She could not think of him without pain, remembering their last interview and his present suffering.  She had not seen him yet, but had learned from others that those months at Andersonville had injured his health so seriously that it was not likely ever to be restored.

“What happy children we were in those days,” her thoughts ran on; “and I am even happier now, my treasures have so increased with the rolling years; but they! what bitter trials they are enduring; though not less deserving of prosperity than I, who am but a miserable sinner.  But it is whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.”

At that moment the sound of little hurrying feet, entering the room, and glad young voices crying, “Good-morning, dear mamma!” broke in upon the current of her thoughts.

“Good-morning, my darlings,” she said, turning from the window to embrace them.  “All well and bright!  Ah, how good our heavenly Father is to us!”

“Yes, mamma, it is like my text,” said wee Elsie, “We have each a short one this morning.  Mine is, ‘God is love.’”

Mamma had sat down and taken Violet on her lap, while Elsie and Eddie stood one on each side.

Three lovelier children fond mother never looked upon.  Elsie, now seven years old, was her mother’s miniature.  Eddie, a bright manly boy of five, had Mr. Dinsmore’s dark eyes and hair, firm mouth and chin; but the rest of his features, and the expression of countenance, were those of his own father.  Violet resembled both her mother and the grandmother whose name she bore; she was a blonde, with exquisitely fair complexion, large deep blue eyes, heavily fringed with curling lashes several shades darker than the ringlets of pale gold that adorned the pretty head.

“True, beautiful words,” the mother said, in reply to her little daughter; “‘God is love!’ Never forget it, my darlings; never forget to thank Him for His love and goodness to you; never fear to trust His love and care.  Can you tell me, dear, of some of His good gifts to you?”

“Our dear, kind mamma and papa,” answered Eddie quickly, leaning affectionately against her, his dark eyes lifted to her face, full of almost passionate affection.

“Mammy too,” added Violet.

“And dear, dear grandpa and grandma; and oh, so many more,” said Elsie.

Rose was called grandma now, by her own request.

“Yes, dear grandpa and grandma, and so many more,” echoed the other two.

“But Jesus the best gift of all, mamma,” continued little Elsie.

“Yes, my precious ones,” returned the mother, in moved tones, “Jesus the best of all; for He loves you better than even papa and mamma do, and though they should be far away, He is ever near, ready and able to help you.  Now, Eddie, what is your verse?”

“A little prayer, mamma, ‘Lord help me.’”

“A prayer that I hope will always be in my children’s hearts when trouble comes, or they are tempted to any sin.  The dear Saviour loves to have you cry to Him for help, and He will give it.”