you what, now,' Reuben added; 'if you're a-wantin' to have
tribbylation made clear to you, I'll take you down to see old
Jenny--praychin' Jenny, she used to be called--for she used to hold
forth in chapel bettern than a parson. And she's bin bedridden these
twelve year; but she can learn anybody about the Bible; she knows tex's
by thousands; there hain't no one can puzzle Jenny over the Bible.'

'Is she very ill?' asked Betty.

'She's just bedridden with rheumatics, that's all; but 'tis quite
enough; and I was calkilatin' only t'other day that I'll have to be
diggin' her grave afore Christmas.'

'Will you take me to see her now?'

'For sure I will.'

Out of the cool church they went, and along the hot, dusty road, till
they reached a low thatched cottage by the wayside. Reuben lifted the
latch of the door, and walked right in.

There was a big screen just inside the door, and a voice asked at
once,--

'Who be there?'

''Tis only Reuben and a little lass that wants to see you.' And Betty
was led round the screen to a big four-post bed with spotlessly clean
hangings and a wonderful patch-work quilt. Lying back on the pillows
was one of the sweetest old women that Betty had ever seen. A close
frilled night-cap surrounded a cheery, withered face--a face that
looked as if nothing would break the placid smile upon it, nothing
would dim the joy and peace shining through the faded blue eyes.

Betty held out her little hand.

'How do you do?' she said; 'this old man has brought me to see you. He
said you would tell me about tribulation.'

'Bless your dear little heart! Lift her up on the foot of the bed,
Reuben. Why, what a bonny little maid! and who may she be?'

'She be lodgin' at Farmer Giles's; and be troubled in her mind
concarning tribbylation.'

The old woman reached over, and laid a wrinkled hand on the soft,
childish one.

'Then tell old Jenny, dearie, what it is.'

Betty was quite ready to do so; and poured forth such a long,
incoherent story that it was very difficult to understand her. Jenny
did not quite take in her perplexity.

'Ay, dearie, most of us has tribbylation in some form or t'other; I
often think, as I lie lookin' at my patchwork quilt, that it be just a
pictur' of our life--a little bit o' brightness and then a patch of
dark; but the dark is jined to the bright, and one never knows just
what the next patch will be. But the One who makes it knows--He's
a-workin' in the pat