. It ran
over a bed of pebbly stones, showing every one as if there had been no
water there, so clear it was; and it ran with a sweet soft murmur or
gurgle over the stones, as if singing to itself and the bushes as it
ran.

On one side of the little stream a worn foot path took its course among
the bushes; and down this path one summer's afternoon came a woman and a
girl. They had pails to fill at the spring; the woman had a large wooden
one, and the girl a light tin pail; and they drew the water with a
little tin dipper, for it was not deep enough to let a pail be used for
that. The pails were filled in silence, only the spring always was
singing; and the woman and the girl turned and went up the path again.
After getting up the bank, which was only a few feet, the path still
went gently rising through a wild bit of ground, full of trees and low
bushes; and not far off, through the trees, there came a gleam of bright
light from the window of a house, on which the setting sun was shining.
Half way to the house the girl and the woman stopped to rest; for water
is heavy, and the tin pail which was so light before it was filled, had
made the little girl's figure bend over to one side like a willow branch
all the way from the spring. They stopped to rest, and even the woman
had a very weary, jaded look.

"I feel as if I shall give up, some of these days," she exclaimed.

"O no, mother!" the little girl answered, cheerfully. She was panting,
with her hand on her side, and her face had a quiet, very sober look;
only at those words a little pleasant smile broke over it.

"I shall," said the woman. "One can't stand everything,--for ever."

The little girl had not got over panting yet, but standing there she
struck up the sweet air and words,--

"'There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you.'"

"Yes, in the grave!" said the woman, bitterly. "There's no rest short of
that,--for mind or body."

"O yes, mother dear. 'For we which have believed do enter into rest.'
Jesus don't make us wait."

"I believe you eat the Bible and sleep on the Bible," said the woman,
with a faint smile, taking at the same time a corner of her apron to
wipe away a stray tear which had gathered in her eye. "I am glad it
rests you, Nettie."

"And you, mother."

"Sometimes," Mrs. Mathieson answered, with a sigh. "But there's your
father going to bring home