She was mush paler and thinner than her wont, had frequent headaches and seemed weak and languid, a very little exertion causing excessive fatigue.
Only last night they had lain awake an hour or more talking about it, and consulting together as to what could be done for the "dear child."
They feared the severity of the coming winter would increase her malady, and wished very much that they could send her away for some months, or a year, to a milder climate; but the difficulty—apparently an insuperable one—was to find means.
It took no small amount to feed, clothe and educate such a family as theirs, and sickness had made this year one of unusual expense.
As the loving mother sat there alone she had turned over in her mind plan after plan for accomplishing this, which for her child's good, she so ardently desired to do; but only to reject each in turn as utterly impracticable.
Aunt Wealthy, she knew, would gladly receive Mildred into her pleasant home for as long a time as her parents might be willing to spare her; but still there was the money to be provided for the journey, and besides a yet milder climate than that of Lansdale was desirable.
But the slight cloud lifted from Mrs. Keith's brow, and a sweet expression of perfect peace and content took its place as she bethought of her best Friend and His infinite love and power. He could clear away all these difficulties and would do so in answer to prayer, if in His unerring wisdom He saw that it would be for their real good—their truest happiness.
Her heart went up to him in a silent petition; and then a sweet, glad song of praise burst half unconsciously from her lips.
As she ceased a rap at the door into the hall—which as well as the outer one, stood wide open—caught her ear.
She turned her head to see a tall gentleman, a fine looking, middle-aged man standing there and regarding her with a pleased smile.
"Uncle Dinsmore! is it possible! Oh how glad I am to see you!" she cried, dropping her work and springing toward him with both hands extended.
He took them, drew her to him and kissing her affectionately, first on one cheek, then on the other, said gayly, "I flattered myself you would be, else I should not have traveled some hundreds of miles for the express purpose of paying you a visit. Fair and sweet as ever, Marcia! Time deals more gently with you than is his wont with the most of the world."
"Ah, I remember you as always given to pretty compliments," she returned, with a pleased, but half incredulous smile, as she drew forward the most comfortable chair in the room and made him seat himself therein, while she relieved him of his hat and cane.
"So I have taken you by surprise?" he said inquiringly and with a satisfied look.
"I did not even know you were at the North. When did you leave Roselands? Were they all well? Are any of them with you?"
"One question at a time, Marcia," he said with a good-humored laugh. "I left home in June, bringing all the family with me as far as Philadelphia. They are visiting now in eastern Pennsylvania. I went on to New York a month ago to see Horace off for Europe, then concluded to come on into Ohio and Indiana, to have a look at this great western country, your Aunt Wealthy and yourself. I purpose spending a week or two with you, if quite convenient and agreeable, then to return, taking Lansdale in my way, and paying a short visit there."
"Convenient and agreeable!" she cried, with a joyous laugh, and glad tears shining in her eyes, "sunlight was never more welcome, and the longer you stay, the better. You came by the stage? Where is your luggage?"
"Yes, by the stage. My valise is—Ah!" half rising from his chair, with extended hand, as a handsome, intelligent looking lad of fifteen or sixteen, in working dress, but neat and clean, came in from the hall, carrying a valise.
"I found this on the porch," he began, but broke off abruptly at sight of the stranger.
"Rupert, our eldest son," said Mrs. Keith, with a glance full of motherly pride directed toward the lad. "Rupert, this is Uncle Dinsmore, your Cousin Horace's father."
The two shook hands warmly, Rupert saying, "I am very glad to see you, sir, I have heard mother speak of you so often."
The gentleman answering, "Thank you, my boy. Yes, your mother and I are very old friends, though I am older than she, by a score of years or more."
"That must be your uncle's, Rupert, take it to the spare room," said Mrs. Keith, glancing at the valise.
"A fine looking fellow, but all Keith, isn't he, Marcia?" remarked her uncle, as the lad left the room. Then as Cyril bounded in at another door, "Ah! this one's a Stanhope! Come and shake hands with your uncle, my man."
Don and the two little girls were close behind Cyril, and these had scarcely been introduced, when Mr. Keith came in from his office, bringing with him Mildred, Zillah and Ada, whom he had met on the way.
Mr. Dinsmore was a stranger to them all, but every one seemed glad that he had come to visit them, and he was quite charmed with the cordiality of his reception, and the bright, intelligent faces, and refined manners of both parents and children.
They made him very welcome, very comfortable, and spared no exertion for his entertainment.
Being an observant man, he soon discovered that Mildred, toward whom he felt specially drawn from the first, was ailing, and immediately proposed taking her home with him to spend the winter in the sunny South.
This was on the afternoon of the day succeeding that of his arrival, as he and Mr. and Mrs. Keith sat conversing together in the parlor, the young people having scattered to their work or play.
The father and mother exchanged glances, each reading in the other's face a longing desire to accept the invitation for their child, mingled with the sad conviction that it was impossible to do so.
This Mr. Keith presently put into words, accompanied with warm thanks for the intended kindness to Mildred.
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Dinsmore, "don't talk of kindness, the obligation will be on my part; and as to the impossibility, it is all in your imaginations. I, of course, shall bear all the expense of the journey, and—No, Marcia, don't interrupt me. I owe it to you, for I can never repay the kindness you showed your aunt in her last sickness, and to poor Horace and myself after she was gone. And you owe it to your child not to refuse for her what is really necessary to her restoration to health."
"Dear uncle, you are most kind, you must let me say it," said Mrs. Keith, with tears in her eyes. "I will not deny that the expense is the greatest obstacle, for the family purse is low at present, and I will not let my pride stand in the way of the acceptance of your generous offer, but there are other difficulties. I do not see how I could get her ready in the few days to which you have limited your visit here."
"I'll stretch it to a fortnight, then, if that'll answer," he returned, in a short, quick, determined way, that bespoke him little used to opposition to his will. "Besides," he went on, "what need of so much preparation? purchases can be made to much better advantage in Philadelphia, and sewing done at Roselands, where we have two accomplished seamstresses among the servants. I've heard Mrs. Dinsmore boast that one of them can cut and fit, make and trim a dress as well as any mantuamaker she ever saw."
Mrs. Keith expressed a lively sense of his kindness, but suggested that in all probability Mrs. Dinsmore found plenty
