Little crosses, or, "Let patience have her perfect work."


Material Information

Little crosses, or, "Let patience have her perfect work."
Alternate Title:
Let patience have her perfect work
Physical Description:
124, 4 p., 1 leaf of plates : col. ill. ; 17 cm.
Thomas Nelson & Sons ( Publisher )
T. Nelson and Sons
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Flowers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Gardening -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sick -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Patience -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family stories -- 1880   ( local )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1880   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1881
Family stories   ( local )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
United States -- New York -- New York


General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002233136
notis - ALH3542
oclc - 03925587
System ID:

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Full Text

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"glet Vatizure habz her p-rfcdt Work."

The trivial round, the common task,
Will furnish all we need to ask-
Room to deny ourselves, a road
To bring us daily nearer God."


18 T.



II. NEWS, ... ..... ... 17

III. THE VISITORS, ... ... ... ... 28

IV. SOUTH AMERICA, ... ... ... ..... 36

V. OVERTURNINGS, ... ... ... ... 45

VI. THE LITTLE HEATHEN, ... ... ... ... 58

VII. THE WOODS, ... ... ... ... ... 72

VIII. SICKNESS, ... ... .. ... ... 83

IX. MORNING LIGHT, ... ... ... ... 91

X. HAND IN HAND, ... ... ... ... ... 95

XI. RACHE, ... ... ... ... .. ... 101

XII. A DECISION, ... ... .. 111

XIII. CONCLUSION, ... ...... .. ... ... 116

WE write not now of little crosses
Which, wreathed with flowers, in churchyards
To tell of mothers' bitter losses, [stand,
And little saints in "Better Land."

Nor dwell we on those crosses olden,
Whereon the infant martyrs died,
When, meekly, soft small hands were holden,
Like Jesus to be crucified.

Nay, ours is but a simple story
Of Christian life in childhood's morn,
When Jesus trains the heir of glory,
Through daily trials rightly borne.

Each little burden he will measure,
He knows what weight each lamb can bear;
He plans each tiny grief and pleasure,
With his own loving, tender care.



EAR trees and currant bushes, lilac and
mock orange, blush roses and damask,
there they all were, as green and
flourishing as in dear old Mrs. Eaton's
time, when her garden was the pride
of her heart She, good lady, had gone to her
rest; but the trees she had planted and the
flowers she had nursed were a perpetual emblem
and memorial of her. Freely each year they
gave their fruit and fragrance, then sank into
seeming death-a death which, like hers, was
but the sure forerunner of a joyous resur-

__;_ _L


Mrs. Eaton no longer walked up and down
the broad path between the straight borders"
to count her tulips by hundreds. No longer
she lingered to catch the perfume of her
damask roses, while the great gray cat rubbed
backward and forward against her dress, as if
wondering whether her mistress had stopped
to be caressed, or to let the sunshine fall on
those silvery tresses which little hands had
smoothed so lovingly. Mrs. Eaton was no
more among her flowers. She had passed to
that land where there is no blight, no death,
no decay.
Yet the old-fashioned garden was still the
same, and the knotty pear tree had hung out
its blossoms one spring morning as cheerily as
if it had not seen full thirty seasons since it
gained its prime. A gentle breeze shook the
gnarled branches, and down came a white
shower, a sweet spring shower, from the dainty
blossoms. A pair of blue eyes looked up
quickly, and a pleasant smile crossed a bright
young face for a moment; then the eyes were
again fixed upon an open book, and the young
face grew serious with earnest interest. It


seemed as if the old pear tree was in its way
blessing the little reader, bending there over
God's Book in the very May morning of her
Carrie Eaton liked that seat under the pear
tree, with the little grass-plot about her, and
the currant bushes shutting in the green circle
with their friendly hedge. It was a quiet,
retired spot, full of sacred memories of that
dear grandmother who had so early shown to
her the beauty and power of that religion
which can make old age lovely, and robe even
death with glory. Here Carrie had heard
many sweet words of counsel from the lips of
the aged saint; and here she liked to bring her
Bible, to keep the promise she had made to
that dear friend to read in it every day as
long as she should live. Ah Mrs. Eaton had
made sure of a blessing when she secured such
daily food for the child. Carrie was reading
of Stephen, the first martyr, this morning, and
her eyes were at one time large with interest,
then soft with tears, as she went on with the
And when he had said this, he fell asleep."



