One evening Austin and the children were coming home from their work in the
gardens, tired and lonely. They could not get used to coming to the house
so quiet and empty. Home was not as it used to be, but the brave children
were making the best of it.

"I wonder if there will be a letter from Papa," Amy said as they drew near
the mail-box, "and if he has a new home for us yet. I should like to see
Grandma, and I do want to see Doyle and Lila." Harry, running on ahead,
reached into the box and drew out a letter, at sight of which the other
children quickened their steps. It was addressed to Austin and was in their
father's handwriting:

"Dear Austin, I have gotten things in shape to have you children come to
me. I will send you tickets in a few days. In the meantime dispose of the
things in the house excepting what you can bring in your trunks. Uncle John
will help you do this and see that you get started all right. Write me a
card early enough so that I shall know when to meet you. We are all well.
Henry Hill."

Austin was trembling all over with excitement mingled with tears. He was
glad for the change, for the loneliness was nearly killing him, but he
hated to leave Uncle John and his family, and all the neighbors, and
Mother's grave. He had almost ceased to hope that his father would send for
them, but here was the letter at last.

Henry Hill was careless, we must admit, in his duty, but he was not
careless of the opinions of others. Be had been stung to the quick more
than once by the insinuations and admonitions of his parents and
acquaintances that he was not doing his duty by his children. His mother