elder Cameron was evidently not of his wife's way of thinking, but she
let him go on until he was through, and then, with the most unruffled
mien, suggested that his dinner would he cold. He was accustomed to
that, and so he did not mind, but he hurried through his lonely meal
to-night, for Wilford was home, and the father was always happier when
he knew his son was in the house. Contrary to his usual custom, he spent
the short summer evening in the parlor, talking with Wilford on various
items of business, and thus preventing any further conversation
concerning Katy Lennox, who just as their evening was commencing, was
bowing the knee reverently between her sister and her uncle, listening
while the good old man invoked the nightly blessing, without which he
never retired to sleep. But in that household on Fifth Avenue there was
no blessing asked of Heaven, no word of thanksgiving for the prosperity
so long vouchsafed, no prayer said except by the crippled Jamie, who,
remembering the Savior of whom Morris Grant had told him when across the
sea, whispered his childish prayer, thanking him most for bringing back
the uncle so dearly loved, the Wilford who, on his way to his own room,
had stopped as he always did to say good-night to Jamie, folding his
arms around him and kissing his sweet face with a fondness in which
there was something half regretful, half sad, as well as pleasing.

It took but a short time for Wilford to fall back into his old way of
living, passing a few hours of each day in his office, driving with his
mother, reading to little Jamie, sparring with his imperious sister,
Juno, and teasing his blue sister, Bell, but never after that first
night breathing a word to any one of Katy Lennox. And still Katy was not
forgotten, as his mother sometimes believed. On the contrary, the very
silence he kept concerning her increased his passion, until he began
seriously to contemplate a trip to Silverton. The family's removal to
Newport, however, diverted his attention for a little, making him decide