These were the last words of the chapter, and
Carrie had shut the book. Was she, too,
asleep ?
Her eyes were closed, but busy, very busy
was the brain within. Not alone of Stephen
was she thinking, but of the long train of
martyrs who, like him, had suffered for their
Lord. Glorious indeed seemed to her such a
portion. "I wonder if I could be a martyr,"
she said to herself. I wonder how it would
As the little girl spoke, she rose from her
seat, and stood with her back firmly against
the trunk of the old tree. I could not move,"
she whispered; "I should be tied fast, and
they would heap up fagots around me, and
the guards would stand off about where the
currant bushes are, to watch the fire, and see
how I could bear the torture. I would sing;
yes, I would sing, 'I want to be an angel.'
They should see that I was glad to die for the
To Carrie's excited imagination she seemed
in the midst of the scene she had pictured.
The currant bushes, clad in their tender green,



were to her soldiers in martial array; the tree
was the fatal stake, and she was bound as
closely to it as if chains of iron were holding
her there. On the rustic seat beside her lay
her Bible and her bonnet-the sun-bonnet she
had twitched off so hastily that the still untied
knot dangled to the one firm string. Book
and bonnet were unseen by Carrie, in whose
imagination the martyr's pile about her was
already lighted. Then her sweet voice burst
forth in her favourite hymn, so loud and clear
that the birds joined in their chorus, as in
sympathy with her seeming joy.
The hymn was over, and Carrie looked about
her, fancying that for the last time she saw
the pleasant piazza of her home and the tall
trees drooping over its roof. The garden, the
orchard, soon she should see no more. Her
mother! Here Carrie's heart failed; but she
choked the sudden feeling, and commenced
again singing, in a voice even more strong and
clear than before,-
Just as I am, without one plea
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidd'st me come to thee,-
O Lamb of God, I come."



Carrie was not to forget her mother, even in
her fancied martyrdom.
Through the only opening in the currant
bushes came that mother, pleased to hear her
daughter so employed, but astonished at her
constrained attitude, and the excited expression
in her usually gentle face.
"Carrie dear, I was looking for you," she
said, as she laid her hand on the child's
Carrie started, then put her head on her
mother's neck, and burst into tears. "I am
glad it is not true, after all!" she exclaimed;
" I could not bear to leave you."
"What? what, my child?" said the mother
Oh, I was trying to see how it would feel
to be a martyr, and I thought I could bear it
very well till I saw you and heard you speak
to me. I am afraid I never could be a martyr!
Mother, can anybody be a Christian who is
not willing to be a martyr ?"
The mother smiled, and putting her arm
around her child, she sat down with her be-
neath the old tree.


God has not chosen you to be one of his
martyrs, Carrie. You cannot expect to be
ready for what he has not asked you to do.
No one can be a true Christian who is not
ready to bear just what God gives him to
suffer. That is all he requires of us. We
each have our cross to bear, our trials to go
through, and we must suffer with patience if
we are truly Christ's followers. Our Lord is
very merciful. He knows the tender hearts
of little children, and rarely sends them great
trials; and he has made it so natural for them
to be joyous, that even in real affliction they
cannot suffer as older people do. You must
have the martyr's spirit, Carrie, though you
may not have his fiery trial. You must be
willing to bear all that is sent you cheerfully,
and even joyfully, since it is our Lord who
plans every feature and circumstance of our
daily life. He plans for us in love, and in
love and cheerfulness we should endure what
he sends."
I don't have anything to bear; I feel as
though I should like to have to endure some-
thing," said CarrieC'n a disappointed tone.



Again the mother smiled, as she said, It
will not be long, my darling, before you will
have something to try your patience; remem-
ber, then, that the smallest troubles may be
borne for Jesus' sake, and so may be met with
the martyr's spirit."


