Four years after his return from the Indies, Mr. Scofield was called to the bedside of his dying friend.  In their last interviews he was charged with the guardianship and care of the young girl, conjointly with the mother, who was also recommended to his friendship, with the injunction ever to be to her as a brother and a counselor.  These trusts he accepted, with a promise to be all to the dear ones he left behind that his friend could wish; and this promise he faithfully kept.  No friend, brother, father, or husband could have been more attentive to the wants, or more solicitous for the welfare of those entrusted to their protection or dependent upon them than he was.  He endeavored to anticipate their desires and necessities—­of advice and friendship, not of goods, for the friend was in good circumstances, and had left them with plenty of means to live well and comfortably all their lives—­and in all things to be to them the kind friend they needed.

A warm attachment existed between them.  Many thought—­and idle gossips whispered it about—­that the widow was soon to console herself for the great loss she had sustained, by taking Mr. Scofield as a second husband; but no such idea ever entered their minds.  Her heart was buried in the grave with her husband; and he—­ah, he had a secret.  A gentle being, beautiful to him as an angel, had once crossed his path; but before taking her to the altar, the angels came and took her to their homes, beyond the reach of blight or death; and since then his thoughts often wandered away to the regions of perfection; and with the memory of his loved one in heaven, he never coupled a thought of a second love on earth.

It was not long that the widow and her husband’s friend remained in ignorance of each other’s feelings; the secret he had kept from all others he confided to her; and in mutual explanations and confidences, they soon came to understand each other; and thenceforth their intercourse was unrestrained and cordial.  What knew or cared they for the busy tongue of rumor?  Nothing.  Secure in each other’s esteem, with a high rectitude of purpose, they continued their good offices to each other, careless what the world might say, so they gave no cause for vicious tongues to speak evil of them.

We need hardly say that with such intimate association, Mr. Scofield learned to love little Ida as a father loves his own child.  Had it not been for the judicious watchfulness and careful training of her excellent mother, she might have been spoiled by his petting.  As it was, no child could be gladder to see a parent than she was to see her friend.  She would bound away to meet him; and when seated, would climb upon his knee while young, and when older seat herself by him and listen to the stories he would tell her, or play in his locks with her childish fingers.

About a year after his friend’s death, Mr. Scofield’s only sister lost her husband; and, at his earnest solicitation, she and her little boy came to live with him.