His money and other properties he bequeathed to the little fair-haired
prattler now playing at my knee. We have called him Ernest Dalton
Campbell, but Arthur says we must keep that until he is big, and in
the meantime has christened him "Toddles," which is very absurd to my
thinking, but to which, with all the edifying obedience of a Christian
wife I am bound to submit now, as well as in every matter of greater
or less moment.

I thought I had finished my story when I laid down my pen, a few
months ago, and gave a long-drawn sigh of infinite relief. Time has,
however, hastened the development of a few more items, that may be of
more or less interest to those readers who have kindly followed the
_dramatis personae_, that have been flitting through these chapters,
with a partial attention.

As I write the closing words my _dramatis personae_ come trooping to
the front, to group themselves for the final tableau--Cousin Bessie
and her faithful husband are the central and leading figures; her
hands are folded, and a happy, peaceful smile plays around the corners
of her good-humoured face.

On one side of her stands Zita, a pretty, blushing bride, leaning on
Philip Rutherby's arm; so ardent is the young bridegroom in his
admiration that he threatens to spoil the whole effect, if we keep him
before the public eye for very long. Louis is not with them, he has
been sent away to college.

On the other side of the leading figures, Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, with
a roguish gray-eyed darling, are grouped affectionately together; they