ors, that brought the inspiration this morning, I guess! It took us
all out of doors, and then it seemed to get into the blood. Besides,
tomorrow's the Day of Sacrifice, and that takes us all on to the
mountaintops of feeling. There have been times when I had to own up to a
lack of love."

"You, Martha, who have such wonderful influence over the children, such
patience, such affection!"

"It was n't always so. When I was first put in charge of the children, I
did n't like the work. They did n't respond to me somehow, and when they
were out of my sight they were ugly and disobedient. My natural mother,
Maria Holmes, took care of the girls' clothing. One day she said to me,
'Martha, do you love the girls?'

"'Some of them are very unlovely,' I replied.

"'I know that,' she said, 'but you can never help them unless you love
them.'

"I thought mother very critical, for I strove scrupulously to do my
duty. A few days after this the Elder said to me: 'Martha, do you love
the girls?' I responded, 'Not very much.'

"'You cannot save them unless you love them,' he said. Then I answered,
'I will labor for a gift of love.'

"When the work of the day was over, and the girls were in bed, I would
take off my shoes and spend several hours of the night walking the
floor, kneeling in prayer that I might obtain the coveted gift. For five
weeks I did this without avail, when suddenly one night when the moon
was full and I was kneeling by the window, a glory seemed to overshadow
the crest of a high mountain in the distance. I thought I heard a voice
say: '_Martha, I baptize you into the spirit of love!_' I sat there
trembling for more than an hour, and when I rose, I felt that I could
love the meanest human being that ever walked the earth. I have never
had any trouble with children since that night of the vision. They seem
different to me, and I dare say I am different to them."

"I wish I could see visions!" exclaimed Susanna. "Oh, for a glory
that would speak to me and teach me truth and duty! Life is all mist,
whichever way I turn. I'd like to be lifted on to a high place where I
could see clearly."

She leaned against the frame of the open kitchen door, her delicate
face quivering with emotion and longing, her attitude simplicity and
unconsciousness itself. The baldest of Shaker prose turned to purest
poetry when Susanna dipped it in the alembic of her own imagination.

"Labor for the gift of sight!" said Martha, who belie