t be so
dark and lonesome like. I think I'll put the rose here by the south
window, then if the child ever does come, she will see it from the
gate."

[Illustration: "It never looked quite so dirty before."]

Bringing a little pine stand, she carefully placed the plant upon it. In
doing so, she chanced to glance at the window. "Bless me! it never
looked quite so dirty before;" and Aunt Ruth moved with new life, as she
cleansed, rinsed, and polished the glass. But this being done, the old
muslin curtain seemed dingier than common, shading the clear glass; so
it was taken down, and another finer one unpacked from a drawer and put
in its place.

The next morning, as she ate her lonely breakfast, she placed her chair
to face the window and the rose. The sun was shining, and as the rays
streamed across the room to the opposite wall, she marked the cobwebs.
That day the cobwebs were swept down, the other window washed, and the
floor cleaned. The old house had not been so neat and cheery for many
years.

Near the close of the week she went to the village, this time putting on
a dark delaine, instead of the snuff calico with a yellow flower.
Somehow the gay dresses and curious glances did not disturb her as much
as usual. A pleasant recognition was passed with a neighbor whom she had
not spoken to for a year.

A strange feeling had come over her,--a feeling that she was one of the
great human family after all, and the icy mountain of reserve began to
thaw just a little. Her purchases made, she concluded to take another
road home. This route lay past a church. It was lighted, though early,
and a few real worshipers had met to pray before the regular service.

They were singing now, and Aunt Ruth paused, as a clear, triumphant
voice bore up the strain,--

"Plunged in a gulf of dark despair."

Spell-bound, she listened to its close, never stirring from her tracks
till a group of people passed near, then slowly walking on, you might
have heard her talking again to herself:--

"O Ruth Jones, where are you? I used to sing that, too, in the same old
church where I carried the roses, only it was years after. I used to
pray, too. I wonder if God would hear me now."

That night, and many nights after, she could not sleep; the words of
song kept ringing in her ears, bringing up the old scenes and
associations, till the great deep of her soul was broken up.

In her darkness she felt gropingly, feebly, for the old paths, and t