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SO you are alive!” exclaimed Rosa, holding her sister
back a little, and gazing upon her face with all her
soul in her eyes.

“Yes, very much alive,” answered Flora, with a smile
that brought out all her dimples.

“But do tell me,” said Rosa, “how you came to go away
so strangely, and leave me to mourn for you as if you
were dead.”

The dimples disappeared, and a shadow clouded Flora's
expressive eyes, as she replied: “It would take a long
while to explain all that, sistita mia. We will talk it over
another time, please.”

Rosa sighed as she pressed her sister's hand, and said:
“Perhaps I have already conjectured rightly about it,
Floracita. My eyes were opened by bitter experiences
after we were parted. Some time I will explain to you
how I came to run to Europe in such a hurry, with
Madame and the Signor.”

“But tell me, the first thing of all, whether Tulee is
dead,” rejoined Flora.

“You know Madame was always exceedingly careful
about expense,” responded Rosa. “Mrs. Duroy was willing
to board Tulee for her work, and Madame thought it
was most prudent to leave her there till we got established
in Europe, and could send for her; and just when we were
expecting her to rejoin us, letters came informing us that
Mr. and Mrs. Duroy and Tulee all died of yellow-fever.

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It distresses me beyond measure to think of our having
left poor, faithful Tulee.”

“When we found out that Mr. Fitzgerald had married
another wife,” replied Flora, “my new Mamita kindly volunteered
to go with me in search of you and Tulee. We
went to the cottage, and to the plantation, and to New Orleans.
Everybody I ever knew seemed to be dead or
gone away. But Madame's parrot was alive, and her
chattering led me into a stranger's house, where I heard
that you were lost at sea on your way to Europe; and that
Tulee, with a white baby she had charge of, had died of
yellow-fever. Was that baby yours, dear?”

Rosa lowered her eyes, and colored deeply, as she answered:
“That subject is very painful to me. I can never
forgive myself for having left Tulee and that poor little
baby.”

Flora pressed her sister's hand in silence for a moment,
and then said: “You told me Madame and the Signor
were alive and well. Where are they?”

“They lived with us in Provence,” replied Rosa. “But
when we concluded to return to America, the Signor expressed
a wish to end his days in his native country. So
Mr. King purchased an estate for them near Florence,
and settled an annuity upon them. I had a letter from
Madame a few days ago, and she writes that they are as
happy as rabbits in clover. The Signor is getting quite
old; and if she survives him, it is agreed that she will come
and end her days with us. How it will delight her heart
to hear that you are alive! What a strange fortune we
have had! It seems that Mr. King always loved me, from
the first evening that he spent at our house. Do you remember
how you laughed because he offered to help us if

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ever we were in trouble? He knew more about us then
than we knew about ourselves; and he afterward did help
me out of very great troubles. I will tell you all about it
some time. But first I want to know about you. Who is
this new Mamita that you speak of?”

“O, it was wonderful how she came to me when I had
the greatest need of a friend,” answered Flora. “You
must know that she and Papasito were in love with each
other when they were young; and she is in love with his
memory now. I sometimes think his spirit led her to me.
I will show you a picture I have made of Papasito and
Mamita as guardian angels, placing a crown of violets and
lilies of the valley on the head of my new Mamita. When
I had to run away, she brought me to live with her in
Boston; and there I met with an old acquaintance. Do
you remember Florimond Blumenthal?”

“The good German boy that Papasito took such an interest
in?” inquired Rosa. “To be sure I remember
him.”

“Well, he's a good German boy now,” rejoined Flora;
“and I'm Mrs. Blumenthal.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Rosa. “You look so exactly
as you did when you were such a merry little elf,
that I never thought to inquire whether you were married.
In the joy of this sudden meeting, I forgot how many
years had passed since we saw each other.”

“You will realize how long it has been when you see my
children,” rejoined Flora. “My oldest, Alfred Royal, is
fitting for college. He is the image of cher Papa; and you
will see how Mamita Lila doats upon him. She must have
loved Papasito very much. Then I had a daughter that
died in a few days; then I had my Rosen Blumen, and

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you will see who she looks like; then some more came
and went to the angels. Last of all came little Lila, who
looks just like her father,—flaxen hair, pink cheeks, and
great German forget-me-nots for eyes.”

“How I shall love them all!” exclaimed Rosa. “And
you will love our Eulalia. I had a little Alfred and a little
Flora. They came to us in Provence, and we left their
pretty little bodies there among the roses.”

The sisters sat folded in each other's arms, their souls
wandering about among memories, when Mr. Blumenthal
returned from his long ramble with the children. Then,
of course, there was a scene of exclamations and embraces.
Little Lila was shy, and soon ran away to take refuge in
Mamita's chamber; but Rosen Blumen was full of wonder
and delight that such a grand, beautiful lady was the Aunt
Rosa of whom she had heard so much.

“Mamita Lila has stayed away all this time, out of regard
to our privacy,” said Flora; “but now I am going to
bring her.”

She soon returned, arm in arm with Mrs. Delano. Mr.
Blumenthal took her hand respectfully, as she entered, and
said: “This is our dear benefactress, our best earthly
friend.”

“My guardian angel, my darling Mamita,” added Flora.

Mrs. King eagerly stepped forward, and folded her in
her arms, saying, in a voice half stifled with emotion,
“Thank God and you for all this happiness.”

