In looking for some one who could
be eyes for their Mildred, so that she might go on with her studies at
home, they had thought of this other Mildred, the little English girl,
whose low, musical voice had been so carefully trained by her father in
reading aloud. By one of these strange providences which we never
recognize as such at the time, Mr. Rowland had broken his spectacles the
last evening of Mildred's stay in New York. She had offered to read the
magazine article which he was particularly anxious to hear, and they had
been charmed by her beautifully modulated voice. Now the letter had been
written to offer her a liberal salary and a home for the summer.

Mildred gave a gasp of astonishment. It was not the almost miraculous
finding of what she had come to seek that overwhelmed her. It was a
feeling that swept across her like a flood, warm and sweet and tender;
the sudden realization that a hand stronger than death and wise above
all human understanding had her in its keeping. She dropped on her knees
at the flower-decked altar-rail, with face upturned and radiant; no
longer lonely; no longer afraid of what the future might hold. She had
come into her inheritance.

[Illustration: "SHE READ THAT POOR MUFFIT HAD OVERTAXED HER EYES."]

Kneeling there she looked back again to her father's lowly grave in the
little churchyard across the seas, but she saw it no longer through
hopeless tears. Into her heart the great organ had pealed the gladness
of its exultant Easter message, and in the deep peace of the silence
which followed, the fragrance of the lilies breathed a wordless "Amen!"

JUST HER WAY

"Look out of the window, Judith! Quick! Mrs. Avery is going away!"
Judith Windham, bending over the sewing-machine in her bedroom, started
as her little sister's voice came piping shrilly up the stairs, and
leaving her chair she leaned out of the old-fashioned casement window.

There were so few goings and comings in sleepy little Westbrooke, that
the passing of the village omnibus was an exciting event. With an
imposing rumble of yellow wheels it rattled up to Doctor Allen's gate
across the road. A trunk, a dress suit case, and numerous valises were
hoisted to the top of it, and the doctor's family flocked down to the
gate to watch the departure of the youngest member of their household,
Marguerite.

It had been four years since the first time they watched her go away, a
nineteen-year-old bride. Since then th