uncles," was her reply in a tone full of grateful affection. "I think, though, that I will write a letter to my grandparents to say how dearly I love them, and how I have longed ever since dear mamma and papa died to be with them in the sweet old home I can just remember, but did not write till now because of not knowing their address. Shall I not do so?"

"I do not believe they are living, child," replied her Uncle George.

"Had they been, you surely would have heard from them in some way before this."

"But they have not known where we were," she returned, tears starting to her eyes again. "So I think I had better write."

"Yes, do so if you wish. It cannot do any harm," said her uncle Albert.

Blanche and Nannette eagerly awaited the return of their brother and sister, and on their coming besieged them with questions, asking what their uncles thought and said, and what was going to be done to find "Grandpa and Grandma Eyre." Neither Ethel nor Harry was disposed to keep anything back, but the others were disappointed that there was so little to tell, and were almost indignant that it should be thought that their grandparents were dead. They urged Ethel to write at once and find out certainly whether they were or not.

"It is just what I intend doing," she said, "and now, if you will be quiet, I will set to work at once. I'll make my letter short, promising to write again as soon as we hear from them."

The letter was written, read to the others for their approval, and mailed by Harry before they went to bed that night.

Some weeks of anxious suspense followed, then news was received of the death, some years before, of both Mr. and Mrs. Eyre. They had left property which, their daughter's children heired, but only a part of it was recovered for them.

In the meantime the young people had talked much together of their dear old home in Jamaica, and the grandparents who had so loved and petted them in their babyhood; Ethel, at the request of the others, repeating again and again all that she could remember of the lovely place, and their life there, so different from that they were now leading, and, as they talked, the desire to return to that beautiful home and those doating grandparents grew apace.

It was therefore a sore disappointment when they learned that death had robbed them of the dear old people, orphaning them a second time. For the first few days after hearing the sad news they were almost inconsolable in their grief and disappointment, but gradually they recovered from that and felt glad and thankful because of their increased means; for though by no means sufficient to free them from the necessity of exertion, life was made easier and advantages were secured which without it were beyond their reach.

A capable woman was found who took Blanche's place as housekeeper and cook, so that she could go back to school and resume her studies, and a young girl, who did errands and sometimes waited upon customers, was also added to the establishment.

CHAPTER XIX.

Several years had pa.s.sed, bringing to the members of our little family scarce any changes except such as time brings to the young and growing everywhere. Ethel was more mature in looks and manners, Harry becoming quite manly in appearance, and in character also, the two younger girls were budding into lovely womanhood, Nannette being especially winsome in manner. They were all strongly attached to each other and made a very harmonious and happy little household.

But a change came: Nan took cold in the spring, and all through the summer was feeble and more or less ailing.

The others were troubled and anxious about her, but she was almost always cheerful, said there was not much the matter, she only felt languid and weak, but hoped to be strong and have more energy when the cool autumn weather came. But alas! instead, her feebleness increased till at last she was forced to take to her bed. Then Ethel, greatly alarmed, at once let her uncles know, and without delay the best medical advice was furnished and everything done that loving care and solicitude could do to improve her condition. She grew a little better for a time, so that she was able to be about the house again, but never went out except when one of her uncles or cousins took her for a drive as they sometimes did.

They were very kind and affectionate, coming often to see her, even when the weather was such that she could not be taken out. Dorothy was frequently there too, sometimes in the capacity of nurse, when business or domestic cares kept Nannette's sisters away from the sick room, and showing herself very kind, thoughtful, and skilful.

Miss Seldon did likewise, evidently feeling deep interest in the young invalid; bringing dainties to tempt the failing appet.i.te, and interesting books to make the time pa.s.s pleasantly.

Their pastor came too, and by his sympathy and kindness endeared himself greatly to the little family. He succeeded at length in so winning Nan's love and confidence that she became very open and communicative with him; talking freely of her thoughts, feelings, and desires, her hopes and aspirations; and very gently and tenderly he, after a time, told her that her physicians thought it very unlikely she would ever be restored to health in this world, but was slowly and surely nearing that blessed land where the inhabitants shall never say "I am sick"; the land where pain and sickness, death, sin, and sorrow are unknown.

It was a new idea to Nannette, for she had looked confidently forward to final restoration to health, and for some moments she seemed stunned with surprise and affright.

"Do not be afraid, dear child," said the minister in tones tremulous with emotion; "remember those sweet words of the psalmist, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.' Trust in Jesus--Jesus only--and He will be with you, and carry you safely through the valley, and over the river of death, to the beautiful Celestial city, where you will dwell with Him in such bliss as eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive."

"And where my dear father and mother are," she said softly, the big tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, I shall not be sorry to go! How good; oh, how good the Lord is to let me go there so soon!"

"Yes, dear child. Is it because He sees any good in you, do you think?"

"No, sir; oh, no, there isn't any, not any of my own righteousness: but I think, I believe, oh, I know that He has covered me with the beautiful robe of His perfect righteousness, so that when G.o.d looks upon me He will see only that and none of the filthy rags of my own. And He will wash away in His precious blood all my sins, all the evil that is in me, and make me fit for a home in that blessed land. With Jesus and like him! Oh, how happy I shall be!" Then after a moment's pause, "Do my brother and sisters know?" she asked.

"I think not," he said, "though doubtless they will not be greatly surprised to learn the truth in regard to your serious condition."

"Then tell them; please tell them," she entreated; "Ethel and Blanche at least, and perhaps they will tell Harry when he comes home from the store to-night."

Just then footsteps were heard on the stairs, the door opened, and Dorothy entered.

"How do you do, sir?" she said, holding out her hand to the minister, then turning toward Nannette, "Ah, little coz, you are better, I think!

Your cheeks are like roses and your eyes are very bright. What is it, dear?" as the beautiful eyes filled with tears, "are you in pain?" and she bent over her, softly caressing her hair and cheek.

The minister had slipped away un.o.bserved. Nannette put an arm round Dorothy and drew her down closer. "I--I know it now," she panted. "He has told me, and--and oh, I--I'm afraid Ethel's heart will break, for--for she loves me so dearly!"

"What is it, dear? You haven't told me yet," returned Dorothy in half tremulous tones. "You--you are not worse?"

"I shall never be any better," faltered Nannette; "never till--till I reach that land where the inhabitants shall not say 'I am sick.'"

"O Nan, you don't know! I--I think you are getting better," Dorothy returned, tears streaming from her eyes. "And how could we ever do without you? I have grown to love you very, very dearly since I have been with you so much, seeing how dear and good and patient you are in all your pain and weakness. Cheer up, for I do think you will be stronger when the warm weather comes."

But Nannette shook her head. "No," she said, "the doctors say I will not be here long; that I am going home to heaven to be with Jesus and the dear father and mother who went so long ago. O Dorothy, though the news was like a shock at first, I am very glad now, if--if only I did not have to leave Ethel and Blanche behind; Harry too, and you and my uncles and cousins. Oh, how sweet it would be if we could only all go together!"

"O Nan," cried Dorothy, weeping, "I can't help hoping the doctors are mistaken; you know they sometimes are, and perhaps you will get well yet. I'll tell Uncle George, and perhaps he will take you south to Florida or the West Indies. I think it would do him good to go himself, for he has a cough of late."

"You are very kind, Dorothy," Nan said with a grateful look up into her eyes, "and so are my uncles. I believe they would do anything in their power to save my life; but I fear it is too late, and if I am to die I'd rather die here at home with all the dear ones about me."