While they were speaking together, Flora held a whispered
consultation with her husband, who soon went forth
in search of Mr. King, with strict injunctions to say merely
that an unexpected pleasure awaited him. He hastened to
obey the summons, wondering what it could mean. There

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was no need of introducing him to his new-found relative.
The moment he entered the room, he exclaimed, “Why,
Floracita!”

“So you knew me?” she said, clasping his hand warmly.

“To be sure I did,” he answered. “You are the same
little fairy that danced in the floral parlor.”

“O, I'm a sober matron now,” said she, with a comic
attempt to look demure about the mouth, while her eyes
were laughing. “Here is my daughter Rosa; and I have
a tall lad, who bears two thirds of your regal name.”

The happy group were loath to separate, though it was
only to meet again in the evening at Mr. King's lodgings
on Round Hill. There, memories and feelings, that tried
in vain to express themselves fully in words, found eloquent
utterance in music.

Day after day, and evening after evening, the sisters
met, with a hunger of the heart that could not be satisfied.
Their husbands and children, meanwhile, became mutually
attached. Rosen Blumen, richly colored with her tropical
ancestry and her vigorous health, looked upon her more
ethereal cousin Eulalia as a sort of angel, and seemed to
worship her as such. Sometimes she accompanied her
sweet, bird-like voice with the guitar; sometimes they
sang duets together; and sometimes one played on the
piano, while the other danced with Lila, whose tiny feet
kept time to the music, true as an echo. Not unfrequently,
the pretty little creature was called upon to dance a
pas seul; for she had improvised a dance for herself to
the tune of Yankee Doodle, and it was very amusing to
see how emphatically she stamped the rhythm.

While the young people amused themselves thus, Flora
often brought forward her collection of drawings, which
Rosa called the portfolio of memories.

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There was the little fountain in their father's garden, the
lonely cottage on the island, the skeleton of the dead pine-tree,
with the moon peeping through its streamers of moss,
and Thistle with his panniers full of flowers. Among the
variety of foreign scenes, Mrs. King particularly admired
the dancing peasants from Frascati.

“Ah,” said Flora, “I see them now, just as they looked
when we passed them on our beautiful drive to Albano.
It was the first really merry day I had had for a long time.
I was just beginning to learn to enjoy myself without you.
It was very selfish of me, dear Rosa, but I was forgetful
of you, that day. And, only to think of it! if it had not
been for that unlucky apparition of Mr. Fitzgerald, I should
have gone to the opera and seen you as Norma.”

“Very likely we should both have fainted,” rejoined
Rosa, “and then the manager would have refused to let
La Campaneo try her luck again. But what is this, Floracita?”

“That is a group on Monte Pincio,” she replied. “I
sketched it when I was shut up in my room, the day before
you came out in the opera.”

“I do believe it is Madame and the Signor and I,” responded
Rosa. “The figures and the dresses are exactly
the same; and I remember we went to Monte Pincio that
morning, on my return from rehearsal.”

“What a stupid donkey I was, not to know you were so
near!” said Flora. “I should have thought my fingers
would have told me while I was drawing it.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Rosa, “here is Tulee!” Her eyes
moistened while she gazed upon it. “Poor Tulee!” said
she, “how she cared for me, and comforted me, during
those dark and dreadful days! If it had n't been for her

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and Chloe, I could never have lived through that trouble.
When I began to recover, she told me how Chloe held my
hand hour after hour, and prayed over me without ceasing.
I believe she prayed me up out of the grave. She said
our Mamita appeared to her once, and told her she was
my guardian angel; but if it had really been our Mamita,
I think she would have told her to tell me you were alive,
Mignonne. When Alfred and I went South, just before
we came here, we tried to find Tom and Chloe. We intend
to go to New Bedford soon to see them. A glimpse
of their good-natured black faces would give me more
pleasure than all the richly dressed ladies I saw at Mrs.
Green's great party.”

“Very likely you'll hear Tom preach when you go to
New Bedford,” rejoined Flora, “for he is a Methodist
minister now; and Chloe, they say, is powerful in prayer
at the meetings. I often smile when I think about the
manner of her coming away. It was so funny that my
quiet, refined Mamita Lila should all at once become a
kidnapper. But here is Rosen Blumen. Well, what now,
Mignonne?”

“Papa says Lila is very sleepy, and we ought to be
going home,” replied the young damsel.

“Then we will kiss good night, sistita mia,” said Mrs.
Blumenthal; “and you will bring Eulalia to us to-morrow.”

On their return home, Mr. Bright called to them over
the garden fence. “I've just had a letter from your
neighbor, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said he. “She wants to know
whether we can accommodate her, and her father, and her
son with lodgings this summer. I'm mighty glad we can
say we've let all our rooms; for that old Mr. Bell treats
mechanics as if he thought they all had the small-pox, and

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he was afraid o' catching it. So different from you, Mr.
Blumenthal, and Mr. King! You ain't afraid to take hold
of a rough hand without a glove on. How is Mrs. King?
Hope she's coming to-morrow. If the thrushes and bobolinks
could sing human music, and put human feeling into
it, her voice would beat 'em all. How romantic that you
should come here to Joe Bright's to find your sister, that
you thought was dead.”

When they had courteously answered his inquiries, he
repeated a wish he had often expressed, that somebody
would write a story about it. If he had been aware of all
their antecedents, he would perhaps have written one himself;
but he only knew that the handsome sisters were
orphans, separated in youth, and led by a singular combination
of circumstances to suppose each other dead.

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