ARRIE EATON was not at all times
the serious, thoughtful child we found
her in our last chapter. The very
afternoon which followed her fancied
martyrdom she spent in playing hide-
and-go-seek with her cousin, and the air that
had resounded to her parting hymn rang with
her merry peals of laughter.
Sound was Carrie's sleep after her frolic,
and her dreams were an odd mingling of the
solemn and the joyous,-her morning of excite-
ment and her afternoon of fun. Only God
reads those dreams, the merciful heavenly
Father, who understands the mysteries of the
heart of childhood. He knew the sincerity of
(656) 2

her desire to do his will; he did not frown
upon her innocent pleasures.
The kind Providence that watches over little
children seems to make their eyes heavy with
sleep, and lay them aside for the night, that it
may fill them with a new measure of joy with
which to awake in the morning. So it was
with Carrie Eaton: the early sunlight that lit
her pretty bedroom made her conscious of a
glad awaking, and she cheerily opened her eyes
to the new day. Very happy she felt while
she was dressing; her parents, her home, her
every blessing seemed particularly precious to
her; and when she knelt for her morning
prayer, it was to be a thanksgiving quite as
much as a series of petitions. As Carrie looked
round once more on her pleasant room before
going down to breakfast, she thought of the
martyr Stephen, and almost lamented that she
had no cross to bear, or that it was so light
that as yet she hardly felt its burden.
Young Mrs. Eaton, the villagers called Carrie's
mother; but as we have only had a passing
glimpse of the old lady among her flowers
before she went to her rest, we may think of



her as one of those who bear the "new name "
in the heavenly kingdom, while we shall know
as Mrs. Eaton the young, pleasant-looking lady
who was waiting for Carrie in the breakfast-
Mr. Eaton was a quiet, studious man, who
loved his books and his wife and child, and was
ever happiest when in his own home. He had
made no effort to make public his consistent
character, or to exhibit his good deeds; yet
somehow his light did shine, and that so clearly
that there was not a man in all Bending Brook
who was more universally beloved or respected.
When our Lord bade us to let our light shine,"
he did not tell us to flaunt it in our neighbours'
faces. We have but to see to it that our lamps
are burning; and if they are lit from above,
their brightness will make glad the spot where
we dwell, without taking any trouble about the
People said it was natural for the Eatons to
be good; they had been so, father and son,
mother and daughter, for four generations.
(Ah, that were indeed belonging to a good
family!) Those outsiders saw the results, but



they knew very little of the facts of the case.
They had not heard the earnest prayers in the
closet, at the family altar, and in sweet inter-
views between mother and child, that had been
breathed in the Eatons' home. They gave no
credit to the pious, careful training, line upon
line, precept upon precept, which was the pecu-
liarity of the house. They had not seen each
individual soul in its repentance, its faith,
its struggles, its continual struggles heaven-
Mr. Eaton looked up from a letter he was
reading as Carrie came into the breakfast-room.
His very smile was a welcome without his
pleasant "Good-morning." An important letter
that seemed to be, for it lay beside the father's
plate all the while he was eating, and he
favoured it now and then with a thoughtful
"Father was planning something to-day, I
am sure," said Carrie, as Mr. Eaton left the
house for his morning walk.
"Yes, Carrie," said the mother; "we are to
have visitors who are to pass some time with
us. Very likely your father was 'planning,' as



you say, to arrange his time so as to have as
much as possible to spare for his guests."
"Visitors !" exclaimed Carrie; "I am so
glad! I like to have company. Who are
they ? "
Mr. and Mrs. Grant, a young couple who
have only been married a year. Mr. Grant is
a son of an old friend of your father," was the
Only a Mr. and Mrs.!" said Carrie, with a
disappointed air. "I hoped it was some pretty
young lady, or maybe somebody with a baby
or a little girl."
"I am sure you will feel as we do, glad to
receive them, when I tell you that Mr. Grant
had a government office at Washington, and
has just been thrown out of it. Your father
has invited him to stay here until he can get a
new situation. He feels very much interested
for the young couple in their misfortune."
Mrs Eaton might have added that Mr. Grant
had been quite intemperate when a very young
man, and that her husband feared that in his
present discouragement his old habits might
revive, and was therefore anxious to give him



