unding courage. The past came up
in vivid pictures where scenes of sorrow were predominant. Her weak,
ever-ailing little baby sister had floated quietly across the dark
river. The stricken mother sank, and soon followed her child to the
churchyard. The father's hand, that had first guided an editor's pen,
and then in his long decline that of a mere copyist, grew weaker and
weaker, and finally the last loving pressure was given to his daughter,
and then that hand lay still and white. Its work on earth was done, and
the brother and sister were left alone. Courageous and loving, they had
both struggled on. Her end was attained, but he was at the beginning of
the steady conflict before him. How would he bear himself in the battle?
If she could only know whether his surroundings would be as pleasant and
homelike as her own, and his heart as full of hope and quiet trust!
Would he be borne safely through the privations and temptations of his
university life? A prayer went silently up to the Father of all for that
absent brother, and then the practical little sister was soon deep in
the stir of bringing all things to order in her new home. Physical
effort brought back the resolute cheerfulness so natural to the little
schoolmistress, and she hummed to herself a simple song of long ago, to
which she could always hear the buzzing accompaniment of that stranger
who had proved to her a faithful, untiring benefactor and friend.

CHAPTER III.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

The winter had been unusually long. For nearly six months the ground had
been continually white. Not that it had been clothed by an ever-smooth,
fair mantle. The snow had been tossed and whirled by the wild winds till
it was fitfully heaped, now in the meadows, and now banked up against
the very hill-sides. But for the dark woods as landmarks, the face of
the country would have seemed to be utterly changed. The ice-covered
streams were hidden away out of sight, and the wide ponds appeared but
as smooth pastures.

A path from the little-frequented road had been kept open to the
schoolhouse. Week by week this narrow way to the seat of learning had
been walled higher and higher, until at last the rustic scholars seemed
passing through a stately white marble corridor as they filed along
towards the well-known door.

The first days of April had come and gone without a flower-bud to greet
them. The weather had suddenly grown soft and mild, and a drizzling rain
had been