"Just apply yourself to getting through this year, Polly dear, and let the other seventy-two take care of themselves.

They will bring their own cares and joys and responsibilities and problems, little as you realize it now.

This year, grievous as it seems, will fade by and by, until you can look back at it with resignation and without tears." "I don't want it to fade!" cried Polly passionately.

"I never want to look back at it without tears! I want to be faithful always; I want never to forget, and never to feel less sorrow than I do this minute!" "Take that blue-covered Emerson on the table, Polly; open it at the essay on 'Compensation,' and read the page marked with the orange leaf." The tears were streaming down Polly's cheeks, but she opened the book, and read with a faltering voice:-- "We cannot part with our f--fr--friends.

We cannot let our angels go.
[Sob.] We do not see that they only go out that archangels may come in.