The four Corners

Nan watched her aunt anxiously. "Will it do?" she asked, wistfully.

Her aunt read it over again. "You have caught the metre quite well," she said, "and——" She knew it could be improved, but she did not want to take the childishness from it so she said: "Yes, Nan, on the whole, I think it will do."

"And may I put words and music by Nannette Weston Corner?" the composer asked eagerly.

"I think I wouldn't use the Nannette. Let us always have the dear, homely Nancy. I have some music-paper and you can make a copy. I will help you."

Nan's starlike eyes expressed her joy. "It is almost like having it really published," she said, "and I know mother will like it because I did it and it is really a part of me."

"She would be a very cold-hearted mother not to appreciate it," returned Miss Helen, "and that Mary Lee is not. It is so dark, Nan, I think I'd better send Martha home with you. Come over as soon as you can and we'll get all these Christmas gifts finished up."

Nan hugged her closely. "How in the world did I ever get along without you?" she said.

"And how did I ever get along without you?" returned Miss Helen with as warm a hug. And the two parted.

CHAPTER XVIII
AN EVENING OF MUSIC

The Christmas preparations went on famously under Aunt Helen's directions by which all of the girls profited, and though they worked very hard, at last they viewed their array of gifts with much complacency. Nan had kept the making of her song a secret, yet probably nothing gave her such complete pleasure, and when it was all ready, words and music neatly written with Aunt Helen's skilful help, Nan would like to have gazed a dozen times a day at the page. At the top was "A Song" done in ornamental letters. Under this was "To my Mother," and then came "Words and Music by Nancy Weston Corner." Miss Helen kept the precious sheet in her charge lest some one should discover it.

"You won't mind your grandmother's seeing it, will you?" she asked Nan. "She will be so pleased and proud." And Nan, remembering the little trunk, could not refuse. If she had known then and there the result she would have had no misgivings.

"I wish you could see what Nan has done," said Miss Helen, knowing well how to arouse her mother's interest. "She is making a secret of what she is going to give her mother at Christmas, but she has given me leave to show it to you. I am keeping it safe for her."

"Let me see it, Helen," said Mrs. Corner with real eagerness. And Miss Helen produced the sheet of music. Mrs. Corner scanned it interestedly. "It seems to me the child has real talent," she remarked.

"Yes, I think she has. I hadn't the heart to suggest any alterations, and I know her mother would rather the whole thing should come to her without. You have not heard Nan at the piano, mother, for that disabled arm has prevented her attempts. She has a pretty touch and plays really delightfully by ear. I wish you could hear her. I think now that her arm seems quite well again, I shall lure her up here to play for us some time soon."

"Mr. Harmer said he would be coming this way about Christmas time," said Mrs. Corner, thoughtfully. "He will surely stop to see us."

"He will be here this week, I am sure. I am expecting a telegram any time."

"I'd like him to meet Nancy. Such an old friend as he is can be relied upon to tell us whether the child really has talent or not. Does she take music lessons, Helen?"

"They have no piano, you know, and I don't think Mary's means allow of Nan's having lessons. I'd like to teach her myself, and shall propose to after Christmas, for my little Daniella will be going then and I shall miss my occupation."

"They have heard from her uncle then?"

"Yes, Mrs. Boggs had a letter yesterday. He has a ranch in Texas and offers to give them a home with him. His wife is dead and he seems greatly pleased at discovering his sister. So they will go out to him as soon as the money can be raised. Miss Polly Lewis is collecting contributions to pay their expenses and has already quite a little fund. Old Daniel Boggs cannot live the week out, the doctor says."

"You may offer Miss Lewis five dollars from me, toward the fund," said Mrs. Corner.

"She will be glad to have it," said Miss Helen, simply. She was pleased to see her mother taking more interest in the things around her, in extending her sympathies and in being willing to get in touch with her old acquaintances.

A telegram the next day from Mr. Harmer announced that he would arrive that same evening. "We must have Nancy over," said Mrs. Corner. "Send for her, Helen."

So a note was dispatched which caused great excitement when Nan read it. She flew to her Aunt Sarah. "Just think," she cried, "there is going to be a real musician, a really great one, over at grandmother's and they have invited me over to hear him play this evening. I may go, mayn't I? You know I never did hear any one like that."

"And you do love music so," added Miss Sarah with a twinkle.

"You know I do."

