had brought their fans. It was warm weather, and I had taken a
little one of my own to meeting. Believing that I was following a
direct instruction, I clasped my fan to my bosom and held it
there as we walked up the aisle, and during the ceremony,
wondering why the others did not do so, too. The baby in my
mother's arms--Octavia, the eighth daughter--shocked me by crying
a little, but I tried to behave the better on that account.

It all seemed very solemn and mysterious to me. I knew from my
father's and mother's absorbed manner then, and when we returned
from church, that it was something exceedingly important to
Them--something that they wished us neither to talk about nor to
forget.

I never did forget it. There remained within me a sweet, haunting
feeling of having come near the "gentle Shepherd" of the hymn,
who was calling the lambs to his side. The chapter had ended
with the echo of a voice from heaven, and with the glimpse of a
descending Dove. And the water-drops on my forehead, were they
not from that "pure river of water of life, clear as crystal,"
that made music through those lovely verses in the last chapter
of the good Book?

I am glad that I have always remembered that day of family
consecration. As I look back, it seems as if the horizons of
heaven and earth met and were blended then. And who can tell
whether the fragrance of that day's atmosphere may not enter into
the freshness of some new childhood in the life which is to come?

III.