and died at eighteen years; who had left everywhere the traces of
her presence, soft, fragrant, like the smell of the flowers in her
own garden.

"I chose my bedroom, that you like," said Hildegarde, "because I
felt sure, somehow, that it had been hers. I never had a sister,
girls, but Hester seems to me like my sister; and sometimes"--she
hesitated, and her voice fell still lower--"sometimes I have felt
as if she wished it to be so,--as if she liked to come now and
then and see the old home, and give a loving look and word to the
things she used to care for so much. I am glad we found this
place, but I don't think I shall tell anyone else about it, except
mamma, of course, and Jack, when he comes home."

Very gently the three girls laid the white covering back over the
little dolls, who lay quiet and rosy, and seemed as content as
ever was Sleeping Beauty in her tower. They peeped into the chest
of drawers, and found it full of dainty frocks and petticoats, all
exquisitely made; there was even a pile of tiny handkerchiefs,
marked "Annabel" and "Celia." This sight made Gertrude's tears
flow afresh; she was a tender-hearted child, and tears fell from
her eyes as softly and naturally as dew from a flower.

When all was seen, they closed the little window, and with a mute
farewell to the sweet guardian spirit of the little place,--the
girl who had loved her dolls, and so made herself dear to all
other girls,--the three withdrew, and softly, reluctantly drew the
sliding panel after them.

"I shall not forget," whispered Hildegarde, who was the last to