"Herbert Carrington died young--he was barely sixteen." With the words a look of pain swept across the still fair, sweet face of the speaker, and she paused for a moment as if almost overcome by some sad recollection.
Violet, who had heard the story from Grandma Rose, understood it.
"Mamma, dear," she said softly, "what a happy thing it was for him--poor sufferer that he was--to be taken so early to the Father's house on high where pain and sin and sorrow are unknown!" "Yes," returned her mother, furtively wiping away a tear, "and calling to mind the dreadful scenes of the war that followed some years later, and the sore trials that resulted in the Carrington family--I feel that he was taken away from the evil to come.
"Of the others forming that little company Flora Arnott too died young.
Mary Leslie married and moved away, and I have lost sight of her for many years.

Carrie Howard lived to become a wife and mother, but was called away from earth years ago.

The same words would tell Isabel Carleton's story.
"Lucy Carrington and I are the only ones left, and she, like myself, has children and grandchildren.

I hear from her now and then, and we meet occasionally when I go North or she pays a visit to the old home at Ashlands." "Mrs.Ross," said Rosie half in assertion, half inquiringly.
"Yes, that is her married name." "And Aunt Sophy who lives at Ashlands now, is--" "The widow of Lucy's older brother Harry, and also your Grandma Rose's sister; as you all know." "Mamma," said Walter, "you didn't mention Grandma Rose at all in telling your story of that Christmas and New Year's.

Wasn't she there ?" "No, my son; my father--your grandpa--and I were living alone together at that time.