of Joe when I read that verse. Oh, there is
always comfort to be found in the Scriptures. "A woman forsaken and
grieved in spirit"--do you remember those words, Miss Ross? I came upon
them quite suddenly one evening as I was sitting in this very porch, and
I said out loud to myself, as one does sometimes, "Those words just fit
you, Priscilla Baxter; they might be written for you."'

'That makes the Bible such a wonderful book,' returned Audrey
thoughtfully. 'Every form of grief finds expression and comfort there;
there is food for every mind, every age, every nationality.'

'I never saw anyone to beat father in reading the Bible, Miss Ross. You
would be surprised to see how kindly he takes to it. I have known him
read the Prodigal Son to Hannah and me on Sunday evening with the tears
running down his face, and he not knowing it more than a baby, for all
Hannah's sniffs. It is his favourite reading--it is, indeed, Miss Ross,
though his voice does get choky sometimes.'

'He is thinking of his poor brother Mat.'

'Begging your pardon, Miss Ross, I would rather not mention Uncle Mat,'
returned Mrs. Baxter stiffly. 'Joe has been a thorn in my side, heaven
knows! and his wickedness has reduced me, his wedded wife, to skin and
bone; but even Joe, with all his villainies, has not made himself a
felon, and I can still bear his name without blushing--and so I have
told father a score of times when he wants to make out that Joe is the
blacker of the two.'

'Oh, I would not hurt him by speaking against his brother! Do you know,
Mrs. Baxter, he loves him so dearly still.'

'Yes; but that is father's craze, Miss Ross,' she replied coldly. 'Even
a good man has his little weakness, and, being a Churchwoman, and I
trust humbly a believer, I would not deny that Providence has given me
as good a father as ever breathed this mortal air; but we are all human,
Miss Ross, and human nature has its frailties, and father would be a
wiser and a happier man if he did not set such store by an ungrateful
and good-for-nothing brother, who is a shame to his own flesh and blood,
and whom it is a bitterness to me to own as my Uncle Mat.'

'Priscilla!' ejaculated a grieved voice near them; and, looking round,
the two women saw Mr. O'Brien standing within a few paces of them. No
one had heard his footsteps except Booty, whose instincts were always
gentlemanly, and who, in spite of his deep dejection, had given him a
friendly greeting.

Mr. O'Brie