“We should make a pleasant picture for Louis when he comes; the dear boy loves to see his little mother in blue, and our royal Emily in becoming colors.”

“Of course I will,” I said, and as I fastened the lace collar, whose pattern was roses and leaves, with the pin she gave me, and looked in my little glass, I thought what a poor resemblance to royalty I bore, and laughed at the appellation.

Supper was ready, but we waited for the stage, and when it came we were all at the door.  Hal met Louis first and then came Mr. Benton; Clara kept drawing me back with her, and he was obliged to greet mother and father and Aunt Hildy also, ere we were visible.

“Little mother! blessed little mother!” and he held her close, kissing her with passionate fondness, then turning to me he took both my hands and whispered softly: 

“Last but not least,” and we followed the rest to the supper table.

Mr. Benton was more than polite during the meal, and afterward delighted Louis with showing him an unfinished portrait of Clara, which he had commenced painting on canvas.

This information was conveyed to me at the first favorable opportunity, and when Louis enjoined secrecy upon me, he expressed great pleasure with Mr. Benton, and said: 

“Oh!  Miss Emily.  Little mother is so beautiful; she is always a picture.  When the artist adds to the charming portrait the dress and the little pearls she wore to receive me, it will be so real I shall want to ask it to speak to me, and when she leaves me I can look at it, and in my heart hear her say ‘Louis my dear boy.’  You love her very much, do you not, Emily?”

“Oh, Louis!” I cried, “do not talk so, everybody says she is too good and beautiful to live, and it is a thought too bitter, I cannot bear it.”

He turned the conversation into another channel, and talked so strongly about his great desire to master this art of painting, while I wondered to myself how it had happened that these hearts were gathered to our own and had become members of our household, coming, as they did, like rare exotics, to live and blossom among us plain hollyhocks and dandelions.  Hal I could liken to a rare flower, but then he was only one among our number, and in all our family and friends there were none possessing the gifts of these two souls which had come to us so strangely.

Aunt Hildy said, “The ways of life are past all comprehending.”  I thought so too.  Christmas came on Sunday in this year of our Lord eighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, and for this I rejoiced and was glad.  When it came on a week-day, it seemed like Sunday, and although now and then we had some really interesting sermons, there was not enough to fill two sabbaths coming so near together, and it gave me a restless sort of feeling, especially so, when I knew how quiet and solemn my father used to be all day, and also his great desire that we should imitate him.