There was no sweet old face upon the pillow now, yet the tears that wet the blooming cheeks were not for her who had gone, but for her who was left, because they saw something which spoke eloquently of the love which outlives death and makes the humblest things beautiful and sacred.
A well-worn footstool stood beside the bed, and in the high-piled whiteness of the empty couch there was a little hollow where a gray head nightly rested while Aunt Plenty said the prayers her mother taught her seventy years ago.
Without a word, the girls softly shut the door.

And while Phebe put the room in the most exquisite order, Rose retrimmed the plain white cap, where pink and yellow ribbons never rustled now, both feeling honored by their tasks and better for their knowledge of the faithful love and piety which sanctified a good old woman's life.
"You darling creature, I'm so glad to get you back! I know it's shamefully early, but I really couldn't keep away another minute.

Let me help you I'm dying to see all your splendid things.

I saw the trunks pass and I know you've quantities of treasures," cried Annabel Bliss all in one breath as she embraced Rose an hour later and glanced about the room bestrewn with a variety of agreeable objects.
"How well you are looking! Sit down and I'll show you my lovely photographs.

Uncle chose all the best for me, and it's a treat to see them," answered Rose, putting a roll on the table and looking about for more.
"Oh, thanks! I haven't time now one needs hours to study such things.
Show me your Paris dresses, there's a dear I'm perfectly aching to see the last styles," and Annabel cast a hungry eye toward certain large boxes delightfully suggestive of French finery.
"I haven't got any," said Rose, fondly surveying the fine photographs as she laid them away.
"Rose Campbell! You don't mean to say that you didn't get one Paris dress at least ?" cried Annabel, scandalized at the bare idea of such neglect.
"Not one for myself.