on dressing her silver cup with those flowers, which she thought
would suggest to you her gratitude for your numerous little acts of
kindness. Have you seen your uncle?"

"Yes, mother, I stopped a few moments at the church, where he is
engaged with one of the committee. Uncle Peyton is not looking well.
Has he been sick?"

"He has suffered a good deal with his throat since you left us, and
now and then I notice he coughs. He is overworked, and now that you
can fill his pulpit he will have an opportunity to rest. Oh, my son!
in every respect your visit is a blessing."

Leaning her head on his breast, she looked up with proud and almost
adoring tenderness, and, drawing his face down to hers, held it
close, kissing him with that intense clinging fervour which only
mother-love kindles.

"Does my little mother know that she is spoiling her boy by inches;
making a nursery darling, instead of a hardy soldier of him? You are
weaving silken bonds to fasten me more securely here, when you ought
rather to aid me in snapping the fetters of affection, habit, and
association. Come, be so good as to brush the dust out of my hair,
while you tell me everything about everybody, which you have failed
to write during these long months of absence."

For some time they talked of family matters, of occurrences in V----,
of some invidious and unkind remarks, some caustic personal
criticisms upon the pastor's household affairs, which had emanated
from Mrs. Prudence Potter, a widowed member of the congregation, who