trange morning, she was sure the Lord
knew all about it, and that He had not sent them upon her in any
real confusion. She knew that there was no precipitance--no
inconsequence--with Him.

"They are threads picked out for some work that He will do," she
said, as she tucked her brother's letter into a low, broad basket
beside the white and rose and violet wools with which she was at odd
minutes crocheting a dainty footspread for an invalid friend, and
put the other in her pocket.

"Now I will tie my bonnet on, and go, as I had meant, to see Desire.
That, also, is a piece of this same morning."

Miss Kirkbright, likewise, watched and learned a story that told and
repeated itself as it went along, of a House that was building bit
by bit, and of life that lay about it. Only hers was the house the
Lord builds; and the stories of it, and all the sentences of the
story, were the things He daily puts together.

CHAPTER XIII.

RACHEL FROKE'S TROUBLE.

Desire was out. She had gone down to Neighbor Street, to see
Luclarion Grapp.

Luclarion had a Home there now; a place where girls and women came
and went, and always found a rest and a welcome, to stay a night, or
a week, or as long as they needed, provided only, that they entered
into the work and spirit of the house while they did stay.

Luclarion still sold her good, cheap white loaves and brown, her
muffins and her crumpets; and she had what she called her "big
baking room," where a dozen women could work at the troughs and the
kneaders and the ovens; and in this bakery they learned an honest
trade that would stand them in stead for self-support, whether to
furnish a commodity for sale, or in homes where daily bread must be
put together as well as prayed for.

"You can do something now that all the world wants done; that's as
good as a gold mine, and ever so much better," said Luclarion Grapp.

Then she had a laundry. From letting her lodgers wash and iron for
themselves, to put their scanty wardrobes into the best condition
and repair, she went on to showing them nice work and taking it in
for them to do; until now there were some dozen families who sent
her weakly washing, three to five dollars' worth each; and for ten
months in the year a hundred and eighty dollars were her average
receipts.

Down at "The Neighbors,"--as from the name of the street and the
spirit and growth of the thing it had come to be called,--they had
"Evenings;" when friends of