the shelter of a Christian home, and the kind
love of an elder friend, till his time of tempta-
tion should be over. This part of the story
Mrs. Eaton prudently kept to herself, but she
had told enough to awaken Carrie's warm sym-
pathies, and she at once exclaimed:-
"That was just like father; so kind! I
mean to be as pleasant to them as I can."
"That is a good resolution, but it may cost
you some effort to keep it. I shall have to
give them your room, my dear, that they may
feel free to stay as long as they please. If I
put them in our east chamber, they may fancy
they are in the way if other visitors should
arrive. You can have the little room next to us.
I shall have you almost under my wing again."
Carrie tried to smile, but it was a dismal
little smile. Give up her pleasant room-the
very spot that had looked so charming to her
in the morning! Take the cramped quarters
where there was but a narrow passage betwixt
the bed and the bureau! These were not
pleasant ideas.
"Where shall I hang my dresses ? There is
no closet in the hall-room," said Carrie.



"I shall have to make a place for you in
one of my great closets. My black dresses are
not so many that I cannot let in a little pink
or blue, one here and there, to keep them com-
pany," said the mother with a cheerful smile.
Shall I leave my book-case in my room,
and my baby-house, and my great work-box,
and my little rocking-chair, and all my things?
There will be no place for them in the little
room," continued Carrie, in a somewhat discon-
solate tone.
"If you think yourself a martyr in this
heavy trouble, my darling, you must try to
suffer cheerfully," said the mother with a smile.
Carrie blushed very deeply as she answered,
"Indeed, mamma, I forgot all about what you
were saying to me yesterday. I do not think
I should make a very good martyr, but I really
want to bear my little troubles as well as I
Then off with you upstairs, and be as busy
as a bee. I shall come up by-and-by to see
what you have accomplished. You can change
your clothes to the other bureau without my
being there. You may lock up your baby-



house and your work-box, and let them remain
where they are. Your little work-basket and
your favourite doll Fanny can go with you to
your new room. Your book-case you had
better leave where it is; and perhaps they
may take: down some of your sweet Sunday-
school stories, or pleasant hymns, and be the
better for reading them. I am sure you would
not object to that."
Carrie's eyes sparkled as she answered: I
should love to have my books do some good!
I hope they will read them. And, mother, may
I leave grandmother's big Bible, with her
favourite texts marked in it, on the little table
where I always keep it? "
"Yes, my child," said the mother, with an
approving smile. "And, Carrie, if you choose,
you may let your rocking-chair keep 'its place
too. Mr. Grant speaks of his 'little wife;'
perhaps that may prove just the sort of thing
to suit her."
"Is she little? I am so glad; she won't seem
like so much of a stranger to me. Perhaps
I shall be almost as big as she is; everybody
says I am a very tall girl for ten years old."



Carrie straightened herself up as she spoke,
but she did not look so very imposing after all.
Mrs. Grant must be a little woman indeed,
if she is not taller than you are, darling," said
Mrs. Eaton with a smile.
"Did you never see her ? Do you know her
husband? asked Carrie quickly.
"I have never seen them," said Mrs. Eaton
Do you like to have them come, mamma.?"
Carrie looked earnestly into her mother's face
as she asked this question.
The least bit of a blush came suddenly into
Mrs. Eaton's usually pale cheeks as she an-
swered: "Of course I cannot feel as glad,
Carrie, as if it were your aunt Fanny, or any
one I really love; yet I do want to have them
here, and I shall try to like them both, and
make it very pleasant for them."
Ah, mamma, I have caught you this time!"
exclaimed Carrie. You take your little crosses
so sweetly that nobody ever knows you have
anything to bear. Of course you like it better
with just father and me; but you think it is
kind to invite them here, and you mean to do



