But when at last this rather wearying round was over, they settled down to the quiet home life much more congenial to both; always ready to entertain with unbounded hospitality, and ignoring none of the legitimate claims of the outside world, they were yet far more interested in the affairs of their own little one, made up of those nearest and dearest.

They were an eminently Christian household, carefully instructing their dependents in the things pertaining to godliness, urging them to faith in Jesus evidenced by good works; trying to make the way of salvation very clear to their often dull apprehension, and to recommend it by their own pure, consistent lives.

Night and morning all were called together—­family and house servants—­and Mr. Travilla read aloud a portion of Scripture, and led them in prayer and praise.  Nor was a meal ever eaten without God’s blessing having first been asked upon it.

There was but one drawback to Elsie’s felicity—­that she no longer dwelt under the same roof with her father; yet that was not so great, as a day seldom passed in which they did not meet once or oftener.  It must be very urgent business, or a severe storm, that kept him from riding or driving over to Ion, unless his darling first appeared at the Oaks.

Aunt Wealthy and Lottie came to Ion within a fortnight after the return from Viamede; and while the former divided the rest of her stay at the South between Ion and the Oaks, Lottie spent nearly the whole of hers with Elsie.

In May, Harry Duncan came for his aunt, and Miss King returned with them to her paternal home.  Our friends at Ion and the Oaks decided to spend their summer at home this year.

“We have traveled so much of late years,” said Rose, “that I am really tired of it.”

“And home is so dear and sweet,” added Elsie.  “I mean both Ion and the Oaks, Edward and papa; for somehow they seem to me to be both included in that one dear word.”

“That is right,” responded her father.

“Yes; we seem to be all one family,” said Mr. Travilla, contentedly, fondling Rosebud, whom he had coaxed to a seat upon his knee; “and like a good spouse, I vote on the same side with my wife.”

“I too,” said his mother, looking affectionately upon them both.  “I have no inclination to travel, and shall be much happier for having you all about me.”

The summer glided rapidly by, and vanished, leaving at Ion a priceless treasure.

It was a soft, hazy, delicious September morning; Elsie sat in her pretty boudoir, half-reclining in the depths of a large velvet-cushioned easy chair.  Her husband had left her a minute before, and she was—­no, not quite alone, for her eyes were turning with a sweet, new light in them, upon a beautiful rosewood crib where, underneath the silken covers and resting on pillows of eider-down, lay a tiny form, only a glimpse of the pink face and one wee doubled-up fist to be caught through the lace curtains so carefully drawn about the little sleeper.