CHAPTER XII.
HAPPY HOURS.
The bed was wheeled up to the fireplace, the tea table and two chairs were grouped about the hearth, and there they had their last meal together in happy peacefulness.
A sense of quiet rested on them all, a shade of awe, of feelings so deep that ordinary chatter would have seemed out of place.

Emma Smith's thoughts were still lingering about that figure standing outside the door, "Knocking, knocking." She must have seen a picture once of that figure with the patient, tender eyes, knocking at a fast-closed door, but she had never troubled to ask who it was.
Now it all seemed close, He was so real.

It was ordinary, everyday life that seemed unreal now, that began to seem to her so far away.
Huldah was drawing bright pictures in her mind of days when the spring would come, and Aunt Emma would be stronger and able to walk about; they would be able to go and see Aunt Martha sometimes.
Her thoughts dwelt lovingly on Aunt Martha and Dick.

She saw them seldom now, the storms and the rough roads kept Aunt Martha at home, and Huldah could not leave her Aunt Emma.
So busy was she with her thoughts that she forgot all about Miss Rose's promised piece of news, until, when the tea was over, Miss Rose spoke of it again.
"You must light the lamp now, brownie.

I want to talk to your aunt.
There is someone wanting to see her,--someone that she wants to see, I think." Emma Smith turned quickly, an eager light flashing over her face.
"Is it--Tom ?" she asked, excitedly.
"Yes--your husband.