arm was well healed, and the gentleman patted it approvingly, adding:
"You are a good little girl, Josephine."
"Yes, Doctor Mack, I try to be."
"Yet you don't love me, do you?"
"Not—not so—so very much," answered the truthful child, painfully conscious of her own rudeness.
"Not so well as Rudanthy," he persisted.
"Oh, nothing like!"
"Josephine," reproved mamma; then caught her daughter in her arms, and began to lament over her. "My darling! my darling! How can I part from you?"
Before any reply could be made to this strange question, the door-bell rang, and there came in another of those blue-coated messenger boys, who had been coming at intervals all that day and yesterday. He brought a telegram which mamma opened with trembling fingers. When she had read it, she passed it to Doctor Mack, who also read it; after which he folded and returned it to the lady, saying:
"Well, Cousin Helen, you must make your
