“Yes, I have been most agreeably surprised at the kind feeling here,” her mother answered; “nobody has had a hard word to say of us, so far as I have been able to learn; and I have seen nothing like exultation over a fallen foe; but on the contrary there seems a desire to lend us a helping hand and set us on our feet again.”

“Indeed, mother, I assure you that is so,” said Sophie.

“And all through the war,” added Lucy, “there was but little hard feeling towards the people of the South; ’deceived and betrayed by their leaders, they are more to be pitied than blamed,’ was the opinion commonly expressed by those who stood by the government.”

“And papa says there will be no confiscation of property,” Sophie said, “unless it may be merely that of the leaders; and that he will help us to restore Ashlands to what it was:  so you will have your own home again, mother.”

“How generous!  I can never repay the obligation,” Mrs. Carrington said, in a choking voice.

“But you need not feel overburdened by it, dear mother.  It is for Herbert, you know, his own grand son.”

“And mine!  Ah, this news fills me with joy and gratitude.”

“Yes, I feel papa’s kindness very much,” Sophie said, “and hope my son will never give him cause to regret it.”

Elsie rose.  “I hear my baby crying, and know that he wants his mother.  Dear Mrs. Carrington, you are looking very weary; and it is more than an hour yet to dinner-time; will you not lie down and rest?”

“Yes, and afterwards you must show me your children.  I want to see them.”

“Thank you; I shall do so with much pleasure,” the young mother answered smilingly, as she hastened from the room; for Baby Harold’s cries were growing importunate.

This was the regular hour for Eddie and Vi to take a nap, and Elsie found them lying quietly in their little bed, while the screaming babe stoutly resisted the united efforts of his elder sister and Aunt Chloe to pacify and amuse him.

“Give him to me, mammy,” she said, seating herself by the open window; “it is his mother he wants.”

Little Elsie, ever concerned for her mother’s happiness, studied the dear face intently for a moment, and seeing the traces of tears, drew near and, putting an arm about her neck, “Mamma,” she said tenderly, “dear mamma, what troubles you?  May I know about it?”

Mrs. Travilla explained briefly, telling of Mrs. Carrington’s trials, and of those of other old friends and neighbors in the South.

“Mamma,” said the child, with eyes filled to overflowing, “I am very sorry for them all, and for you.  Mamma, it is like Jesus to shed tears for other people’s troubles:  but, mamma, I think it is too much; there are so many, it makes you sorry all the time, and I can’t bear it.”

The mother’s only answer was a silent caress, and the child went on:  “I hope nobody else will come with such sad stories to make you cry.  Is there anybody else to do it, mamma?”