"To-night, did you say? How will you get home?"

"They will send some one with me or I could stay all night, I suppose."

"You'd better come home. I'll send Ran over about half-past nine. Go 'long, then."

Nan arrayed herself in her best, which, after all, was not so very fine, and she bewailed the fact that it was not a real party for which she had all the necessary outfit. However, the dark blue serge was becoming, and the corals were an addition. Nan decided that her grandmother would be pleased if she wore them and would overlook the shabbiness of her frock. Few, though, would have seen beyond the expressive face and starry eyes, and it is certain that Mr. Harmer gave no thought to her frock.

He was a gentle looking man, with iron-gray hair, rather an unseeing expression, and an absent manner; but, when he was talking of music, his face lighted up, and his eyes lost their dreamy look. He greeted Nan kindly, holding her hand a moment and patting it. Then he went to the piano, and for an hour Nan sat spellbound.

Into what regions of delight was she plunged. She followed marching armies, she danced with fairies; she wept over lost lovers; she watched fleeting shadows; she trod a land of spring-time and flowers. Mrs. Corner had purposely placed her where she could watch her, and within the musician's line of vision. Once in a while he gave a glance at the rapt countenance and nodded significantly at Miss Helen. Finally when the last note of the "Moonlight Sonata" had ceased to vibrate, Mr. Harmer turned to Nan. "Now," he said, "I want to hear this little girl play."

Nan almost jumped from her seat in surprise. "Me?" she exclaimed, with a startled look from one to another.

"Yes, you, my dear," said her grandmother. "I am very anxious that Mr. Harmer should hear what you can do. You are able to use your arm freely now. I'd like you, too, to show Mr. Harmer the little song you have written."

There was something in Mrs. Corner's manner that admitted no denial of her wishes, though Nan faltered out that she had never taken lessons, that she knew only a very, very little about notes and time.

"We all know that," said Mrs. Corner. "We do not expect wonders, Nancy."

So Nan got up. As she passed her Aunt Helen, she detained her, whispering, "Play that little air you were trying that day I first heard you."

Nan nodded. Her hands were cold, her face flushed, never had she gone through such an ordeal. Yet she knew she must do her best and somehow the mere pleasure of making music took from her all fear after the first few weak notes. She played through the little air her aunt had heard, with taste and expression. A soft clapping of hands rewarded her.

Mr. Harmer nodded approvingly at Mrs. Corner. "Come here, my dear," he said to Nan. He took her hand and looked at the long, slim fingers. "Do you love music well enough to work very hard, to give up play when you ought to practice dull exercises, to study patiently and long?"

"I think so. I know so," said Nan, earnestly. "I'd do anything to be able to play as you do."

Mr. Harmer smiled. "I think you needn't hesitate, Mrs. Corner," he said. "Now, where's that song you were telling me of?" Nan reluctantly brought it. Mr. Harmer looked it over without a comment. "Do you make many tunes?" he said.

"Oh, yes," returned Nan. "I make them all the time. Sometimes I forget them very soon, and sometimes they stay in my head and come back again and again."

Mr. Harmer nodded. "Thank you, my dear. It is a pleasure to meet such a little music lover."

He went back to the piano and was playing a wonderful nocturne when Ran called to take Nan home. Her grandmother kissed her good-night with unusual warmth, her Aunt Helen hugged her and Mr. Harmer shook hands cordially, saying he hoped to live to see her a fine pianist. So Nan went home with a glow in her heart and a faint little hope that her grandmother would let her come there sometimes to play.

The question of presents for her grandmother and Aunt Helen remained unsettled till the very day before Christmas, but as the children had been very industrious with their other presents and the box to their mother had been sent, there was little left for them to do but to trim the tree, which the boys had cut the day before, and which was standing in its spicy greenness in the corner of the living-room. "If we only had the things, we could make a fine cake," said Nan. "We have eggs enough, but Aunt Sarah says we can't afford the butter; it is so high this time of year. I have decided to take Aunt Helen my palm. It is looking fine."

"Oh, but Nan, you are so fond of it, and Mrs. Wise sent it to you," said Jack.

"I know, but I must give her something I am very fond of, for she has been so perfectly dear to me." It was quite true that the palm was dear to Nan. It represented a sort of tropical luxuriance in which she delighted. She loved the outline of its shadows, the tracery of the pointed leaves against the window curtain, and its general aspect as it stood in one of the front windows of the living-room. To give it up was really a sacrifice, but one she made willingly.