them all the good you can. I understand you.
And now I shall go upstairs and make my room
look as sweet as I can for the 'wee wife.'"
Backwards and forwards went Carrie's busy
feet as she bore armful after armful of clothing,
thinking all the time that her little toil was
sent her by her heavenly Master, and she would
try, like her mother, to bear it so cheerfully
that it should cease to be a pain.
Carrie's valuables were locked up, and the
bunch of keys dropped into her pocket. She
had arranged the books on the shelf, and as
she read the titles she sent up a silent prayer
that they might be blessed to the new-comers.
The small rocking-chair was placed by the most
cheerful window, and a bouquet of fresh flowers
had been put in front of the great Bible on the
corner table.
Carrie looked round approvingly, and a feel-
ing of love sprang up in her heart toward the
expected guests for whom she had been so
kindly preparing. She was so full of cheerful-
ness that she was not put out of patience when
her dress caught on the various knobs as she
passed into her new room and sat down by the



window. There was just room for a seat at
the foot of the bed, and there Carrie established
herself to take a few moments of rest. From
this side of the house she could see the dear
old garden, and the pear tree in the midst of
its circle of green, the scene of her imagined
martyrdom. "Ah," thought she, "it is well I
am not called to be a martyr, if it is so hard
for me to bear even these little trials. When I
look out of this window, I hope I shall always
remember what mother said to me under the
pear tree"'
There was a whisper at Carrie's heart that
every good resolution should be strengthened
by prayer. Softly she stepped to the door, and
gently locked it. Then she knelt down by the
small bed, and very earnestly she prayed that
God would help her to bear patiently all trials,
great and small, which he might send her, and
make her ever ready cheerfully to do his will.




WILIGHT was stealing on as Carrie
and her mother were awaiting Mr.
"Eaton's return from the station,
whither he had gone to meet the
expected guests.
There was no detention of trains that
day, and not long was Carrie's eager face
pressed against the parlour window before
she exclaimed, "They are coming! they are
coming!" and mother and child were at once
at the door with a ready welcome on their
Mr. Eaton stepped first from the carriage,
and was immediately followed by a slender
young man, who turned but a moment so as
to make visible his gay waistcoat and soft


curls, and then put his head into the carriage
to assist the rest of the party to alight.
The lady, the very little lady, put her
hands on his shoulders, and he lifted her on to
the steps as if she had been a child.
Mrs. Eaton moved forward with extended
hand, thinking her time had come now; but
the strangers seemed as yet unconscious of her
presence. "Do wake Rache up. Shake her,
William; she's almost dead with sleep," said
Mrs. Grant, as her husband was again half into
the carriage.
Mrs. Eaton and Carrie exchanged glances of
astonishment and curiosity, a curiosity which
was soon gratified. Out came a little negro
girl, with her eyes as wide open as if she
beheld the world for the first time, and was
much surprised at its inhabitants. The numer-
ous braids of woolly hair standing off from her
head in every direction added to her look of
startled wonder, and almost made Carrie forget
her politeness in a sudden laugh. This breach
of decorum she was saved by her father's
saying at the moment, Mr. and Mrs. Grant,
let me present you to my wife and daughter."



Mr. Grant went through the introduction
with an easy off-hand cordiality; but his little
wife seemed intent upon noticing the safe
landing of two great trunks, which, after a
few hasty words, she promptly followed to the
room where they were placed.
Very pretty looked Mrs. Grant when she
came down to the supper-table, though her
style of dress was not particularly suited to
the occasion. In the midst of her waving
dark hair glistened the pendants from the
various gilt pins with which her head was
adorned, while her light green silk was beruffled
and beflounced in the height of fashion.
Mr. Grant admired her very heartily, that
was plain, as he went so far as to ask Mrs.
Eaton if she did not think green particularly be-
coming to a fresh complexion like his Lizzie's.
Mrs. Eaton kindly assented, but she man-
aged to get very quickly from green silks to
other green things, and so to the country, and
so out of range of silks and satins.
Behind Mrs. Grant's chair stood Rache, now
thoroughly awake, and on the alert to see all
that was to be seen. Rache's few garments



