She carried it to the mother, who took it with avidity, and kissed it, and fondled it, reading its precious words over and over again, and dwelling with deep contentment upon its closing paragraph: "Mousie darling, if I could only see you, and kiss your eyes, and feel your arms about me! I am so glad my practicing does not disturb you.

Get well soon.

Everybody is good to me, but I am so lonesome without you, dear mamma." "The poor child, I know just how she feels.

She cannot be quite happy without me; and I--oh, I live in the light of her eyes! Tell her she must practice all she pleases; and, Aunt Hannah--tell her I can't hear the piano this far, nor hear dear voice when she sings: God knows I wish I could.

No one knows how sweet that voice is to me; and to think--some day it will be silent! What are you crying for ?" "Only because--because--it was just a memory.