"Pity," said one of the girls, who by look and voice showed that her
heart was already touched.

"Is that all?"

"And love," was the reply.

"Yes, the dear Lord wants us all to do something for Him to-day, and as
we cannot do great, hard things, He wants us to love and be sorry for
Martha. And if we love people, we will do all the kind things we can
for them; don't you think so, especially when they are in distress. And
when we say our prayers, we must not forget to ask our Heavenly Father
to love and care for Martha, now that her father is away from her, and
may perhaps never get well."

When the lessons were over and school dismissed, Agnes hastened to the
home of poor Martha. It was quite a distance from her own home, being at
the other end of the town, and this was prayer-meeting night. But her
day's work could not be complete until she had sympathized with these
suffering hearts.

"Here it is, teacher," exclaimed the children who had offered to show
her the way, "The house with the shutters shut tight."

Knocking, and then trying the door which she found unfastened, she
entered the darkened room, having told the children it would not be
best for them to go in on that day. A sad disappointment, for they had
meant to kiss Martha and tell her they were sorry, and hear all about
the accident, although some of them had witnessed it.

Passing into the back room, Agnes found Mrs. Nelson and her children
surrounded by a half dozen neighbors, in the midst of a discussion as to
the position of the poor man when he fell. The one who had the floor at
that moment was a tall, vigorous looking woman, who evidently had
battled hard to occupy her present position. She had gone as far as:
"'Says I to my man, there goes Bill Nelson;' and says he to me, 'Yes,
there's no fear of his old woman letting him over-sleep himself; she's
too smart for that'; when, all at once I seen him fall with his head to
the horses' hind feet and----" here the entrance of Agnes, whose knock
had not been heard, caused the speaker to subside, and a general
movement of chairs and stools to take place.

"O, it's teacher, mother," said Martha, springing to meet her, light
coming into her heavy, swollen eyes.

"And how do you do, ma'am; it's kind of you to come. And it's a sorry
day this has been."

By this time chairs had been backed until they could go no farther,
aprons smoothed, and the sleeves of the tall orator pulled down. Then
there was sile