dropped scant and straight around her, and
made her seem even more scrupulously erect
than she really was, while her head, sloping up
from the forehead, increased the air of self-
satisfaction which was plainly her predominant
characteristic. Whatever might happen, Rache
never considered herself to blame. It was her
misfortune to live in a world where things
" went wrong,",-'a trial which she generally
bore with provoking good humour.
Mrs. Grant had very little appetite after her
journey, and her husband pressed her to take
what was on the table, just as if he were the
master of the house.
After tea followed a dragging conversation,
in which Mrs. Grant seemed only at her ease
when she could describe some party she had
attended, or some magnificent dress that had
attracted her admiration. The gentlemen
meanwhile were getting on rather better; and
Carrie stole to her father's side to listen to his
account of his first visit in his boyhood to the
early home of Mr. Grant. She was just deeply
interested in the result of a ride on a very
wild pony, when her mother gently said, "It



is time for you to go upstairs now, Carrie.
You may say Good-night."
Carrie gave the usual kiss to her father and
mother, and then looked doubtfully at the
"I like little girls," said Mr. Grant plea-
santly. "I must have a kiss too."
Mrs. Grant did not seem fond of children;
at any rate her manner was very cold as she
turned her cheek to Carrie and bade her good-
Mrs. Eaton was in the habit of going up-
stairs with her little daughter and seeing her
safely into bed. Many a pleasant talk they
had in those quiet interviews; and Carrie often
said she never loved her mother as well as
when she was sitting on the edge of the bed,
and bending over her after one of these heart-
to-heart conversations.
This night Carrie went alone to her little
room. Her head was quite in a whirl when
she sat down to read a few verses in her Bible,
as was her custom. She repeated very ear-
nestly her usual petition on opening the Holy
Book, Lord, bless thy word to me," and her



thoughts by degrees were fixed upon what she
was reading, and even in her prayers she did
not wander. When, however, she was fairly
in bed, Mr. and Mrs. Grant and Rache took
possession of her mind. "He is not at all like
papa, and yet he is not disagreeable. He likes
little girls. I am glad of that. I can get on
with almost anybody that likes children. I
don't know what Mrs. Grant will think of my
gingham apron I wear to breakfast. I wonder
if she always dresses in silk. I don't believe
she cares about little girls; she only spoke to
me when she bade me good-night. I don't see
what Rache does all the time. She is the
queerest little object I ever saw. When her
mouth opens to laugh, it seems to pull her
eyes open too. Oh, dear! I wish mother was
here; I do so miss her. I am afraid she won't
come up with me all the while the visitors are
Carrie was just getting out of humour with
the Grants, when some one came in very gently
at the door.
"I am not asleep, mamma. I am so glad
to see you," said Carrie, rising up in bed.



Mrs. Grant had to consult with her hus-
band about a letter she wanted him to write
in the morning, so I took the opportunity to
slip upstairs for a moment," said Mrs. Eaton.
I shan't like them at all if they keep you
away from me," said Carrie, as she put her
arms round her mother's neck. I am afraid
it will not be very pleasant having them here.
Do you think they will stay very long ?"
"Hush hush, my child !" said her mother,,
with a look of pain in her features. "I can-
not bear to hear you speak in that way of
guests in our house. I will give you some
Bible verses to dwell upon when such thoughts
come into your mind: 'Use hospitality without
grudging ;' 'I was a stranger, and ye took me
in;' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of
the least of these, ye have done it unto me.'"
"I did not think of that, mamma," said
Carrie, brightening. "' Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one of the least of these.' I was
out of patience about your not coming up. I
daresay I shall like them very much."
"Having strangers in the house may call
for some self-denial on your part in many




ways; but I am sure you are too thankful .for
your pleasant home to murmur at the little
trials you have to bear," said Mrs. Eaton.
Indeed I am. I feel as if I loved every-
body, and could not be made cross by any-
thing more, mamma; so kiss me again, and in
the morning I shall try to get up as patient as
a little martyr."
Mrs. Eaton went downstairs, and Carrie
soon fell asleep to dream of Rache, a tulip
blossoming out from every independent braid
on her wonderful head.

