five-year-old prattle, ever watched by her father, who lounged in a
canvas chair against the sunny ivied wall, pipe in mouth. Dr. Madden
was thinking how happy they made him, these kind, gentle girls; how
his love for them seemed to ripen with every summer; what a
delightful old age his would be, when some were married and had
children of their own, and the others tended him--they whom he had
tended. Virginia would probably be sought in marriage; she had good
looks, a graceful demeanour, a bright understanding. Gertrude also,
perhaps. And little Monica--ah, little Monica! she would be the
beauty of the family. When Monica had grown up it would be time for
him to retire from practice; by then he would doubtless have saved
money.

He must find more society for them; they had always been too much
alone, whence their shyness among strangers. If their mother had but
lived!

'Rhoda wishes you to read us something, father,' said his eldest
girl, who had approached whilst he was lost in dream.

He often read aloud to them from the poets; Coleridge and Tennyson
by preference. Little persuasion was needed. Alice brought the
volume, and he selected 'The Lotus-Eaters.' The girls grouped
themselves about him, delighted to listen. Many an hour of summer
evening had they thus spent, none more peaceful than the present.
The reader's cadenced voice blended with the song of a thrush.

'"Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?