air. She began at first tremulously, but gained confidence at each
word, until at length her sweet, childish tones rose pure and clear
above the voice of her father, who hummed rather than sang the song
in his deep, rich bass.

His eyes were full of tears when they closed, for that hymn was his
wife's favorite. He had taught it to Dawn, without telling her that
her mother ever sung it.

"It seemed just as though mamma was here and sang too, papa, did n't
it?"

"Mamma, no doubt, is with us. I am glad my little girl feels her
presence, and always remember that she is with you, too, when you
feel tempted to do wrong."

She nestled her head on his bosom and wept. Tears of joy or sorrow?
Only they whose souls are finely and intensely strung, can know what
made her weep.

"You must sing for us now, Miss Vernon," he said, and would have led
her to the instrument, but for the burden of love, which was resting
on his heart.

"I play only simple songs, Mr. Wyman, and, indeed, am quite out of
practice."

"You have some gems stowed away, I know; please sing us one."

She arose, and after a few trembling notes, sang a sweet song with