silvery ringing would
have filled all the land.

"Vida, can you be happy here until spring?" Mr. Eldred asked, a few
days after Christmas. "My work would suffer, I fear, were I to leave
it now."

"Why leave it in the spring, dear Thane? Let us stay here always, in
this beautiful, quiet place, where the people love you so, and--I did
not tell you yet," Vida said, half shyly, "but my money is not mine
any more. I gave it all to the dear Lord, I would like to build a
pretty church with some of it, and here we will stay and work, you
and I together. I can help you now, Thane--a little. Don't you like
my plan?" she said, anxiously, when he did not speak.

"My darling, you have made me so happy that I could not speak," he
said, after a little. "I wish it above all things--to go on with my
work here, and a new church is so much needed. How strange that you
should be willing to stay, and that we can work together! Oh, Vida! I
prayed--with faith, I thought--but I never dreamed of an hour like
this; surely 'It has not entered into our hearts to conceive the
things which God has prepared for them that love Him--in this life.'"

There was another sensation in an audience when the pastor of the log
church brought in his wife, for naught so fair and sweet had ever
gladdened their rustic eyes before. The singing that day was mostly
solo, or at least, duets. Her pure, birdlike voice filled the church,
and what could they do but listen, wondering meanwhile whether it
might not be a lark, or an angel come down for a season.

When a teeming, busy town covered the prairie, and the heel of
agriculture and commerce crushed out the wild flowers, the log church
was preserved as a memorial, while the spire of the handsome new one
was eagerly pointed out, its story treasured and handed down to
children's children.

These two spent their happy lives ministering to this simple people,
their hearts and hands so filled with work that they had no time to
sigh for the privileges of more cultivated surroundings. The pastor's
wife was the warm friend and sympathizer of the common people, and
her name was singularly appropriate--Vida--well-beloved.

HOW A WOMAN WAS CONVERTED TO MISSIONS.

The poor women and girls are so taken up with cleaning their houses
and dishes, and preparing their daily meals, that they will not give
themselves up to thinking in the least. So writes Miss Blunt
concerning the women of India. It was something of th