he chair with the book in her
hand, she thought--she remembered--nothing. Her spirit went from out
of her, into spiritual places. So she followed the words with her
voice, as one really _reading_; interpreting as she went. All her
elocution had taught her nothing like this before. It had not
touched the secret of the instant receiving and giving again; it had
only been the trick of _saying out_, which is no giving at all.

"Thank you, dear," said the soft toothless voice. "That's very
pretty reading."

Dot came in, and she went away.

She had done a little "errand for her mother." A very little one;
she did not deserve, yet, that more should be given her to do; but
her heart went up saying tenderly, remorsefully,--"For your sake."

And back into her heart came the fulfillment of the promise,--"He
that doeth it in the name of a disciple, shall receive a disciple's
reward."

These comforts, these reprievals, came to her; then again, she
went down into the blackness of the old memories, the old
self-accusations.

After she had found her way to Luclarion Grapp's, she used
sometimes, when these things seized her, to tie on her bonnet, pull
down her thick veil, and crying and whispering behind it as she
went,--"Mother! Susie! do you know how I love you now? how sorry I
am?" would hurry down, through the busy streets, to the Neighbors.

"Give me something to do," she would say, when she got there.

And Luclarion would give her something to do; would keep her to tea,
or to dinner; and in the quietness, when they were left by
themselves, would say words that were given her to say in her own
character and fashion. It is so blessed that the word is given and
repeated in so many characters and fashions! That each one receives
it and passes it on, "in that language into which he was born."

"I wish you could hear Luclarion Grapp's way of talking," Ray
Ingraham had said to her just after she had brought her home. "The
kind of comfort she finds for the most wicked and miserable,--people
who have done such shocking things as you never dreamed of."

"I want to hear somebody talk to the very wickedest. If there's any
chance for me, there's where I must find it. I can't listen with the
pretty-good people, any longer. It doesn't belong to me, or do me
any good."

"Come and hear the gospel then." And so Ray had taken her down to
Neighbor Street, to Luclarion Grapp.

"But the sin stays. You can't wipe the fact out; and you've