Dec. 18th.—­You and M. will not be surprised to hear that Mrs. C.’s sufferings are over.  She died this morning.  Papa and I are greatly shaken.  With much hesitation I decided to go over there to see her mother, and the welcome I got from her and from Mr. C. are things to remember for a life-time.  I will never hesitate again to fly to people in trouble.  If you were here I would tell you all about my visit, but I can’t write it down.  It seems so sad, just as they had got into their lovely new home—­sad for him, I mean; as for her I can only wish her joy that she is not weeping here below as he is.  I stayed till it was time for church, and when I entered it I was met by many a tearful face; papa announced her death from the pulpit, and is going, this afternoon, to throw aside the sermon he intended to preach, and extemporise on “the first Sunday in heaven.”  The children are going in, this noon, to sing; as to the Mission festival, that is to be virtually given up; the children are merely to walk in, receive their presents, and go silently out.  It is a beautiful day to go to heaven in.  Mrs. C. did not know she was going to die, but that is of no consequence.  Only one week ago yesterday she was at the Industrial school, unusually bright and well, they all say.  Well, I see everything double and had better stop writing.

Monday, 20th.—­Your nice letter was in the letter-box as I started for school with H.; I called to papa to let him know it was there and went off, begrudging him the pleasure of reading it before I did.  When I got home there was no papa and no letter to be found; I looked in every room, on his desk and on mine, posted down to the letter-box and into the parlor, in vain.  At last he came rushing home with it, having carried it to market, lest I should get and read it alone!  So we sat down and enjoyed it together....  I take out your picture now and then, when, lo, a big lump in my throat, notwithstanding which I am glad we let you go; we enjoy your enjoyment, and think it will make the old nest pleasanter to have been vacated for a while.  Papa and I agreed before we got up this morning that the only fault we had to find with God was, that He was too good to us.  I can’t get over the welcome I got from Mr. C. yesterday.  He said I seemed like a mother to him, which made me feel very old on the one hand, and very happy on the other.  If I were you I wouldn’t marry anybody but a minister; it gives one such lots of people to love and care for.  Old Mrs. B. is failing, and lies there as peaceful and contented as a little baby.  I never got sweeter smiles from anybody.  I have got each of the servants a pretty dress for Christmas; I feel that I owe them a good deal for giving me such a peaceful, untroubled home.