“Oh I’d like to play with them!” exclaimed Meta, “Doesn’t anybody ever?”

“No, chile,” said mammy, shaking her head gravely, “dere ain’t nobody eber ’lowed to go in dat room but Aunt Phillis, when Miss Elsie not dar.  But run away now, chillins, dere’s de tea-bell a ringin’.”

Mamma, too, on coming up at the usual hour to see her darlings safe in bed, had many questions put to her on the same subject.

They were all patiently answered, some further details given, and sweet sympathy shown in their gladness over the pleasant prospect before them; then with the accustomed tender good-night kiss, and with a parting injunction not to lie awake talking, she left them.

“Did anybody ever have such a dear mamma as ours!” exclaimed Vi, nestling close to her sister.

“No, I think not,” replied Elsie in a tone of grave consideration.  “But now we mus’n’t talk anymore; because she bade us not:  and I’ve come to bed early to-night to please you—­”

“Yes, you dear, good sister, you very dearest girl in all the world!” interrupted Vi, rising on her elbow for a moment to rain a perfect shower of kisses upon the sweet face by her side.

Elsie laughed low and musically and hugging her tight returned the caresses, then went on, “But I mus’n’t keep you awake.  So now let’s lie down and not say one word more.”

“No; not a single one,” returned Vi, cuddling down again.

“Mamma,” said Eddie, coming into the school-room next morning with a slight frown on his usually pleasant face, “why do you call us to lessons? can’t we have holidays now that we are going away so soon?”

“No, my son; I think it best to attend now to our regular duties.  You will have a rest from study while taking the journey, and for a few days after we reach Viamede.  Will not that be better?” she asked, with a motherly smile, as she softly smoothed back the dark clustering curls from his broad open brow.

“But I don’t want to say lessons to-day,” he answered with a pout, and resolutely refusing to meet her glance.

“My little son,” she said, with tender gravity, “were we sent into this world to please ourselves?”

“No, mamma.”

“No; ‘even Christ pleased not himself,’ and we are to try to be like him.  Whose will did he do?”

“His Father’s, mamma.”

“Yes, and whose will are you to do?”

“God’s will, you’ve taught me, mamma, but—­”

“Well, son?”

“Mamma, will you be angry if I say my thought?”

“I think not:  let me hear it.”

“Mamma, isn’t—­isn’t it your will this time?  About the lessons I mean.  Please mamma, don’t think I want to be naughty, asking it?”

She drew him closer, and bending down pressed her lips to his forehead.  “No, my son, you want it explained, and I am glad you told me your thought.  Yes, it is my will this time, but as God bids children honor and obey their parents, is it not his will also?”