loneliness and the pain! It seems a strange antithesis that Paul
should count that as his highest glory, and yet how comparatively few
seem counted worthy to enter with Christ into the shadow of that
mysterious Gethsemane which lasted all his life. 'The fellowship of his
sufferings.' It must surely mean the privilege of getting very near his
heart, just as human hearts grow closer in a common sorrow,--knit by
pain. Yes, dear child, self must die: and it is a cruel death,--the
death of the cross. But then comes the newness of life with its strange,
sweet joy which the world's children do not know the taste of. How can
they when it is 'the joy of the Lord,' and they reject him?"

"You talk of the cross, Aunt Marthe, and other people talk of crosses.
Aunt Kate and Isabelle are always talking about the sacrifices they have
to make, and Mrs. Rivers carries a perfect bundle of crosses on her
back. She is wealthy and has everything she wants, and yet she is always
wailing, while Dyce is as happy as the day is long. Do the poor
Christians always do the singing while the rich ones sigh?"

Mrs. Everidge smiled. "We make our crosses, dear child, when we put our
wishes at right angles to God's will. When we only care to please him
everything that he chooses for us seems just right. I have heard people
speak as if it were a cross to mention the name of Christ. How could it
be if they loved him? Do you find it a cross to talk to me about your
father? People make a terrible mistake about this. The only cross we are
commanded to carry is the cross of Christ."

"And what is that, Aunt Marthe?"

"Self renunciation," said Aunt Marthe softly, "the secret of peace.

"Among all the pictures of the Madonna," she continued after a pause,
"the one I like best is where Mary is sitting, holding in her hands the
crown of thorns; everything else had been wrenched from her grasp, but
this they had no use for. What a legacy it was! As I look at it I see
how he has gathered all the thorns of life and woven them into that
kingly garland which is his glory. All the wealth of the Indies could
not shed as dazzling a light as that thorny crown. Like the brave
soldier who gathered into his own breast the spears of the enemy, Christ
has taken the sting from our sorrows and made us more than conquerors
over the wounds of earth. Surely he has tasted it all for us,--the
baseness and coldness and ingratitude and treachery which have wrung
human hearts all t