t into her heart. She
continued to be much liked, and in the shop was delightful. If she ever
had another offer of marriage, the fact remained unknown. She lived to
be a sweet, gracious little old lady--and often forgot that she was a
widow, but never that she was a wife. All the days of her appointed
time she waited till her change should come, and she should find her
Tom on the other side, looking out for her, as he had said he would.
Her mother-in-law could not help dying; but she never "forgave"
her--for what, nobody knew.

After a year or so, Mrs. Wardour began to take a little notice of her
again; but she never asked her to Thornwick until she found herself
dying. Perhaps she then remembered a certain petition in the Lord's
prayer. But will it not be rather a dreadful thing for some people if
they are forgiven as they forgive?

Old Mr. Duppa died, and a young man came to minister to his
congregation who thought the baptism of the spirit of more importance
than the most correct of opinions concerning even the baptizing spirit.
From him Mary found she could learn, and would be much to blame if she
did not learn. From him Betty also heard what increased her desire to
be worth something before she went to rejoin Tom.

Joseph Jasper became once more Mary's pupil. She was now no more
content with her little cottage piano, but had an instrument of quite
another capacity on which to accompany the violin of the blacksmith.

To him trade came in steadily, and before long he had to build a larger
shoeing-shed. From a wide neighborhood horses were brought him to be
shod, cart-wheels to be tired, axles to be mended, plowshares to be
sharpened, and all sorts of odd jobs to be done. He soon found it
necessary to make arrangement with a carpenter and wheelwright to work
on his premises. Before two years were over, he was what people call a
flourishing man, and laying by a little money.

"But," he said to Mary, "I can't go on like this, you know, miss. I
don't want money. It must be meant to do something with, and I must
find out what that something is."

CHAPTER LVI.

A CATASTROPHE.

One winter evening, as soon as his work was over for the day, Joseph
locked the door of his smithy, washed himself well, put on clean
clothes, and, taking his violin, set out for Testbridge: Mary was
expecting him to tea. It was the afternoon of a holiday, and she had
closed early.

Was there ever a happier man than Joseph that ni