She seemed really touched as the young man recounted the history of his sickness and sufferings in a strange city; and Lottie, sitting silently listening, was more than half convinced that she had judged her aunt too severely. By the time Joel was ready to go, she was quite satisfied that she _did_ want to come back. Then the old house really looked homelike, especially after the feeling of loneliness and homesickness she had experienced the day before as she walked the streets not knowing which way to look for shelter.

That evening, after everything was done, as Mrs. Durand was seated by the fire in her easy chair, and Lottie was hemming a table-cloth, Mrs.

Durand asked abruptly:

"Why did you come back?"

Lottie looked up in astonishment, scarcely knowing what to say. But deeming it best to tell her exact reason, she said: "Because I thought it was my duty to do it."

For a while there was silence, during which Lottie glanced up timidly to see the effect of her words upon her aunt, but she could discover nothing.

"I suppose you were pretty angry with me, when you went?" was the next remark.

"Awful!" said Lottie, catching her breath at her own temerity.

Again there was silence.

"Well," returned Mrs. Durand, "if you hadn't been in such a hurry, I should have told you I didn't mean to strike you; but, I suppose I can tell you so now, can't I?"

"Oh dear, Aunt Emmeline, you needn't say anything at all about it," said Lottie, eagerly. "I acted just horrid; I know I did."

"I can't blame you much, child. Old people like me, with the rheumatism, are apt to be snappish. But I guess we both have had a lesson we will not be likely to forget. Come, now, I think it is time you were in bed, so put away your sewing, and go."

"Can I get you anything, aunt?" asked Lottie, as she prepared to obey.

"Nothing at all, my dear," was the soft reply, that sent Lottie upstairs in a state of pleasurable surprise at the turn things had taken. Never had she felt more glad of anything than she was to find herself in the little chamber again, because it was home.

Joel, in the meantime, after he had seen his sister fairly reinstated in her old place, returned to Mrs. Hazeley's, where he duly reported the success of his visit.

Flora was very glad things were straightening out for her young friend, Lottie, for she was really fond of her, because of her open, truthful nature.

A few days more Joel spent with his friends, and then, after arranging with his aunt for his sister's future, insisting on supplying her needs outside of her board, for which Mrs. Durand would accept nothing, he left, to return to his work, feeling at least contented, if not carrying back with him the memory of a happy home welcome and reunion. It was good to have somebody to work for and care for, and Joel was accustomed to placing full value upon present blessings or privileges, and his example had not been lost upon Lottie, whose lot, while greatly changed and improved, was by no means entirely freed from thorns, for Aunt Emmeline was still Aunt Emmeline, and was likely to continue to be so.

However, since Lottie's return, she had treated the girl with a fair amount of consideration, much to her satisfaction and enjoyment. Lottie was beginning to feel at home. In fact, as the months rolled by, and she grew in age and experience, Lottie gradually became the household manager, and her aunt was content to oversee.

After a time, Mr. Piper grew tired of "rolling around," as he informed his sister and daughter, and determined to marry a second time. He moreover informed Lottie that it would be more agreeable to all concerned if she would conclude to remain with her aunt.

"Humph!" said that good woman. "It's well that it is agreeable to all; but suppose it wasn't? As it is, child," she added, "you know you are welcome to a home with me just as long as you want it. I have no wish to part with you. But I must say, your father is pretty cool."

At one time Lottie's heart would have beaten tumultuously at the prospect of a permanent home with Aunt Emmeline, but it was not so now, and she felt very grateful, when she lay down that night, that G.o.d had so cared for her, when she could not care for herself.

To return to our friends, the Hazeleys. They had all removed to Brinton, all but Alec, who seemed so well-contented with his quarters at Major Joe's, that he did not wish to change. There was really no necessity for him to do so. He was doing well at school, although he was by no means what might be considered a brilliant pupil. In fact, his own prediction that he would be no scholar, but a practical farmer, seemed likely to come true.

