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 party was off. Aunt Plenty was heart-broken that she could not go with them, but felt that she was too infirm to be useful; and, like a sensible old soul, tried to content herself with preparing all sorts of comforts for the invalid. Rose was less patient, and at first had wild ideas of setting off alone, and forcing her way to the spot where all her thoughts now centred. But, before she could carry out any rash project, Aunt Myra's palpitations set in so alarmingly that they did good service for once, and kept Rose busy taking her last directions, and trying to soothe her dying-bed; for each attack was declared fatal, till the patient demanded toast and tea, when hope was again allowable and the rally began.

The news flew fast, as such tidings always do: and Aunt Plenty was constantly employed in answering inquiries; for her knocker kept up a steady tattoo for several days. All sorts of people came; gentle-folk and paupers, children with anxious little faces, old people full of sympathy, pretty girls sobbing as they went away, and young men who relieved their feelings by swearing at all emigrants in general and Portuguese in particular. It was touching and comforting to see how many loved the good man who was known only by his benefactions, and now lay suffering far away, quite unconscious how many unsuspected charities were brought to light by this grateful solicitude, as hidden flowers spring up when warm rains fall.

If Rose had ever felt that the gift of living for