ly mixing some paint. "This last lesson very clearly explains that
_every_ thought has an influence, and that you help to make the body
manifest whatever you think of it. If you think the real and true, you
help to make that show forth, if you only think of the external or
apparent trouble or defect, and regard it as the real, you are harming
instead of helping."

"I can readily see that we may affect ourselves, but it seems hard to
believe that we affect _everybody_," protested Kate, incredulously.

"It is because we cannot realize the law of thought transference. I was
reading just last week about that. An instance of Stuart C. Cumberland's
mind-reading was cited. It was wonderful. And then long ago I read an
old book written by Cornelius Agrippa about it, but I was not very much
interested, and did not understand nor believe it at the time, so my
memory is not worth much concerning it."

"Then you really think I added another weight to that unhappy creature's
burden of trouble?" cried Kate, in sharp surprise.

"It would be best for you to deny his apparent conditions and affirm his
real ones, and instead of thoughts of pity, which are only weakening,
you could think of happiness and contentment. I truly believe we can
learn to think of people this way, if we only catch ourselves for
correction every time we think wrong."

"How shall I ever learn to bridle my thoughts?" was Kate's despairing
wail.

"By learning to bridle your tongue; I found a splendid text to-day on
that very theme. It is in James iii: 2. 'If any man offend not in word,
the same is a perfect man, and able to bridle the whole body.'

"Why, it tells in those few words the substance of all we have learned
in these lessons," exclaimed Kate.

"Only we would never have had sense enough to understand without the
lessons," added Grace, with a smile.

"They may be likened to a golden key that opens royal gates," said Kate,
going to the piano to play while Grace was putting away her paints and
brushes.

A little later Grace went out to mail a letter. As she turned from the
post-box, she found herself face to face with--whom but Leon
Carrington?

"Ah, an unexpected pleasure, Miss Hall!" he said, extending his hand and
warmly grasping the one she slowly held out to him. He looked
searchingly into her face, with clear, questioning eyes.

She dropped her lashes and drew back with a touch of the old
haughtiness, murmuring something he could not hear.