her his daughter, and welcoming Morris as his son, taken in Wilford’s stead.  “My boy,” he frequently called him, showing by his manner how willingly he accepted him as the husband of one whom he really loved as his child.  Greatly he wished that they should stay with him while they remained in New York, but Katy preferred going with Helen to Mrs. Banker’s, where she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle and confusion attending the preparations for Bell’s wedding.  It was to be a grand church affair, and to take place during Easter week, after which the bridal pair were going on to Washington, Fortress Monroe, and, if possible, to Richmond, where Bob had been a prisoner.  Everything seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful one, for all through the North, from Maine to California, the air was rife with the jubilee songs of victory, and the notes of approaching peace.  But, alas!  He who holds our country’s destiny in His hand changed that song of gladness into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, rose up to Heaven in one mighty sob of anguish, as the whole nation bemoaned its loss.  Our President was dead!—­foully, cruelly murdered!—­and New York was in mourning, so black, so profound, that with a shudder Bell Cameron tossed aside the orange wreath and said to her lover:  “We will be married at home.  I cannot now go to the church, when everything seems so like one great funeral.”

And so in Mrs. Cameron’s drawing-room there was a quiet wedding one pleasant April morning, and Bell’s plain traveling dress was far more in keeping with the gloom which hung over the great city than her gala robes would have been, with a long array of carriages and merry wedding chimes.  Westward they went, instead of South, and when our late lamented President was borne back to the prairie of Illinois, they were there to greet the noble dead, and mingle their tears with those who knew and loved him long before the world appreciated his worth.

* * * * *

Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh green grass is springing and the early spring flowers blooming, and where Katy, fairest flower of all, stands for a moment in the deep bay window of the library, listening dreamily to the patter on the tin roof overhead, and gazing wistfully down the road, as if watching for some one, then turning, she enters the dining-room and inspects the supper table, shining with silver, and laid for six, for her mother, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy are visiting her this rainy afternoon, while Morris, on his return from North Silverton, where he has gone to see a patient, is to call for Uncle Ephraim, who, in clean linen, checked gingham neck handkerchief and the swallow-tailed coat which has served him for so many years, sits waiting at home, with one kitten in his lap and another on his shoulder.