“I am afraid I have sometimes neglected it, mother,” he acknowledged with a sigh, “and at others performed it in a very halting and imperfect way.  But as you know—­for I could not keep from you such gladness as the knowledge of that fact brought me—­I have been privileged to win some souls to Christ—­smooth some dying pillows—­and to lead some recovering ones to devote their spared lives and restored health to the service of the Master—­the Physician of souls—­in whose footsteps I ardently desire to tread.”

“I know it, my dear son, and it has filled me with joy and gratitude for you, for them, and for myself—­that I am the mother of one whom God has so honoured and blessed.”

Then she inquired about the condition and needs of some of his poorer patients; for she made it her business to provide for their necessities and to furnish many a little luxury that helped on convalescence or smoothed the passage to the grave.

As they drove up the avenue at Roselands Dr. Conly came out upon the veranda, his face beaming with smiles.

“Ah, Cousin Elsie,” he said as he assisted her to alight, “this is kind.  Marian has been looking forward to your visit with longing, both to see you and to exhibit to your appreciative eyes the little one who seems to her the greatest and loveliest darling the world ever saw.”

“Ah, I can understand that,” she returned with a low, pleased laugh.  “I have not forgotten how lovely and what an inestimable treasure my first baby seemed to me; though I am by no means sure that each one who followed was not an equal joy and delight.”

“Your second son among the rest, I hope, mother,” laughed Harold.

She gave him a loving smile in response.

“Will you go up with us, Harold?” asked Arthur.

“No, thank you,” he said.  “I will busy myself here with the morning paper while mother makes her little call.”

It was a most inviting looking apartment into which the doctor conducted his cousin, tastefully furnished and redolent of the breath of flowers; in pretty vases set here and there on bureau, mantel, and table, and blooming in the garden beneath the open windows whence the soft, warm air came stealing in through the lace curtains.  But the chief ornaments of the room were its living occupants—­the young mother lying amid her snowy pillows and the little one sleeping in its dainty crib close at her side.

“Dear Cousin Elsie, you have come at last, and I am, oh, so glad to see you!” Marian exclaimed with a look of eager delight, and holding out her hand in joyous welcome.  “I have hardly known how to wait to show you our treasure and receive your congratulations.”

“Dear girl, I can quite understand that,” Mrs. Travilla said with a smile and a tender caress, “and I wanted to come sooner; should have done so had your good husband deemed it entirely safe for you.”

“Ah, he is very careful of me,” returned Marian, giving him a glance of ardent affection.  “But, oh, look at our darling!  His father and mother think him the sweetest creature that ever was made,” she added with a happy laugh, laying a hand on the edge of the crib and gazing with eyes full of mother love at the tiny pink face nestling among the pillows there.