ARRIE EATON was not only fond of
flowers, but she liked gardening,-
real hard work with rake and hoe.
Carrie had what she called a mag-
nificent plan for laying out her little
plot of ground this summer. Not landscape
gardening was it to be, but geographical gar-
dening, a new branch of horticulture. She
was going to represent South America on a
small scale,-mountains, rivers, and plains, all
Already a long bank of earth represented
the one-sided backbone of the continent, while
- a piece of broken quartz conspicuously stood
out as the rocky island of Tierra del Fuego,
with a smaller stone south of it, as the re-


nowned Cape Horn. The great Amazon was
now to rise among the mountains, and make
its way to the sea. This was a work of diffi-
culty, but Carrie was resolved upon success.
Her mother had warned her that breakfast
would be somewhat later than usual to accom-
modate the strangers, and the little girl had
determined to at least make ready the bed of
the Amazon before she was called to the table.
She was hard at work, lifting the hoe high in
air for every stroke, when she was accosted by
a pleasant vpico behind her.
You are an early riser, Miss Carrie. Pray,
what are you doing ?" said Mr. Grant, as he
surveyed the field of her labours.
Carrie explained her plan, and dwelt with
enthusiasm on the way she meant to carry it
Mr. Grant smiled good-humouredly as he
said, The rivers will be your great difficulty.
Water would sink into this soil as fast as you
poured it on. I might make you some wooden
troughs with sloping sides, and you could line
them with moss. Let me see. The land lies
just right from the pump to have the water



brought here in an underground pipe, passing
through the mountains, and opening just where
you want your rivers to rise."
0 Mr. Grant! how kind you are!" ex-
claimed Carrie. That will be splendid ;" and
more vigorously than ever she went on with
her preparations.
Mr. Grant was very fond of little girls, as
he had said, and he amused himself for some
time chatting with Carrie, as she pursued her
labours with most creditable industry.
I should like to see the real Andes," said
Carrie. As she spoke she surveyed her moun-
tains, enjoying their heights being increased
by every new arrival of soil from the growing
bed of the Amazon.
"What if I should tell you that I had seen
the real Andes with these very eyes that are
looking at you ?" said Mr. Grant.
Are you in earnest ? said Carrie, stopping
to gaze into her companion's face.
Yes, certain, true, black and blue," was the
answer. I took a sea-voyage-a voyage
after whales-when I was a young fellow.
Something got wrong with our ship, and we



put in at Callao. I wonder if you know
where that is ?"
It is in Peru, on the coast," said Carrie,
Right. Now I will go on. From there
some of us sailors went to Lima, and were not
contented till we had not only a sight of the
Andes, but had our feet actually on them,
though, of course, we did not go to the
I should love dearly to see the Andes,"
said Carrie again, more thoughtfully than
Why so ?" said Mr. Grant curiously.
Because God made them," said Carrie. "I
know he made everything, but I think I could
understand his great power if I saw the moun-
tains piled up so high, and the smoke going
up from the volcanoes, and the earth shaking
and trembling, as it does sometimes in those
cities by the Andes."
Mr. Grant looked wonderingly at the child
as he answered:-
I think such sights would be more likely
to frighten you than to give you pleasure."



You know we need not be afraid of any-
thing if God is our friend," said Carrie
That is very true," said Mr. Grant soberly;
" but everybody is not so sure that he has God
for his friend. There was an earthquake when
I was in Lima, only a very slight one, and I
confess I felt anything but pleasant for the
time; and some of our crew, rough fellows,
who were not afraid of the worst storm on the
ocean, swore they would not set foot on such
land as that again if the captain were to pay
them their weight in gold."
If they swore, I don't wonder they were
afraid. I never heard anybody swear, but I
know it is dreadfully wicked," said Carrie, very
seriously. There was something in her com-
panion's light way of speaking of such a sin
that pained her deeply.
"Well, it is a bad habit, and not an easy
one to leave off," said Mr. Grant thought-
Mother says it is hard to leave off any bad
habit, but we can if we try, and ask God to
help us," said Carrie.



