were the two thousand a year of Uncle Titus; and the house, on which
there was a twelve thousand dollar mortgage.

Mrs. Ledwith had spent her life in cutting and turning and planning;
after the first shock was over, even her grief was counterpoised and
abated, by the absorption of her thoughts into the old channels.
What they should do, how they should live, what they could have; how
it should be contrived and arranged. Her mind busied itself with all
this, and her trouble was veiled,--softened. She had a dozen
different visions and schemes, projected into their details of
residence, establishment, dress, ordering,--before the letters
came, bringing back the first terribleness in the first reception of
and response to it, of her elder children.

It was so awful to have them away,--on the other side of the world!
If they were only once all together again! Families ought not to
separate. But then, it had been for their good; how could she have
imagined? She supposed she should have done the same again, under
the same circumstances.

And then came Mrs. Megilp's letter, delayed a mail, as she would
have delayed entering the room, if they had been rejoined in their
grief, until the family had first been gathered together with their
tears and their embraces.

Then she wrote,--as she would have come in; and her letter, as
her visit would have been, was after a few words of tender
condolence,--and they were very sweet and tender, for Mrs. Megilp
knew how to lay phrases like illuminating gold-leaf upon her
meaning,--eminently practical and friendly, full of judicious, not