Major Joe had other help now, and Alec gave his time out of school and during holidays, to the owner of a large farm in the immediate neighborhood, where he was learning many things that were needful to know in his chosen calling. He always came home at night, and was known all around as a "fine lad." Major Joe had grown too feeble to attend market any longer, and so he had turned that part of his business over to the young man, who now had charge of his garden, and who, it seemed more than likely would have charge of Ruth some time in the future, when he had grown able to do so. The major remained at home, alternately nursing his rheumatic limbs, and helping "mother" and Ruth with the poultry, of which they raised a quant.i.ty, and, as Jem said, were "getting awful rich off the eggs and things." Ruth was a thrifty, thorough-going little housekeeper, one after her grandmother's own heart, while Jem was just a lively little girl, who insisted on bestowing her help, which, however, usually proved more of a hindrance.

She was, however, the pet of the old people, and made things merry in the little cottage.

Alec Hazeley had gone to see his brother as soon as he had heard of his return, and had spent some days at home prior to the removal of the family. And he was the last object they saw as they steamed out of the station. Mrs. Martin was no longer the active, stirring woman she had been before her illness, but was now a confirmed invalid. She was much altered, in every way, and was very glad to have her sister and family with her; and they were altogether a peaceful, happy, little household.

It was not Harry's intention to remain at home long after he had seen his mother and sister settled. But, somehow--perhaps it was because every one seemed glad to have him there--he stayed longer than he had intended; and, surprising to himself, and altogether delightful to Flora and his mother, he one day informed them that he felt he had received a decided call to the ministry.

"Oh, Harry!" cried his sister. "How sudden! I wasn't dreaming of such a thing; but I am _so_ glad."

"Yes," answered Harry, seriously, "I feel as if I must prepare myself to preach. Something tells me, and I feel sure it is the voice of G.o.d, that I shall prosper at nothing else but winning souls for Christ. As I was s.n.a.t.c.hed from the toils of the Evil One, so must I help save others. I believe that G.o.d rescued me for that very purpose."

Aunt Sarah was delighted, and would hear of nothing but that he should immediately begin to fit himself for his new work. The family circle was again broken, but this time, how different the circ.u.mstances, and how hopeful the future appeared, with all united in the bond of love for Christ and a hope for his re-appearing.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A CHRISTMAS INVITATION.

Years have pa.s.sed, and long since the gra.s.s was green over Mrs. Martin's grave. Side by side she lay with her gentle sister, and over the two graves the graceful branches of the willow drooped, and in summer the sod was starred with daisies.

It was December. The trees were bare of leaves, and the gra.s.s was withered. The weather was cold. The folks in Brinton predicted a hard winter. In the cosy home where Mrs. Hazeley now presided with a calm demeanor, and Flora flitted about happy and contented, there seemed no need to fear the searching winds of winter. Flora was no longer a girl, but a well-grown young woman--changed, and yet not changed. She had matured with years; but it was easy to discern the same merry, thoughtful Flora of the old days.

Shortly after his conversion, Harry had heard and followed the voice of his Master to "preach the gospel," and now he was the pastor of the church where Aunt Bertha had sat and listened to the gospel, eagerly taking in the blessed words of life--the same church where Aunt Sarah had listened, stern and cold, with her hard features turned upward to the minister; and the same church where two happy faces--one of a quiet and attractive-looking matron: the other of a fair, bright-eyed younger woman--were seen every Lord's Day.

Very proud was Flora of her manly, earnest brother who had won so completely the hearts of the people; and equally proud was Harry of his sister, who was loved and respected by all. They saw but little of Alec, who had never outgrown his love for the country, and who still lived in Brinton. He was industrious and economical, and his friends were sure he would some day be a wealthy man.

It wanted but a few days to Christmas, when, one afternoon, during a few idle moments, Flora stood by the window lightly drumming against the pane, and smiling, as if her thoughts were very pleasant.

She had not been standing there long when the front gate opened, and Harry came toward the house.

Flora hurried to open the door for him, and pausing to remove his overcoat, he said:

"Here is a letter for you, Flo."

"A letter for me?" she repeated. "I wonder from whom it can be." She returned to the room with the letter in her hand.

"A letter, Flora?" inquired her mother. "Who is writing to you, dear?"

"It is from Alec, mother," was the answer, a moment later.

"What does the dear boy say--anything of importance?" asked Mrs.

Hazeley.

"It is a very short letter. Shall I read it?"

"Never mind, Flora; just tell us what he wants."

"It is simply a very short, but very urgent, invitation for us all to spend Christmas with him. You, especially, Harry."

"Me? I wonder why?"

"Shall we go, mother?"

"Of course. I would not disappoint the boy for anything; besides, we have not seen him for so long."