untain--there to live or die. And Faith, feeling that her hand was
ministering those drops of life, lost every other thought,--except to
wish for a hand that could do it better. Once she ventured a
proposition.

"I have a friend here, Mrs. Custers, who can tell you about all these
things much better than I can. Will you let him? May I ask him to come
in and see you?"

"Better?" she said slowly--"I don't believe it. Who is he? your
brother?"

"No--I haven't any brother. But that don't matter. He's somebody that
is a great deal better than I am. May I let him come in? He's here,"
said Faith very quietly, along with her flushing cheek.

There was a poor little faint smile for a moment upon the sick woman's
lips while Faith spoke, but it passed and she answered in the same
tone--"I'll see him--to please you--before you go. I just want the
words now--and I like you best."

Faith troubled her no more with unnecessary suggestions, and gave her
"the words." Gave them with the fragrance of her own love about them,
which certainly is the surest human vehicle for the love above human
that is in them. As on that first occasion, Faith placed herself on the
side of the bed; and holding one of Mrs. Custers' hands in her own,
bending her soft quiet face towards the listening eyes and ears, she
gave her one by one, like crumbs of life-giving food, the words of
promise, of encouragement, of invitation, of example. No answer cheered
or helped her; no token of pleasure or even of assent met her; only
those fixed listening eyes bade her go on, and told that whether for
life and refreshment or no, the words were eagerly taken in, each after
the other, as she said them. There was something in the strong sympathy
of the speaker--in her own feeling and joy of the truths she told--that
might give them double power and life to the ears of another. Faith
reported the words of her Master with such triumphant prizing of them
and such leaning on their strength; she gave his invitations in such
tones of affection; she told over the instances of others' prevailing
faith with such an evident, clear, satisfying share in the same;--the
living words this time lost nothing of their power by a dead utterance.
Of her own words Faith ventured few; now and then the simplest addition
to some thing she had repeated, to make it more plain, or to carry it
further home; such words as she could not keep back; such words, very
much, as she would have spoken to J