upon the bed, and--and--oh, I forgot--it always lay back of his
pillow--he mustn't miss it"; and opening a worn Bible that had seen
better days, she found a passage that cheered her heart like a
prophecy, and read it with solemn attention as she walked slowly
across the room.

She placed the Bible reverently beneath the single pillow arranged
so neatly on the bed, and turned away murmuring--

"At any rate, I will have everything ready."

She opened the drawer of a pine table and looked in. Everything was
in order there, and the table itself; she employed another minute
in giving its spotless surface an extra polish; then arranged a
fragment of carpet before the bed, and sat down to wait again.

It would not do; her poor little heart was getting restless with
impatience. She went into the open garret closing the door after her,
that no heat might escape, and sat down on the upper flight of stairs
again. How she longed to run down--to hang about the door-step, and
even go as far as the corner to meet him! But this would be
disobedience. How often had he told her never to loiter in the street
or about the door? So she sat, stooping downward, and looking through
the gleams of light that came through the open hall over flights of
steps below, thrilled from head to foot with loving expectation. Half
an hour--an hour--and there poor Mary Fuller sat, her heart sinking
lower and lower with each moment. At last she arose, went back to
her room with a dejected air, and sat down by the stove weary with
disappointment.