physician wrote to her about a patient of his whom he proposed sending to her, a lady who would require very peculiar care and treatment, and for whom he desired such an atmosphere as she would find in Florilla's home. She had been under a long strain, had been in the midst of exacting duties, and must have absolute tranquillity for weeks to come. "Twenty-five dollars a week will not be too much. to charge for her," he added, "as during her stay you must have no other sick people. But you need not exclude one or two quiet cheerful guests in addition, if you hear of them. Miss Lillie Fairchild will give no trouble that she can help, and your house is just the place for her."

Arrangements were soon completed, and one lovely afternoon Florilla, borrowing a neighbor's phaeton and leisurely old horse, drove to the station to meet Miss Fairchild. A maid had accompanied her on the journey, but left by the return

train.

Florilla was attracted at once by the sweet refined tones and the gentle high-bred air of her new inmate, and though she discovered that Miss Fairchild was accustomed to much service, and expected to receive it, she was more than ready with her ministrations. She had rubbed and bathed her grandmother, and Miss Fairchild found her able to give her restful massage, and not averse to doing anything an invalid required.

Old Keziah had her private opinion of a woman who looked well but had her breakfast in bed, took something to eat-an egg, or a glass of milk, or a cup of broth every two hours in the day-and had to be rubbed before she went to sleep at night; but she felt pleased that Florilla was paid for the lady's fancies, and she, too, was won by the invariable softness and charm of Miss Fairchild's manner.

If the two country-bred women had known it, that same charm had captivated the most fastidious people in very exclusive social circles; it was Miss Fairchild's distinction that, added to beauty, she was both sympathetic and exceptionally well bred.

Florilla, quick to receive from her associates, insensibly learned certain graces of speech and manner from her guest during the three months of her stay.

Two rather elderly ladies and a young girl were added to the household before the summer was over, and Keziah's niece, a farmer's daughter, sixteen and studying for college, came to help in the increased work of the family. The ladies were teachers taking their vacation and needing a quiet spot where they could sit on the porch, read and knit, go for long walks, and drive about the country at their will. A gay place was their aversion. The stillness and peace of Florilla's home suited them precisely. The young woman was another patient from town, recommended like Miss Fairchild, by her physician, to the sisterly care of Miss Dawes.

"All very well for summer," wrote Aunt Adela, "but do you suppose, Florilla, that you'll have visitors coming to you in the dead of winter? Then you'll have to shut up the house and try something else."

"I am saving so much, dear Aunty," Florilla wrote, "that I'll be able to rest when winter comes. Besides, I am living by a good old rule, in a good old book, 'Take no thought for the morrow; the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. But my dear doctor tells me that people are often sent to the country in the winter, in these days, and Miss Fairchild has promised to speak to her friends for me."

Mis. Fairchild kept her word. And if Florilla could have heard her, this is what she would have been told about herself:

"Flori'la Dawes is a sensible, amiable, merry hearted woman, whose house shines with neatness, whose rooms are all used, who has good springs on her beds and excellent hair mattresses, whose cooking is of the best, and who knows how to make people thoroughly comfortable. Plenty of clean towels, plenty of good milk, no jars or friction. I can recommend Florilla's little sanitarium. It is kept by a sweet, loving, lovable young woman, who has tact, kindness and com

The doctor's statement was verified. Winter and summer alike Florilla had all the guests she could care for under the old roof, where she had learned her profession in nursing a feeble and querulous grandmother.

THE walk is not in the valley but through the valley. a straight and plain path, and one that leads somewhere.

Ah! then it must be
It must be a direct

journey to a distinct destination. Yes, I am assured that it is, and that the destination is nothing less delightful than heaven itself. How, then, can I fear when once by faith I have connected the valley with the heaven to which it leads? This going must be like the flight of a bird through some dark cloud, and then out into the full light of the sun. It must be like some traveler journeying through a deeply shadowed canyon between the mountains, and then coming out into the broad and smiling country where the sun is shining in its glory, and where every green herb and beautiful flower is springing up to bless. Surely, if it is only a quiet walk through the sheltered valley, and the valley itself opens out full and broad in the shining fields of heaven, why, indeed, should I fear?-G. B. F. Hallock, D. D.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Music in the Family.

HE bond of the family is love. The expression of love may be practical or it may show itself in a more spiritual way-in affection. Music may be taken as the symbol and expression which unites these two features. The tangible part of music is practical, addressing itself to the eye, the ear, the hand, the voice. Its ethereal aspect takes us at once out of the realm of the senses, and carries us into a toneworld of surpassing beauty. Music is a fitting symbol of that very inner spirit of love which is the characteristic of every true family.

A single sound alone is but a noise. Yet each single sound can be fitted into the gamut, out of whose seven notes all music is constructed. Browning speaks in his "Abt Vogler" of the three sounds which create, not a fourth sound, but a star! It is those starry effects of harmony or associated sounds which so fittingly represent the family. Each adds an essential note, which would be wanting without that particular member of the home circle. Union of different temperaments forms the fascinations of the family. And music in grouping and binding a diversified family into a unity about so lovely a centre shows one of its most charming powers.

Music is so wide a realm that it takes into its magic enclosure the gifted and also the undeveloped, the young but latent lover of song and sound, and the mature connoisseur and master of its science and art. The great palace of music opens wide doors to those who love and long for the divine in sound. Of all our artloves, this is the most ethereal. It speaks indeed a mystic language and one of other spheres. But we comprehend it.

If jarring, discordant sounds sometimes fall into rhythm, as we are told the incoherent noises of a great city are reduced to tranquilizing, lulling, musical effects, by distance, so may the sometimes unavoidably disturbing elements of family life glide softly into forgetfulness in the family music in which all join.

"Given," says Syndey Lanier, "the raw material-to wit, wife, children, a friend or two and a house-two other things are necessary. These are a good fire and music. And inasmuch as we can do without the fire for half the year, I may say that music is the one essential. After an evening spent around the piano or