At this moment Mary Lee came in. "Cousin Polly wants to know if you have time to come over there for a few minutes," she said to Nan.

"Of course I have," was the reply. "I'm so glad we were not lazy over making our things for Christmas, for now they are all done and even tied up, so it makes me feel so free and ready to get excited wondering what I will get myself." She ran singing down the walk, the red golf cape around her. "Heigho, Polly!" she cried as she went in. "Busy?"

"Oh, my dear, I'm up to my eyes, and I did so want to make some panuchee for father; he simply loves the kind with peanuts in it, but I haven't time to make it; I don't suppose you have either."

"Why yes, I have. We've really nothing to do but trim the tree, and that we are going to do to-night, we older ones, though I should like mighty well to make a cake for grandmother. It would be mighty nice if we four girls could do each a part, but alas, butter is high. We went without for a week so as to have some for our panuchee, we had the nuts and Aunt Sarah gave us the sugar, but cake is a little beyond our means. One day's going without butter wouldn't make even one cupful."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Polly stopping her work for a moment. "If you will make my panuchee, I'll give you all the materials for your cake."

"Done!" cried Nan. "It's a bargain. Shall I make it here or at home?"

"I don't care so long as it is done."

"Then I'll do it at home, for I am more used to our own pots and pans. I suppose," she added, "you won't mind if I use the scrapings for wages, that's what we generally do."

"What do you mean, Nan Corner?"

"Why, we get the twins to shell the peanuts and pay them for it with the scrapings and the raggedy pieces when the stuff is done."

"You are quite welcome to that and a good fat piece for each of you besides. Tell me what you want for your cake, and I'll send Phil over with your materials and mine."

"I'd like to make a lady cake; grandmother is such a lady, and then, too, the egg yolks can be used for something else, so it will be more economical."

"You are a regular old woman with your economical ways," said Polly, going to the pantry. "I'll send everything, Nan, even the flavoring extract and mother's recipe which can't be beat. It's the baking that is the most important part, remember."

"Oh, Aunt Sarah will help with that even if it is for grandmother. She would never be happy to see good materials spoiled." And Nan went off well pleased with her bargain.

The candy was first made and then they set to work on the cake. Mary Lee beat the eggs, Jack and Jean creamed the butter and sugar together, Nan added the other ingredients and all gave a final stir, and, in spite of the saying that "too many cooks spoil the broth," the cake turned out beautifully. Aunt Sarah showed them how to ice it and to stick walnut meats on top, so that it was a most delectable piece of cookery when it was done, and Daniella, who took a great interest in the performance, looked at it with great admiration.

All these Christmas preparations were a novelty to the little mountain girl, but they celebrated but one event in her mind and that was the recovery of her mother, for Mrs. Boggs was to leave the hospital the next day and take dinner with the Corners.

"I know what we can take Aunt Helen," said Jack, as they were hanging wreaths in the living-room; "we'll make some wreaths to take to her; we've such a lot of greens and she'll like them."

The rest agreed that this was a very good suggestion, and they set to work on them, Daniella helping them, so that a half dozen pretty wreaths with cheerful red holly berries set in them, were soon ready and the big tree in the corner alone needed the attention of their busy fingers.

"Daniella has never seen a Christmas tree," said Mary Lee, "and she mustn't help. Wait till to-morrow morning, Daniella, and you will see how pretty we've made it. You don't mind waiting, do you? Jack and Jean aren't going to help either."

"I don't mind nothin'—anythin', I mean," said Daniella, who was improving under association and direction. "I'm real happy even if po' ole grandad ain't hyah. He's havin' a better time'n we could give him, maw says, an' he got so foolish an' helpless, maw says he lef' us long ago."

"I reckon that's true," said Nan, soberly, "and you can't help being thankful and glad when you have your mother. I only wish our dear blessed mother was here. I can't bear to think of Christmas without her, and I just plunge along into whatever comes without stopping to think."

"I'm glad there's going to be one mother here," remarked Jack.

