room all warm and bright. Cecile pictured over and over how tenderly
she would tell this poor, wandering girl of the love waiting for her,
and longing for her, and of how she herself would bring her back to
Mammie Moseley.

Things were in this state, and the children and their adopted
parents were all very happy together, when the change that I have
spoken of came.

It was a snowy and bleak day in February, and the little party were
all at breakfast, when a quick and, it must be owned, very unfamiliar
step was heard running up the attic stairs. The rope was pulled with
a vigorous tug, and a postman's hand thrust in a letter.

"'Tis that letter from foreign parts, as sure as sure, never welcome
it," said Moseley, swallowing his coffee with a great gulp, and
rising to secure the rare missive.

Cecile felt herself growing pale, and a lump rising in her throat.
But Mrs. Moseley, seizing the letter, and turning it over, exclaimed
excitedly:

"Why, sakes alive, John, it ain't a foreign letter at all; it have
the Norwich post-mark on it. I do hope as there ain't no bad news of
mother."

"Well, open it and see, wife," answered the practical husband. The
wife did so.

Alas! her fears were confirmed. A very old mother down in the