ive
o'clock in the morning, when the factory whistle blew, and was in the
works by six, and, except for two hours off for meals, she was busy at
her task until six in the evening. In the warm summer days she did not
go home, but carried her dinner with her and ate it sitting beside the
loom; and sometimes she went away by herself and walked in the park.
Saturday afternoons and Sundays were her own, but they were usually
spent in helping her mother. Her dress was coarse and plain, and she
wore no pretty ornaments, though she liked them as much as her
companions did, for she was learning to put aside all the things she did
not really need, and by and by she came not to miss them, and found
pleasure instead in making others happy. She would have been quite
content if only her father had been different.

But there was no hope now of a better time. The shadow became so black
that it was like night when there are no stars in the sky. Mrs. Slessor
and Mary had a big burden to bear and a grim battle to fight. In their
distress they clung to one another, and prayed to Jesus for help and
strength, for they, of themselves, could do little. On Saturday nights
Mr. Slessor came home late, and treated them unkindly, so that Mary was
often forced to go out into the cold streets and wait until he had gone
to sleep. As she wandered about she felt very lonely and very miserable,
and sometimes sobbed as if her heart would break. When she passed the
bright windows of the places where drink was sold, she wondered why
people were allowed to ruin men and women in such a way, and she
clenched her hands and resolved that when she grew up she would war
against this terrible thing which destroyed the peace and happiness of
homes.

But at last the trouble came to an end. One tragic day Mary stood and
looked down with a great awe upon the face of her father lying white and
still in death.

What she went through in these days made her often sad and downcast, for
she had a loving heart, and suffered sorely when any one was rough to
her or ill-treated her. But good came out of it too. She was like a
white starry flower which grows on the walls and verandahs of houses in
the tropics. The hot sunshine is not able to draw perfume from it, but
as soon as darkness falls its fragrance scents the air and comes
stealing through the open windows and doors. So it was with Mary. She
grew sweeter in the darkness of trouble; it was in the shadows of life
that s