If upon Christmas morning, something was missed by the four Corners, it was a time of wonder and delight to Daniella. Never in all her after life did she forget the odor of the burning candles mixed with the fragrance of the fir tree and the sweet, appetizing, spicy smell of the gingerbread man, the nutty candies and the orange she found in her stocking. Never did she forget how they all stood around the tree in the semi-darkened room whose only light came from the candles, and sang, "Hark the herald angels sing." Never did she forget the wonder and pleasure on her mother's pale face that day at dinner. She surprised her friends with gifts. To Nan was given the little pig, to each of the others a hen and to Miss Sarah's share fell the one rooster. "I want you-alls to hev somethin' to remember me by," she said a little shamefacedly.

"We'll never forget you," said the girls in chorus. "And you'd better not forget us," added Jack.

Daniella gave her one look. "I ain't likely," she said.

If Daniella was made happy, Nan's Christmas joy exceeded that of any one else, for shortly after breakfast a wagon stopped at the gate.

"Here comes the expressman," sang out Jean, "and the wagon's coming in the gate. They hardly ever do that. Oh, Nan, what a great big box."

Nan came to the window daintily nibbling a chocolate from the box Ran had given her. He had supplied each of the girls with delicious candies. "It is a big box," she said. "I wonder what is in it, and where it is going. I'll go to the door and take the package."

"So'll I go," declared Jean who was anxious to see.

"It isn't express after all," said Nan; "it's the wagon that brings freight."

"Miss Nancy Corner?" said the man. "Here's your way-bill."

Nan took the paper the man held out. "Where's the package?" she asked.

"Where is it? You'd better ask. You've got the biggest present in town this day. It takes four of us to handle it. Where'll you have it?"

A half suspicion was forming in Nan's brain. She began to tremble. "I—I—don't know," she faltered.

"Better have it here in the hall," said the man, "and when it's unpacked you can move it where you like." And the huge box was brought in and set near the door of the living-room.

The men went out and Nan stood gazing helplessly at the box while Jean ran calling: "Aunt Sarah, Mary Lee, Jack, come see what Nan's got. Ran, Ashby, come see."

Presently the man came back. "I forgot this here was to go with it," he said, taking a note from his cap.

Nan received it mechanically. She still stood gazing at the box.

Ran was the first to arrive on the scene. "Ho!" he exclaimed. "I reckon I know what that is."

Nan clutched him excitedly. "What!" she whispered, hoarsely.

"A piano, of course."

"I don't believe it, I don't. It couldn't be."

"Of course, that is just what it is. Ours looked exactly that way when it came, and if you'll come here and look on this side of the box you will see the name of the manufacturer stamped on it."

Nan sank down on the floor and covered her face with her hands. "I won't believe it, I won't, I won't," she said. "Nobody would do such a thing for me. Nobody would."

"Here, let me get a hatchet and I'll soon show you," said Ran, going toward the kitchen.

"What is the matter, Nan? Have you hurt yourself?" asked Miss Sarah, coming out into the hall.

"I'm so excited it hurts," she replied, looking up with the unopened note clasped close to her breast.

Ran returned with the hatchet and they all gathered around. One by one the boards fell away, then the packing was revealed, and then, indeed, the shining surface of a dear little upright piano came to view.

At sight of it Nan sobbed hysterically, as she looked from one to another. "Is it mine? Are you sure it is mine?" she asked.

"Why don't you read what's in that note and find out?" said Aunt Sarah.

Nan opened the note and read: "A merry Christmas to you, my dear granddaughter. May you enjoy the piano as much as I enjoy giving it. We have some little presents for you all, so come over, every one of you, and get them."

"Your loving grandmother,

"Grace Helena Corner."

"It is! It is!" cried Nan ecstatically. "Grandmother has sent it to me, and she wants us all to come over and get more presents."

"Where's the cake?" cried Jack.

"Get the wreaths," said Jean.

"Here, here," said Aunt Sarah, "get this stuff cleared away first. Come, all of you. We must get this piano out of the hall." So they tarried long enough to see the piano in place and then with the cake in a basket, the wreaths on their arms and the palm carefully protected from the too sharp winds, they trooped forth to Uplands.

Nan was the first to rush into the house. She fell on her knees before her grandmother and buried her head in her lap. "How could you, how could you do such a lovely thing?" she gasped out. "I don't deserve it. Oh, grandmother, if you had searched the world over, you couldn't have given me anything I wanted more."

"That's what I thought," said Mrs. Corner.

"I can't thank you," said Nan. "There aren't enough words in the Century Dictionary to do it."

