Basil and his sister came often to the home, where Dawn seemed to preside like a guardian angel.  It had been the wish of their lives to see such a home for orphans, a wish they never expected to see fulfilled.  They gave largely to its support, and were never happier than when within its walls.  Mrs. Dalton, whom the world pitied so generously, here found her sphere, as did many others who had felt long unbalanced.  She taught the children music, drawing, and the languages, and extended her life and interest throughout the dwelling, to every heart therein.  Thus the maternal was satisfied each day, and each hour she felt less need of a union which the wise world predicted she would enter into by the time her divorce was granted.  Beatrice came and took Dawn’s place whenever she wished to go to her home to refresh herself in the abiding love of her father and mother.

“I never thought sich a beautiful thing could be on airth,” said Aunt Polly Day, one of the eldest of the town’s people, to Dawn, the first time that she met her after the “home” was established.  “Seems as though the angels had a hand in’t, child, and only ter think, you’re at the head o’nt.  Why, I remember the night, or it was e’en-a-most day though, that you was born.  Beats all natur how time does fly.  It may be I shan’t get out ter see yer home fer them e’er little orphans, in this world, but may be I shall when I goes up above.  Do you s’pose the Lord gives us sight of folks on airth, when we’re there, Miss Wyman?”

“I know he does.  I feel that I have been helped by the angels to do this great work.”

“Well, it’s a comfortin’ faith, to say the least on ’t; and I don’t care how much you and your pa has been slandered.  I believe yer good folks, and desarving of the kingdom.”

“I suppose no one ever feels worthy of the kingdom, Aunty; but we all know that if we seek the good and the true, that we shall find rest here and hereafter.”

“Them’s my sentiment, and I don’t see how folks make you out so ungodly, if livin’ true, and bein’ kind to the poor is unrighteousness, then give me the sinners to dwell among.  Think of all the things yer pa has given me, all my life, and there’s old Deacon Sims won’t take one cent off of his wood he sells me, when the Lord has told him in the good book to be kind to the widow and fatherless.  He makes long prayers ’nough, though.  Well, I s’pose he has ter kinder reach out to heaven that way, and make up in words what he lacks in deeds.”

“He will make it all up, Aunty, when he has passed into the other life, and becomes conscious how little he has done here.”

“May be; but it’s like puttin’ all the week’s work inter Sat’day night.  I reckon he’ll have to work smart to make up.”

Dawn could but smile at the quaint, but shrewd remark, and slipping a generous gift of money into the hand of the old lady, departed to spend her last evening with her father, and Herbert, who was now with them every evening, before going to her home among the hills.