cent child. Would she surmount them all bravely, and achieve
victory in the battle of life?

This thought haunted, continually, the mind of the young teacher, and
gave her hourly pain. There was but little to attach her to life, and
only for this child's love she would have longed for the hour when God
should call her home. As it was, the girl had not sufficient faith to
leave all in His hands. With her sad experience of life, she dreaded all
that might come to her darling. And hope had nearly died out in her
heart.

Seated by the little grave, which was the shrine at which she poured out
her daily petitions, Clemence thought despondingly of the past, and how
little there seemed for her in the future, to which every one around her
looked forward with such eager anticipation.

The dreary waste stretched out unsmiling, and inexpressibly desolate.
The path of duty seemed straight and thorny.

While she sat, sorrowful, the child, who had been watching her with
tender eyes, came and knelt before her. "Let me come and sit with you,"
she pleaded, laying her soft, rounded cheek upon the two hands folded
idly in Clemence's lap. "I cannot play while I know you are grieving on
my account."

"Why," asked Clemence, arousing with a start from her reverie, "what put
that odd fancy into your head, little one?"

"Oh, I have known it for a long time," said Ruth, earnestly. "Although I
never have told you before, I realize more and more every day how much
you deny yourself for my sake. I owe you more than I can ever hope to
repay."

"There, there, child," said Clemence, astonished at her vehemence. "What
on earth has put all this into your head? Who told you about
self-denial? Have any of these rough villagers been seeking to wound you
by speaking of your state of dependence?"

"No, oh no," protested the little one, wisely, "nobody told me except
Johnny. We used to talk of it long ago, of how kind and good you were to
two poor little children like us. Johnny used to think you must be an
angel, like those we read about at Sabbath School, for nobody ever
treated him kindly until you came. He said good people were always
afflicted and persecuted."

"Poor little tired heart," said Clemence, commiseratingly, "it is now at
rest. But, Ruth, you must not allow these recollections to sadden you.
The little bound boy had not much to brighten his dreary life, and he
knew not what it was to possess the buoyant hopefulness of childhood.
So