on his gold-headed cane. “Marian, lass,” turning inquiringly to her, “he wouldna refuse it frae his own auld kinsman?”

“O Cousin Ronald, could you—have you it in your kind heart to help him to it? Bless you for it, sir! It would be the making of the dear lad. And should it please the Lord to spare his life I am very sure you may trust him to repay every cent of your outlay for him!” Marian cried with starting tears, and clasping her hands in an ecstasy of joy.

“Indeed could I and will I, lass,” said the old gentleman, taking note-book and pencil from his pocket. “Give me his address and I will write to him to-night.”

He wrote it down at Marian’s dictation, then, restoring book and pencil to his pocket, “Now tell me of the dear mother, lassie,” he said in low, feeling tones. “She loved the Lord, served him, and died trusting in his atoning blood?”

“She did, she did, sir!” sobbed the bereaved girl. “It was an awful sorrowful life she led from the time that cruel Mormon missionary deceived and cajoled my father into belief in the wicked doctrines and practices of that faith—so contrary to the teachings of God’s own holy word—but she trusted in Jesus and at the last was full of joy that she was about to leave this world to dwell forever with him in that blessed land where sin and sorrow never enter. It was a terrible loss to me, but not for worlds would I bring her back, hard, hard though it be to live without her dear love and companionship.”

“Yes, dear lass, but life is short, and if you trust in the Lord and his righteousness, you and she will spend a blessed eternity together at his right hand. But I will leave for the present,” he added, “for evidently Cousin Elsie is watching for an opportunity to have a bit of private chat with you also.”

With that the old gentleman rose and moved away and their lovely lady hostess took his place by Marian’s side. She talked to the young girl in the kindliest manner, saying that she must let her be as a mother to her now while she was so young as to need a mother’s loving care. “And you must let us, your own relatives, provide all needful things for you until you are educated and fitted to take care of yourself; which we will endeavor to do, remembering that all we have is the Lord’s, intrusted to us to be used in his service, a part of which is helping others to fit themselves for usefulness.”

“O cousin, how kind, how kind you and all these new-found relatives are!” exclaimed the young girl with emotion. “I cannot deny that I am too proud to—to enjoy, as perhaps I ought-being under such obligations; but I will and do accept it, hoping that my heavenly Father will some day enable me to repay—not the kindness, that could never be done—but the moneyed part of the obligation.”

“That is right, dear girl,” Elsie said, pressing tenderly the hand she had taken into hers, “and to begin with, I want to see that you are provided with clothing as good and abundant as have the other young members of our family connection. To-morrow Cousin Ronald and I, and one or more of my daughters, expect to go to the city and make purchases for you, and you shall accompany us and let your own taste and judgment be used in the selection of dresses and other needed articles, or stay behind and trust to our taste, as you may prefer. However, you need not decide that question to-night. The captain and Violet insist that you shall go back to Woodburn with them, and we will call at an early hour in the morning to hear what your decision is and take you with us, if you care to go.”

“Dear Cousin Elsie, I don’t know how to thank you!” Marian exclaimed with emotion; “you, and indeed all these new-found relatives, are so wonderfully kind to me; one who has not the shadow of a claim upon them.”

“No, that is a mistake of yours, dear girl,” Elsie returned. “The Bible bids us—those to whom God has given more or less of this world’s goods—‘that they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate; laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.’ But I will not detain you longer, for I would have you enjoy the company of our dear young folks to the full.”

“I enjoy it greatly, but not more than your own, dear, sweet cousin,” returned the young girl, gazing into Grandma Elsie’s beautiful eyes with her own full of grateful, happy tears.

“You have enjoyed yourself to-day?” Grandma Elsie asked in tones of tender solicitude.

“Oh, very, very much!” was the quick, earnest rejoinder. “I never before had just such a day in all my life; though my mother used to tell me of similar ones in hers, for her near kith and kin were richer and of higher station than my father’s—and were ill-pleased that she married him,” she ended with a sigh.

“She married for love, I suppose?” Elsie said inquiringly.

“Yes,” sighed Marian, “for love; but, as time proved, far more than half the love was on her side—unless it may be that love may turn to that which is little better than hatred.”

“Ah, was it so bad as that?” Elsie asked with a grieved look into the sad eyes of her young relative. “If so, one cannot blame you if you have well-nigh ceased to love one so heartless as he has shown himself to be.”

“Jesus said, ‘By their fruits ye shall know them,’ and such are the fruits of Mormonism,” returned Marian; “the fruits brought forth in the lives of those who follow its hellish teachings. Is that too hard a word, cousin? It teaches lying, polygamy, assassination—their unscriptural, horrible blood-atonement doctrine—not one of which is to be found anywhere in God’s own holy word. Oh, I thank the Lord that I have escaped out of their hands!”

“You well may, and I am very thankful for you, my poor, dear cousin,” Elsie returned in tones of heartfelt sympathy.

But just then Rosie came and asked if Marian could not be spared to take part in some games the young people were about to begin.

An hour later the Woodburn carriage was in waiting at the veranda steps, and the captain and his party entered it and were driven home.

On their arrival there Gracie and the little ones went directly to bed, and while Violet was engaged in attendance upon them, the captain, Lulu, and Marian had the veranda to themselves.

“Here, Marian, take this big rocking-chair,” said Lulu, drawing one forward, “and give me your hat. I’m going to hang mine on the rack in the hall, and may just as well take yours too; and papa’s,” holding out her hand for his, which he gave her with an approving smile as he seated himself upon a settee near the chair she had given Marian.

The next minute she was with them again, nestling close to his side, her arm around his neck, his about her waist, her eyes gazing up with ardent affection into his while her pretty little white hand stroked his face lovingly and toyed with his beard.

He was talking to Marian and hardly showed consciousness of Lulu’s caresses except that he stroked her hair, patted her cheek, and pressed his lips absently once or twice to it or her forehead.

Marian’s eyes filled at the sight, and she had much ado to keep her voice steady while answering his queries in regard to the growth and prosperity of Minersville, its schools, churches, and public works.

“Ah, what bliss to have such a father—so dear and kind!” was the thought in her heart. She expressed that thought to Lulu when they bade good-night after