But he consented at last, and as the other two retired, begged that Elsie would come to him for a moment.
She came in so quietly that he was not aware of her presence.

He sat in the corner of a sofa, his white head bowed upon his knees, and his aged frame shaking with sobs.
Kneeling at his side, she put her arms about him, whispering, "Grandpa, my poor, dear grandpa, be comforted; for we all love and honor you." "Child! child! I have not deserved this at your hands," he sobbed.

"I turned from you when you came to my house, a little, desolate motherless one, claiming my affection." "But that was many years ago, dear grandpa, and we will 'let the dead past bury its dead,' You will not deny me the great pleasure of helping to repair the desolations of war in the dear home of my childhood?
You will take it as help sent by Him whose steward I am ?" He clasped her close, and his kisses and tears were warm upon her cheek, as he murmured, in low, broken tones, "God bless you, child! I can refuse you nothing.

You shall do as you will." At last, Elsie had won her way to her stern grandfather's heart; and henceforth she was dear to him as ever one of his children had been.
* * * * * It is a sweet October morning in the year 1867.

Ion, restored to more than its pristine loveliness, lies basking in the beams of the newly risen sun; a tender mist, gray in the distance, rose-colored and golden where the rays of light strike it more directly, enveloping the landscape; the trees decked in holiday attire--green, russet, orange, and scarlet.
The children are romping with each other and their nurses, in the avenue; with the exception of wee Elsie, now a fair, gentle girl of nine, who occupies a rustic seat a little apart from the rest.