rrowfully.

"She is a real Wallerstaetten at the bottom of her heart," she said to
herself. "That will mean more struggles for her than I thought."

At a sign from her the children plainly understood that she asked them to
go into the garden for a little while. Sitting down beside Leonore, she
took her hand between her own and waited till the violent outbreak had
ceased.

Then she said tenderly: "Oh, Leonore, don't you remember what you told me
once when you were ill and I was sitting on your bed? You told me that
you found a song among your mother's music which always comforted you
when you seemed to lose courage and confidence in God. You said that it
always made you feel that He was not forgetting you and your brother, and
that he is looking after you in whatever way is best for you, even if you
can't recognize it now. Have you forgotten this? Can you tell me your
favorite verse in it?"

"Oh, yes, I can," said Leonore, "it is the verse:

God, who disposest all things well,
I want but what thou givest me,
Oh how can we thine acts foretell,
When Thou art far more wise than we?

"Yes, I always feel better when I think of that," Leonore added after a
time in a totally changed voice. "It makes me happy because I know that
God can do for us what Salo and I can't do for ourselves. But when
everything stays the same for so long and there is no prospect of any
change, it is so hard to keep this faith. If we can't do anything for
ourselves, it seems as if everything would have to be that way. The
woman said that if anybody is homeless once, he has to remain that way
for the rest of his life."

"No, no, Leonore," Mrs. Maxa answered, "you must not take a chance word
seriously. The poor woman only said it because she saw no immediate help
for her children. It is not true at all. Of course you can't look ahead
into your future, but you can ask God to give you full confidence in Him.
Then you can leave it all to Him, and the sense of His protection will
make you calmer. It will also keep you from making uncertain plans,
which might only bring fresh disappointments."

Leonore had attentively followed every word Mrs. Maxa had uttered.
Looking thoughtfully in front of her for a moment, she said, "Aunt
Maxa"--this was the mode of address she had long ago been granted--"don't
you want me to think of Apollonie's cottage either? Shall we have a
disappointment, if I hope that we can find a home there?"

"Yes, my dea