range wind of destiny that wafted this
unadventurous little woman across half a continent to the very foot of
the Rocky Mountains--a long and weary journey for the young and
vigorous. Yet it was something no stranger than a mother's love for her
only child. For "Willie's" sake the widow Tarbell had turned her back
upon the dear New England woods and meadows, upon the tidy village where
every man and woman was her friend; for his sake she had come to dwell
among strangers in a strange and barren land. The old homestead had been
sold, and with the meagre proceeds she had paid their way across the
prairies, and had bought a little house and a lot of land on the
outskirts of Springtown, while Willie looked about him for something to
do. But the enemy before whom they had fled followed them to the high
pure altitude it loves not, and before poor Willie had found anything to
do, he had been "called up higher." This was the phrase the minister
used at Willie's funeral, and it had been peculiarly comforting to the
bereaved mother. She had known well that her boy needed higher air, for
that she had come to live six thousand feet above the level of the New
England pastures. But the Lord saw that she, with her poor human
wisdom, could not lead him to the needed height, and He had called him
up higher yet, where are blessing and healing forever. With this abiding
consolation in her heart, Willie's mother could face the shining Peak
day after day and month after month with a countenance as brave and
cheerful as his own. It was only when she listened to the sound of
running waters, or some other voice of the past, that the wistful look
came into her face.

Meanwhile it was good life-giving air that she breathed, and good warm
sunshine that rested upon her, as she stepped briskly on her way. Her
little cottage was no longer on the outskirts of the town. Stately
mansions had risen up about her, and a long procession of houses now
stretched far up to the northward. The people idly looking forth from
the windows of the stately mansions, did not realize how much a part of
the landscape the little black figure had become, passing and repassing
their doors. A small meek figure it was, with little indication of the
bright spirit within. It was her "best dress" of ten years ago that she
now "wore common." The folds of the skirt, cut in the fashion of a
by-gone day, offered ample accommodation for bustle and steels, and in
the absence of these