Her grandmother laughed. "Take this excitable, grateful creature into the other room, Helen," she said. "You'll have to chain her down, I'm afraid, or she'll take wings. She is ready to fly now." Nan followed her aunt to where the other children had been already summoned. For each, except Nan, her Aunt Helen had a pretty book such as she knew would most appeal to the various tastes. For each, except Nan their grandmother had stuff for a new frock. The material for Nan's came instead of a book from her Aunt Helen.

Then the cake was presented receiving all the praise it deserved. "It was a sweet, thoughtful thing for you to do," said Mrs. Corner evidently gratified. "And it is my favorite cake. Did you know that?"

"Jack found out that it was," Nan told her.

The wreaths then were hung up and the palm given to Aunt Helen.

"But, Nan, darling," said her aunt, "I know you have given me your own palm, and that you are very fond of it, for you have often spoken of it to me."

"Do you think I would give you something I didn't like when I love you so much?" said Nan, indignantly, and Aunt Helen said not another word of protest.

After the children had gone, Mrs. Corner sat looking thoughtfully into the fire, a smile upon her face. "Next year," she said, "I shall have all my grandchildren here to dinner. Mary will come too. She will, won't she, Helen?"

"I am sure she will," said Miss Helen.

"It will be a great pleasure to have all Jack's family at Uplands," continued Mrs. Corner sighing. "I am glad we came back, Helen."

CHAPTER XIX
FIRE!

A little after the first of the year Daniella and her mother were on their way to Texas. Daniella's departure was not made without tears and vows of eternal friendship. "If I can't write very well yet," she said, "I'll try, and somebody kin tell me how to spell the words."

"We'll all write," the four girls promised, "and some day we shall expect to see you again."

"Where?" asked Daniella eagerly.

"We don't know just where," returned Nan, "but one never knows what will happen in this world, Aunt Sarah says, and so I am going to say we will meet again." It always pleased Nan to anticipate the improbable.

They all went to the station to see the Boggs's off, and, as the train moved out, they saw a pair of tearful eyes at the car window, and that was the last of Daniella for many a day. Both she and her mother had been comfortably provided for through many contributions of clothing and money, so they did not go away empty-handed.

"Well," said Nan with a long sigh as they watched the smoke from the train drift toward the mountains, "I am glad we can think of them somewhere else than in that lonely little cabin up there."

"It is a comfort," said Mary Lee, "but I really shall miss Daniella very much, and hasn't she learned a lot since that time we found her, a wild, little scary thing in the mountains?"

"Aunt Helen says there are all sort of possibilities in Daniella, if she ever gets any sort of a chance."

"She won't get much on a ranch," returned Mary Lee.

"Who knows?" said Nan thoughtfully.

Nan's music lessons commenced before the holidays were over. She went three times a week to her Aunt Helen, and, although there were days when instead of wrist movements, five finger exercises, and close legato, she gave more time to playing tunes by ear, on the whole, she was conscientious in her practicing, and it took very few words to fire her ambition or to make her appreciate the necessity of patient striving.

"All musicians must go through just this uninteresting drudgery," her aunt would tell her. "Think, Nan, even Beethoven and Chopin and Wagner had to train their fingers by these exercises and scales, so you must not expect to do less." Then Nan would try her utmost and the next time would show the improvement naturally following diligent, painstaking study. It was fortunate for her that Miss Helen knew how to appeal to her imagination and that she varied her talks, upon the dry details, with little anecdotes of the great masters, and with snatches of their best compositions to illustrate what she was saying, so that Nan, with her knowledge of the rudiments of music, gained also a knowledge of musical history which made her work much more interesting.

At this time Nan and Mary Lee, too, were fired with an ambition to further improve their minds, this following certain talks with their Aunt Helen, and they determined upon a course of reading.

"We'll take Macaulay's History of England," said Mary Lee; "it will be the most useful."

The two girls were on their knees before the old bookcase which held mostly old standard works, and few modern books.

"We must have some maps and dictionaries and things," said Nan, clapping the covers of a volume together to beat out the dust. So with maps and books of reference, they established themselves in a quiet corner upon two or three consecutive Saturdays, but at the end of the third Saturday, they found themselves always starting with a sentence which read: "The king had no standing army." Beyond this, they never seemed able to go, mainly because the book to girls of their age meant simply a very dry record, and they found it more interesting to read some anecdote from one of the books of reference, and to talk about what their aunt had told them of England of the present day. Therefore, at last Macaulay was laid aside, and the only fact they remembered reading from the book was that the king had no standing army.

