“Honey, I thought I’d waken ye,—­the day is just cracking,” said Chloe, at the door, and she asked me to open it one moment.

When I had done so, there she stood, just as I had seen her when I bade her good-night,—­save that her basket was void of contents.

“Master Abraham didn’t know you was going home,” Chloe said, “or he’d have told you good-bye; and I guesses he sent what he didn’t tell, for he asked me to give you this.”

When Chloe was gone, I opened the small package.  It was a pretty casket, made of the margarite of the sea.  Within it lay a faded, fallen, fragmentary thing.  At first, I knew not what it could be.  It was the althea-bud that grew in the summer-time of eighteen years ago, that had been Mary’s,—­and my heart beat fast as I looked upon the silent voicefulness that spake up to me, and said, “To you, who have restored him to himself, he offers the same tribute;” and I lifted up the iridescent, flashing cradle of margarite, and reverently touched the ashes of althea it held with my lips.  Afterwards they were salt,—­whether with the saltness of the sea the bud had been baptized in, or of the tears that I let fall, I knew not.

I folded up my good-bye from Mr. Axtell in the same precious package that was his sister’s, and, side by side, the two journeyed on with me.

* * * * *

It was seven of the clock on Monday morning when she who said the naughty words, and the grave minister, came out to say farewell to me.  The day’s great round was nearly done ere I met my father’s flowery welcome.

“My Myrtle-Vine, I knew you’d come,” said Dr. Percival; and his long gray hair floated out to reach me in, and his eyes, wherein all love burned iridescent, drew me toward his heart.

My father put his arms around me, and said the sweetest words of welcome that ever are spoken.

“How I’ve missed you, Anna!” as he drew me toward his large arm-chair, and folded me, his latest child, to his heart.

As thus we were sitting in the silence of the heart that needs no language, little Jeffy, my ebony-beauty boy, darted his black head in, and reposing it for one instant against the scarcely lighter-hued mahogany of the door, jingled out, in shells of sound,—­

“He’s mighty fur’ous.  It’s real fun.  I guess you’d better come right up, Dr. Percival;” and the ebon head darted off, without one word for me.

Why was it that this little omission of Jeffy’s, the African boy, should create a vacancy?  Oh! it is because Nature made me so exacting.  I wanted everybody to welcome me.

I lifted my head from my father’s shoulder, and asked, in some dismay,—­

“What is it, father?”

“I’ve gotten myself in trouble, Anna.  I’ve let chaos into my house.  I wanted you to help me.”

“What is it? what has happened?” I hastened to inquire.

“Only a hospital patient that I was foolish enough to bring away.  I heartily wish that he was back again,” said my father; and he put me from him to go, in obedience to the summons.