They had their city residence, as well as their country seat.  Gertrude had made her debut into fashionable society in the fall, and spent a very gay winter, and the occasional letters she wrote to the younger Elsie, were filled with descriptions of the balls, parties, operas and theatricals she attended, the splendors of her own attire, and the elegant dresses worn by others.

It may be that at another time Elsie, so unaccustomed to worldly pleasures, would have found these subjects interesting from their very novelty; but now while the parting from Lily was so recent, when her happy death had brought the glories of heaven so near, how frivolous they seemed.

They had more attraction for excitable, excitement-loving Violet; yet even she, interested for the moment, presently forgot them again, as something reminded her of the dear little sister, who was not lost but gone before to the better land.

Vi had a warm, loving heart; no one could be fonder of home, parents, brothers and sisters than she, but as spring drew on, she began to have a restless longing for change of scene and employment.  She had been growing fast, and felt weak and languid.

Both she and Elsie had attained their full height, Vi being a trifle the taller of the two; they grew daily in beauty and grace, and were not more lovely in person than in character and mind.

They were as open as the day with their gentle, tender mother, and their fond, proud father—­proud of his lovely wife, and his sons and daughters, whose equals he truly believed were not to be found anywhere throughout the whole length and breadth of the land.  So Vi was not slow in telling of her desire for change.

It was on a lovely evening in May, when the whole family were gathered in the veranda, serenely happy in each other’s society, the babe in his mother’s arms, Rosie on her father’s knee, the others grouped about them, doing nothing but enjoy the rest and quiet after a busy day with books and work.

Molly in her wheeled chair, was there in their midst, feeling herself quite one of them and looking as contented and even blithesome as any of the rest.  She was feeling very glad over her success in a second literary venture, thinking of Dick too, and how delightful it would be if she could only talk it all over with him.

He had told her in his last letter that she was making him proud of her, and what a thrill of delight the words had given her.

“Papa and mamma!” exclaimed Violet, breaking a pause in the conversation, “home is very dear and sweet, and yet—­I’m afraid I ought to be ashamed to say it, but I do want to go away somewhere for awhile, to the seashore I think; that is if we can all go and be together.”

“I see no objection if all would like it,” her father said, with an indulgent smile.  “What do you say to the plan, little wife?”

“I echo my husband’s sentiments as a good wife should,” she answered with something of the sportiveness of other days.