lf good first.
I thought I was unworthy and unfit to be Christ's servant; but now I
see that I can be nothing but unworthy, and only he can make me fit for
anything; so I give up all, and I feel that he will do all for me. I am
so happy! I was so blind before!"

Mrs. Caxton said little; she only rejoiced with Eleanor so tenderly as
if she had been her own mother. Though that is speaking very coolly on
the present occasion. Mrs. Powle had never shewed her daughter so much
of that quality in her life, as Eleanor's aunt shewed now.

The breakfast next morning was unusually quiet. Happiness does not
always make people talkative.

"How do you do, my love?" said Mrs. Caxton when they were left alone.
"After being up half the night?"

"More fresh than I have felt for a year, aunt Caxton. Did you hear that
nightingale last night?"

"I heard him. I listened to him and thought of you."

"He sang--I cannot tell you what his song sounded like to me, aunt
Caxton. I could almost have fancied there was an angel out there."

"There were a great many rejoicing somewhere else. What glory to think
of it!" They were silent again till near the end of breakfast; then
Mrs. Caxton said,--"Eleanor, I shall be engaged the whole of this
morning. This afternoon, if you will, I will go with you into the
garden."

"This afternoon--is Wednesday, aunt Caxton."

"So it is. Well, before or after you go to the village, I want you to
dress some dishes of flowers for me--will you?"

"With great pleasure, ma'am. And I can get some hawthorn blossoms, I
know. I will do it before I go, ma'am."

Was it pleasant, that morning's work? Eleanor went out early to get her
sprays of May blossoms; and in the tender beauty of the day and season
was lured on and on, and tempted to gather other wild bits of
loveliness, till she at last found her hands full, and came home laden
with tokens of where she had been. "O'er the muir, amang the heather,"
Eleanor's walk had gone; and her basket was gay with gorse and broom
just opening; but from grassy banks on her way she had brought the
bright blue speedwell; and clematis and bryony from the hedges, and
from under them wild hyacinth and white campion and crane's-bill and
primroses; and a meadow she had passed over gave her one or two pretty
kinds of orchis, with daisies and cowslips, and grasses of various
kinds. Eleanor was dressing these in flower baskets and dishes, in the
open gallery that overlooked the meadow