Although Miss Sarah had never set foot across the brook, she tacitly permitted the intercourse between the two families, and even admitted that Miss Helen was not to be included in the censure which she so sweepingly bestowed upon her mother. Of the children's grandmother, she would never speak, and only by a toss of the head and a sarcastic smile did they know that she had not altered her opinion of the elder Mrs. Corner. Every attention or gift the girls received was attributed to the influence of Miss Helen, and Miss Sarah honestly believed that in her opinion she was right.

As for Miss Helen, she never came to her sister-in-law's house. "I am biding my time," she told her mother. "When Mary comes back, I think we shall have matters on a different footing."

"I'm afraid I can never bring myself to going there," sighed Mrs. Corner. "I'm too old to give up all my prejudices, Helen, but I shall try to meet my son's wife half way."

"If I know Mary Gordon Lee," said Helen, "you will not have to go even half way."

And indeed there was no going half way for anybody, as an occurrence soon changed everything for those who lived at Uplands. It took place one night when the winds of March were sweeping through the mountain forests, sighing through the pines in Nan's summer retreat, and uncovering the young pushing blades, already started from the ground down by the brook.

Nan, who was a light sleeper, was startled from her slumbers by the dashing by of engines, and by hearing cries of "Fire!" She slipped out of bed and drew aside the curtains to look out, wondering if the barn on their own place could have caught, but it was beyond the brook that the sky was red and the flames were mounting high. In an instant, she realized where the danger was. She rushed to the boys' door. "Ran, Ran," she cried, banging on the door, "Uplands is on fire!" She stopped to pound on her Aunt Sarah's door. "Uplands is on fire!" she cried. Then she ran back to her own room and slipped on her clothes.

In a few minutes the bolt rattled at Ran's door and he went flying down-stairs, two steps at a time. Then Aunt Sarah appeared in her dressing gown. "What was it you were saying, Nan?" she asked.

Nan was at the window. "Just come here and see," she said, and Aunt Sarah joined her. "Goodness!" she exclaimed. The fire was burning more fiercely now, fanned by the high winds. They could hear the "Chug, Chug" of the engines, the crackle of the burning, the hoarse cries of the men.

A sob arose in Nan's throat. "I can't bear to look at it, and yet it fascinates me," she said. "Oh, Aunt Sarah, do you suppose they are safe? I wish I could go and see."

"Not a step do you go," decided Aunt Sarah. "I'm going down to put some water to boil and be on hand if I'm wanted. You'd better go back to bed. The others are all fast asleep and that's what you ought to be."

"As if I could sleep," said Nan. "Please let me come down-stairs."

"Come along, then," said Aunt Sarah. And Nan followed.

In a short time there was a sound of voices outside and a knock at the door, then Ran came rushing in. "They are bringing Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen here," he said. "I told them to. That was right, wasn't it? This is the nearest house."

"It was quite right," returned Miss Sarah, stiffening herself, but going to the living-room to make a light, and then to the front door, candle in hand. "Bring them right in," she said, speaking to the forms moving about in the darkness.

"It took a little while to get a carriage," spoke up one of the men, "and the ladies had to stand outside for a time. They'd better have something warm."

Miss Sarah opened the door to admit first Mrs. Corner, helped along slowly by two men, and then Miss Helen. Both had blankets thrown around them over their night-dresses, and both were in their bare feet. "Right in here," repeated Miss Sarah.

The men established Mrs. Corner upon the old threadbare sofa, and Miss Helen sank into a rocking-chair. Nan had immediately gone back to the kitchen and presently appeared with two cups of steaming coffee. She went over at once to the sofa. "Won't you drink this, grandmother?" she said. "It will do you good."

"I am very cold, very cold," returned Mrs. Corner weakly. "Where am I?" she asked as the sense of warmth pervaded her.

"At our house grandmother," Nan answered.

"Where's Helen?" she asked with a bewildered look.

Miss Helen came to her. "Here I am, mother dear, perfectly safe. Drink this hot coffee and you will feel better."

Mrs. Corner took the coffee obediently and then lay back with closed eyes. Nan threw her arms around her Aunt Helen. "Darling," she said, "please drink your coffee, too, before it gets cold, and come over here by the stove."

