while for those who are looking out into life, wondering what it
will mean to them, to consider whether the call may not come to them to
give themselves to the service of their sisters in the East?

But however this may be, make yourselves ready to hear whatever call may
come. There is some service wanted from you; to give that service will
be your greatest blessing, your deepest joy. Whether you are able to
give that service worthily will depend upon the use you make of the time
of waiting and preparation. It must be done, not for your own
gratification, but because you are the followers of One who came, "not
to be ministered unto, but to minister."

[Illustration: "THE SON OF MAN CAME NOT TO BE MINISTERED UNTO, BUT TO
MINISTER."]

[Sidenote: A very singular adventure befell two young people, who
entertained a stranger unawares.]

My Dangerous Maniac

BY

LESLIE M. OYLER

It was a glorious July morning, the kind of morning that makes you feel
how good it is to be alive and young--and, incidently, to hope that the
tennis-courts won't be too dry.

You see Gerald, my brother, and I were invited to an American tournament
for that afternoon, which we were both awfully keen about; then mother
and father were coming home in the evening, after having been away a
fortnight, and, though on the whole I had got on quite nicely with the
housekeeping, it _would_ be a relief to be able to consult mother again.
Things have a knack of not going so smoothly when mothers are away, as I
daresay you've noticed.

I had been busy making strawberry jam, which had turned out very well,
all except the last lot. Gerald called me to see his new ferret just
after I had put the sugar in, and, by the time I got back, the jam had,
most disagreeably, got burnt.

That's just the way with cooking. You stand and watch a thing for ages,
waiting for it to boil; but immediately you go out of the room it
becomes hysterical and boils all over the stove; so it is borne in on
me that you must "keep your eye on the ball," otherwise the saucepan,
when cooking.

However, when things are a success it feels quite worth the trouble.
Gerald insisted on "helping" me once, rather against cook's wish, and
made some really delicious meringues, only he _would_ eat them before
they were properly baked!

The gong rang, and I ran down to breakfast; Gerald was late, as usual,
but he came at last.

"Here's a letter from Jack," I remarked, passing it ac