was
bright with joy, her heart full of happiness. Dear child! in one brief
hour she had learned the blessedness of that birthright which is for
all God's sons and daughters, if they will but claim it. I mean _the
privilege of doing good, of being useful_.

Miss Greylston sat by the parlour window, just where she could see who
crossed the lawn. She was waiting with a kind of nervous impatience for
Annie. She heard a footstep, but it was only Liddy going down to the
dairy. Then Reuben went by on his way to the meadow, and all was silent
again. Where was Annie?--but now quick feet sounded upon the crisp
and faded leaves. Miss Margaret looked out, and saw her brother
coming,--then she was sure Annie had in some way missed him, and
she drew back from the window keenly disappointed, not even a faint
suspicion of the blessed truth crossing her mind. As John Greylston
entered the hall, a sudden and irresistible desire prompted Margaret to
go and tell him all the loving and forgiving thoughts of her heart, no
matter what his mood should be. So she threw down her work, and went
quickly towards the parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just
on the threshold.

"John--John," she said, falteringly, "I must speak to you; I cannot bear
this any longer."

"Nor can I, Margaret."

Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with love
and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had come, and
with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid her head down
upon his shoulder.

"Can you ever forgive me, Madge?"

She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were eloquent,
and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour.

"You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have
behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an old
fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you really
forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself not ten hours
after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and forget these? Tell me
so again."

"John," she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, "I do
forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted so to
tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I was afraid
your anger was not over, and that you would repel me."

"Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame. I was
needlessly harsh with you, and moments of reflection only s