straight black brows with a friendly searching. "Come near," they say;
"are you to be trusted?" and you know you are being found out. But
they are kindly eyes and full of peace, with none of that look in them
that shows when the heart is anxious or sore. The face, the mouth, the
eyes, tell the same tale of a soul that has left its storms behind and
has made the haven, though not without sign of the rough weather
without.

There is no sick-room feeling here. The coverlet, the sheets, the
night-dress, with frills at the breast and wrists--everything about
Katie is sweet and fresh. Every morning of her life she is sponged and
dressed and "freshed up a bit" by her mother's loving hands. It takes
an hour to do it, and there are many household cares; but what an hour
that is! What talk, what gentle, tearful jokes, what tender touches!
The hour is one of sacrament to them both, for He is always there in
whose presence they are reverent and glad.

We "take the books," and I am asked to be priest. One needs his holy
garments in a sanctuary like this. After the evening worship is over I
talk with Katie.

"Don't you feel the time long? Don't you grow weary sometimes?"

"No! Oh, no!" with slight surprise. "I am content."

"But surely you get lonely--blue now and then?"

"Lonely?" with the brightest of smiles. "Oh, no! They are all here."

Heaven forgive me! I had thought she perhaps might have wanted some of
the world's cheerful distraction.

"But was it always so? Didn't you fret at the first?" I persisted.

"No, not at _the first_."

"That means that bad times came afterwards?"

"Yes," she answers slowly, and a faint red comes up in her cheek as if
from shame. "After the first six months I found it pretty hard."

I wait, not sure what thoughts I have brought to her, and then she goes
on:

"It was hard to see my mother tired with the work, and Jean could not
get to school"; and she could go no further.

"But that all passed away?" I asked, after a pause.

"Oh, yes!" and her smile says much. It was the memory of her triumph
that brought her smile, and it illumined her face.

My words came slowly. I could not comfort where comfort was not
needed. I could not pity, facing a smile like that; and it seemed hard
to rejoice over one whose days were often full of pain. But it came to
me to say:

"He has done much for you; and you are doing much for Him."

"Yes: He has done much for me." But she