"I'll sit by mother," returned Miss Helen. "Never mind about me."

"But I do mind about you," said Miss Sarah, standing over her with the coffee. "Drink this right down, Miss Helen." And Miss Helen, with a forlorn little smile, obeyed.

"We must get your mother straight to bed," Miss Sarah continued. "I'll go up and get ready for her. Do you think you could help me carry her up, Ran?" she asked the boy, who was standing by.

"Indeed I can!" he answered. And in a few minutes both Mrs. Corner and her daughter were in Miss Sarah's own bed, and that capable person was grimly seeing to their comfort.

Little was said on either side, but after Miss Sarah had placed hot bricks to Miss Helen's icy feet, she leaned over her and said: "Now, go to sleep and don't worry."

"But we are giving you so much trouble, Miss Dent," said Miss Helen, "and besides——"

"What are we in this world for?" said Miss Sarah. "And as for the rest of it, you're where you ought to be. I know what Mary would want. All you have to do is to get warm and go to sleep." But as she crossed the hall, Miss Sarah drew a long sigh. "I wonder what next," she said. "I suppose the Lord thought He'd teach me and that proud old woman a lesson, and we're learning it here side by side."

Nan laid her cheek against her Aunt Sarah's hand. She had a very good idea of what a bitter lesson it was, and of how hard it was to Aunt Sarah Dent to offer hospitality to Mrs. Corner.

"You're very good to do all this," she said, "and to give up your own room, Aunt Sarah."

"I'll slip into your place by Mary Lee," said Aunt Sarah, "and you can get in with the twins; theirs is a mighty wide old bed. I wouldn't turn a dog out under such circumstances, and if Grace Corner can stand it, I can."

They were all at breakfast when Miss Helen came down the next morning. Nan had laid out some of her mother's clothing for her, which sat strangely upon Miss Helen's little figure. "Mother is sleeping," she said, "and I would not disturb her. I am afraid she is a little feverish." She turned to Ran. "Was anything saved, do you know?" she asked.

"Quite a lot of furniture and some of the pictures, I believe," he told her.

"Grandmother's portrait, I hope," spoke up Nan.

"Yes, that was saved, I am sure. It is a little hard to know just what is safe, for everything is so soaked with water in the rooms that were not actually burned, that we can't tell just yet. Half the house is burned out entirely, only the walls stand on that side."

Miss Helen drew a long sigh. "We were to have been very happy there for the rest of our lives," she said plaintively.

"What's become of Baz?" asked Jack anxiously. The children were much excited over the strange news that had met them when they awoke that morning.

"I found Baz in a fence corner," Ran told Jack. "He was scared to death at first but I managed to catch him, and bring him over here. Lady Gray seemed to recognize him at once and they are snuggled up in the box with Ruby."

Jack looked greatly pleased. Her own had come to her again.

Miss Helen said little. There were great circles around her eyes and she was very pale. After breakfast she went to Miss Sarah.

"I know it is hard for you to have us here," she said, "and I cannot consent to giving you extra care. I know how you must feel."

"My dear," said Miss Sarah, "I have no right to feel. It is Mary's house, and I am simply doing as I know she would wish to do. I am not to be considered at all in the matter."

Miss Helen looked at her wistfully and Miss Sarah's face softened. "Please don't give yourself any anxiety," she went on. "When I saw your mother, feeble and dependent; when I saw your white hair, Helen Corner, and realized what the years had done for you, and that you were homeless by the power of the Almighty's elements, do you think I did not understand that He meant to teach me, too, not to set up my puny little will against His? We are all children of one Father and you are one of my sisters."

"Thank you," said Miss Helen gently. "I understand, too, and I thank you. Now, please, may I tell you of a little project of mine?"

Miss Sarah drew up her chair and the two sat down. "I have been thinking," began Miss Helen, "that we could be very comfortable in the wing of this house. There are the two rooms up-stairs besides the attic and the three rooms down-stairs, including the office which we could use as a kitchen. Couldn't we move over such of our things as are saved from the fire and settle there, for the present, at least? Do you think Mary would object?"

"I think Mary would say it was the very thing to do, if it suited you."

"I think it would be better for mother to have a place she could call home. This is where she lived when she was first married, before my grandparents died and she went to Uplands. It is familiar to her. She could be near the children and yet could have the quiet which she is accustomed to. We can have Martha to do our work and I do not see that we could do better. Then, too," she paused in some embarrassment, "mother would want to pay a generous rent."

