It was always pleasant there, and it seemed doubly so to-night from the contrast presented to the world without by the white-washed ceiling, the newly whipped carpet, the clean, white curtains, and the fire blazing on the hearth, where two huge red apples were roasting.

This was a favorite custom of Aunt Barbara's, roasting apples in the evening.

She used to do it when Ethie was at home, for Ethie enjoyed it quite as much as she did, and when the red cheeks burst, and the white frothy pulp came oozing out, she used, as a little girl, to clap her hands and cry, "The apples begin to bleed, auntie! the apples begin to bleed!" Aunt Barbara never roasted them now that she did not remember her darling, and many times she put one down for Ethie, feeing that the "make believe" was better than nothing at all.

There was one for to-night, and Aunt Barbara sat watching it as it simmered and sputtered, and finally burst with the heat, "bleeding," just as her heart was bleeding for the runaway whose feet had wandered so long.

It was after nine, and Betty had gone to bed, so that Aunt Barbara was there alone, with the big Bible in her lap.