manner that she had been taken at the
commencement of her former long sickness, and to Katy the future looked
dark and gloomy. But she did not give up. She applied herself, with all
her energies, to the restoration of her mother; and when she was
partially conscious, she attempted to conduct her to the bed. The poor
woman's strength was all gone, and Katy was obliged to call in Mrs.
Howard to assist her.

Mrs. Redburn suffered the most severe and racking pains through the
night, and at about twelve o'clock, Katy went to Mr. Sneed's house, and
calling up Simon, begged him to go for a doctor. But the physician's
art seemed powerless to soothe her. All night long the devoted
daughter, like an angel of mercy, hovered around the bed, and did all
he could in vain attempts to ease the sufferer's pain.

Poor Katy! The sun of prosperity had set, and the night of adversity
was coming on.

CHAPTER XVIII.

KATY STRUGGLES BRAVELY THROUGH A SERIES OF TRIALS.

The morning sun rose clear and bright, casting a flood of light into
the chamber of the sick mother, watched over by the beloved child. It
was Christmas, and all over the Christian world arose paeans of praise
for the birth of the Saviour. The sufferer was conscious of the fact,
and a sweet smile played upon her lips, as she thought of Jesus--that
he had lived and died for her. Pain, that could rack the bones and
triumph over the weak body, was powerless to subdue the loving,
trusting spirit, that reposed gently on Him who has invited the weary
to a present and an eternal rest.

"Katy," said Mrs. Redburn, in a faint whisper.

"I am here, mother," replied she, bending over her and endeavoring to
anticipate her unspoken desire.

"Is the hymn book on the table?"

"Here it is, mother."

"Won't you read me a hymn?"

"What shall I read?" asked Katy, who could with difficulty keep back
the flood of tears that rose up from her heart.

"'Come, said Jesus' sacred voice.'"

Katy opened the book to the beautiful hymn commencing with this line,
and in a voice broken by the emotion she could not wholly control, she
read it through. The smile that played on her mother's face showed how
deep and pure was the consolation she derived from the touching poetry.
She could smile while racking pains tortured her frame, while her frail
body seemed hardly to retain its hold upon mortality. How blessed the
hope that pours its heavenly balm into the wounds of the sufferer!

Poor Ka