In her home there have been few changes.

Mr.Dayton's hair is whiter than it was of old, and the furrows on his brow deeper and more marked.

Grandma, quiet and gentle as ever, knits on day after day, ever and anon speaking of "our dear little Lizzie, who died years ago." Lucy is still unmarried, and satisfied, too, that it should be so.

A patient, self-sacrificing Christian, she strives to make up to her father for the loss of one over whose memory she daily weeps, and to whose death she accuses herself of being accessory.

Dr.Benton and his rather fashionable wife live in their great house, ride in their handsome carriage, give large dinner parties, play chess after supper, and then the old doctor nods over his evening paper, while Berintha nods over a piece of embroidery, intended to represent a little dog chasing a butterfly and which would as readily be taken for that as for anything else, and for anything else as that.
Two years ago a pale young missionary departed to carry the news of salvation to the heathen land.