Miss Sarah raised her hand. "That must be settled by you and Mary," she said. "As for the rest, I know she will consent."

"Then will you send for Martha? And I am sure we shall be able to get settled very soon."

The result of this planning was that within a week Miss Helen and her mother were established in the old wing. During the time of preparation, Mrs. Corner did not leave her room, and seemed still dazed and shattered, but was quiet and docile, seldom showing any evidence of her old spirit. The furniture saved was supplemented by such new pieces as were needed and it really was a cozy little home into which Miss Helen took her mother. There was no lack of helpers. Friends, neighbors and kinsfolk were only too ready to lend their aid, though by far the most eager were the boys and girls of the house, who were willing runners of errands and did much toward making the rooms pretty and cozy.

Still, from the moment of her removal from Uplands, Mrs. Corner failed visibly. She rallied a little after going into the rooms prepared for her, and took a passing interest in them, but it was only a short time after that she grew weaker and at last could not even leave her bed. "It is the shock and the exposure," said Dr. Ward, looking grave when Miss Sarah questioned him. "I doubt if she gets over this, but we must try to keep Miss Helen in good heart." And with the knowledge that a broken, feeble old woman was nearing the brink of the dark river, the last vestige of ill-will left Miss Sarah, and she was a tower of strength to Miss Helen in her hour of trial.

The wind-swept, blackened rooms of the house at Uplands gave the children an awed feeling whenever they looked that way. From those of the rooms which were not completely burned out, the water-soaked furniture had been removed, except where, here and there, a scorched piece of drapery flapped from some broken window, or a charred article of furniture was visible through the gaps in the walls. The fire had started in a defective flue and one side of the house was in complete ruins.

It was a desolate sight to those who had known and loved its inmates, and of these perhaps the chief mourner was old Unc' Landy who, in spite of his railings at the former mistress of the mansion, now felt for her only pity. "Hit sho is hard fo' a proud uprighteous pusson lak ole miss ter give up all dese yer flesh-pots ob Egyp'," he said to Nan, "de quails an' de manna an' de gol'en calf what she been a hankerin' arter in de days ob huh youf. Yas, Lord, yuh done lay yo' han' mighty heaby on huh, an' I suttinly does groan in spi'it when I sees how de mighty fallen. I sholy does wrastle wid de Lord in de night season implorin' Him to hab mercy on huh po' soul."

Such talk was awe-inspiring to the children, not one of whom thought of anything but the favors their grandmother had shown them, and all of whom were ready and eager to do the least thing they could to add to her comfort or to their Aunt Helen's.

"It means so much to have you dear children so near," said Miss Helen many times a day. "I don't know what I should do without you."

The March winds were still and the April rains were falling gently when the end at last came to Grandmother Corner's days on earth. In the early evening of a spring Sabbath she called clearly: "Mary Lee, Mary Lee!"

Nan ran for her sister. "Grandmother wants you," she said, and Mary Lee wondering, hurried in to receive no look of recognition. She was as a stranger to her grandmother.

"Here is Mary Lee," said Nan bending over her.

Mrs. Corner shook her head. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she whispered.

"It is your mother whom she is calling," said Aunt Sarah as the patient dozed again.

Presently there came a second call: "Helen, Helen!"

"I am here, mother!" said her daughter.

The mother opened her eyes and looked at the little figure by her side. "You will be just, Helen," she said. "Jack was my child as well as you, and his children must have what is right."

"They shall have it," said Miss Helen, laying her cheek against her mother's frail-looking hand.

"There was a will—I forget," and again she dozed.

Aunt Sarah spoke to Nan. "You and Mary Lee go now into the next room. I will stay here, and if Miss Helen wants you, I will call you."

The dusk was settling down on the earth, the mountains were dimly seen through a mist of rain. "There are shadows everywhere," said Nan, as she stood looking out of the window. Jack and Jean were staying with their Cousin Mag, but the two elder girls had kept close together all day.

The dusk had faded into twilight when there was a slight movement in the next room, then the girls heard a footstep on the stair and some one hurried along the hallway. They went to the door. "Where is she?" they heard some one say, and they looked to see their Aunt Helen clasped in the arms of their own mother and heard her say: "Oh, Mary, Mary, you are all I have left me now, you and the children."