g him, "I'm sorry to disturb you. Miss
Alice has had another little turn, and you'd better see her."

"How is her pulse?" said the doctor, quickly. "Is it failing?"

"'Pears to me not, sir; but you can see."

They went to the room, and the doctor took Alice's small wrist, and lightly
felt her pulse. Then did the mother watch his face, to see its writing.
What was there?

Nothing but deep attention. The wrist was gently laid down, and the
doctor's hand passed lightly over the white arm. Softly it touched the
forehead, and lay beneath the straying curl. There is no expression yet;
but he takes the wrist again, and, laying one hand beneath it, he touches
the pulse. Softly, like the first glance of moonlight on the dark waters, a
smile is seen on that kind face. There is something else besides the smile.
Large tears dropped from the physician's eyes; tears that he did not think
to wipe away. He stooped towards the fragile sufferer, and gently as the
morning air breathes upon the drooping violet, he kissed her brow. "Alice,
sweet one," he said, "God has given you to us again."

Where is that mother? Has she heard those cheering words? She hears them,
and is gone; gone even from the side of her only one. The soul, when there
is too much joy, longs for God. She must lay her rich burden at the
mercy-seat. Now, that mother kneels, but utters no word. The incense of her
heart knows no language and needs none; for God requires it not. The
sacrifice of praise from a rejoicing heart, is a grateful offering that he
accepts.

"Miss Anna," said Phillis, with trembling voice, but beaming eye, "go to
bed now; days and nights you have been up. How can you stand it? The doctor
says she is a great deal better, but she may be ill for a good while yet,
and you will give out. I will stay with her if you will take a sleep."

"Sleep;" said Mrs. Weston. "No, no, faithful Phillis not yet; joy is too
new to me. God for ever bless you for your kindness to me and my child. You
shall go home and sleep, and to-night, if she continue to do well, I will
trust her with you, and take some rest myself."

Mr. Weston awoke to hear glad tidings. Again and again, through the long
day, he repeated to himself his favorite Psalm, "Praise the Lord, oh my
soul."

Miss Janet's joy, deep but silent, was visible in her happy countenance.
Nor were these feelings confined to the family; every servant on the estate
made his master's joy his own. They sorrowed wit