flower, in the shadow of the forest! And now the great chair was often
empty, because Lady Arbella grew too weak to arise from bed.

Meantime, her husband had pitched upon a spot for their new home. He
returned from Boston to Salem, travelling through the woods on foot, and
leaning on his pilgrim’s staff. His heart yearned within him; for he was
eager to tell his wife of the new home which he had chosen. But when he
beheld her pale and hollow cheek, and found how her strength was wasted,
he must have known that her appointed home was in a better land. Happy for
him then,—happy both for him and her,—if they remembered that there was a
path to heaven, as well from this heathen wilderness as from the Christian
land whence they had come. And so, in one short month from her arrival,
the gentle Lady Arbella faded away and died. They dug a grave for her in
the new soil, where the roots of the pine trees impeded their spades; and
when her bones had rested there nearly two hundred years, and a city had
sprung up around them, a church of stone was built upon the spot.



Charley, almost at the commencement of the foregoing narrative, had
galloped away with a prodigious clatter, upon Grandfather’s stick, and was
not yet returned. So large a boy should have been ashamed to ride upon a
stick. But Laurence and Clara had listened attentively, and were affected
by this true story of the gentle lady, who had come so far to die so soon.
Grandfather had supposed that little Alice was asleep, but, towards the
close of the story, happening to look down upon her, he saw that her blue
eyes were wide open, and fixed earnestly upon his face. The tears had
gathered in them, like dew upon a delicate flower; but when Grandfather
ceased to speak, the sunshine of her smile broke forth again.