kind priest in Paris, who had never lost sightof her, and who restored to Edmee the jewels and money the poor girl hadso honestly kept for her. And thanks to him--for neither my father ormother ever entered Paris again--the little portrait, which had been themeans of Pierre's finding Edmee and her mother, was recovered from theold dealer in antiquities, and placed, with the other relics of herchild-life, in the best parlour at Belle Prairie Farm, where I trust itmay be admired and loved by many generations of the descendants ofPierre and Edmee Germain. And now--"
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Madame Marceau stopped suddenly, and looked up.
"What is it, mother dear? Go on, please--that is if you are not tired,"said several voices.
"No, dears, I am not tired. I have not read as much to-day as the twolast times." (For though I have not interrupted the course of the storyto say so, it will be readily understood that the reading of the oldmanuscript had occupied several holiday or Sunday evenings). "But," shewent on, "I have stopped simply because there is no more to read! Thosetwo words, `and now,' are the last of the manuscript."
"Oh dear!"--"What a pity!"--"Did our great-grandmother never write anymore to it, as our grandmother hoped she would?" exclaimed the children.
"No, my dears. She often intended to do so, but she did not live manyyears after her husband's death. She lived to see my mother happilymarried to my good father and then she died. I think the world seemed astrange place to her without her Pierre. She spoke of the manuscriptnot long before her death. `After all,' she said, `no words of minecould have done justice to his goodness. Teach your children to honourthe memory of their grandfather, and to know that a long line ofancestry is not the only thing to be proud of.'"
"But mother," said Pierre Marceau, half-timidly, "if one's ancestorshave been _good_ people?"
"Ah yes, my boy. In such case be not so much proud of them as gratefulto the good God for having come of such a stock, be they noblemen orfarmers, high in the world's esteem, or working with their hands fortheir daily bread," said Farmer Marceau, as he rose from the arm-chairwhere he had been sitting to listen to his wife's reading.
"And the Valmonts _were_ good," whispered Pierre to his sister Edmee;"so we _may_ be a little proud of them, you see, after all."
But when he went to say good-night to Madame Marceau, he added gently,"You are right, dear little mother. I _am_ very glad that you called mePierre, after my good great-grandfather, Pierre Germain--"
My readers may be sure that from the time of the reading of themanuscript, the little old portrait was dusted with even greater carethan before, and that on holidays and fete days it was decorated withwreaths of the loveliest flowers to be found in all the country-side.And there, I hope, in the best room of the old farmhouse, it will smiledown for many and many, a day on the dwellers therein, reminding themthat riches and greatness are not the best or most enduring possessions,that sorrows come alike to all, that trust in God and reverence for Hislaws are the only sure pilots through this life--that faithful,unselfish love is the most beautiful thing on earth, and, may we notsay, in Heaven also?
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