The first breakfast bell now rang out its
summons, and Carrie hastened in to be in
order to appear at the. table at the second
ringing. Mr. Grant followed more slowly,
the late conversation still lingering in his
Carrie forgot all about her anxiety as to
what Mrs. Grant would think of her gingham
apron, in her eagerness to tell her father and
mother of Mr. Grant's kind promise to assist
her in her gardening project. Mr. Eaton was
well pleased to find his guest inclined for such
innocent amusement, and at once put him in
the way of getting such tools, boards, and pipes
as would be needed for the proposed under-
Mr. Grant has seen the real Andes, and
been in a real earthquake, and been in a ship
after whales, too," said Carrie, whose morning
interview had quite done away with her stiff-
ness before the strangers.
Mr. Eaton well remembered when a whaling
voyage had been hit upon as the last expedient
for breaking up young Grant's dissipated
habits, but he kindly refrained from intimating



his knowledge of the past. By judicious ques-
tioning he drew from his guest much that was
valuable about the scenery and climate of
that part of South America which he had
Mr. Grant found himself listened to with
respect, and his manner lost much of its off-
hand recklessness, as he tried to give a clear
account of what he had observed.
Mrs. Grant seemed quite satisfied to have
the conversation monopolized by her husband,
though she occasionally smoothed back her
hair, or put up her little white hand, as if she
were not unwilling to be looked at though she
did not care to talk.
After breakfast the family drew back from
the table for morning prayers. Carrie placed
the Bible before her father, and then sat down,
while the two respectable servants came in
from the kitchen and took their accustomed
Rache stared about her as if afraid some-
thing terrible was going to happen. Perhaps
she feared she was to be reckoned with for her
late misdeeds in the kitchen. She soon seemed



assured that Jane and Betsy had not come in
to testify about the bowl she had broken, or
the pie which she had robbed of its crisp edges.
Sinking down on the floor behind her mis-
tress, she awaited the result of all this prepara-
Mr. Eaton read the twentieth chapter of
Exodus, and then, in an earnest prayer, be-
sought the help of the Holy Spirit for all pre-
sent, that they might keep the law of God with
the loving zeal of those who know that they
are accepted through Christ, the perfect ex-
ample and sufficient sacrifice.
Mr. Eaton knew nothing of Carrie's morning
talk with their visitor, but had he read that
visitor's heart, he could not have more wisely
worded his prayer, or more judiciously chosen
his Scripture selection.
Too often had profane expressions passed
the lips of Mr. Grant, but he had resolved that
of this bad habit, at least, he would cure him-
self, quite as much that he might never wound
Carrie's innocent ears, as from a sense of the
wickedness of such a breach of God's command-



Carrie's words, We can leave off any bad
habit if we try, and ask God to help us," were
in his mind while her father was praying, and
Mr. Grant's heart assented to the petitions,
though his lips would not of themselves have
uttered them.
Ah, they act unwisely who shut out the
stranger guest from their family prayers.
Often has the heart been touched, as some
wanderer has knelt with a worshipping circle
in a Christian home!

emu returning.

ARRIE would have been glad to have
returned at once to the garden as
soon as prayers were over, but her
mother called upon her to assist her
in putting away the clean clothes
just from the wash; and then there were
messages to be carried to the kitchen, an
errand to do in the village; and the little girl's
time was so taken up, that she had but a few
moments to herself to read in her own quiet
room before the school-bell rang. This was a
sore trial of Carrie's patience, simply because
she had set her heart on pleasure, rather than
in doing each moment the duty that called
upon her. She generally liked to oblige her
mother, but this morning every such act cost


her an effort; she remembered, however, the
old pear tree and the young martyr, and re-
solved to bear all that came to her. Carrie
was making a mistake. She really had noth-
ing to bear, except the consequence of her too
earnest desire to make pleasure her occupa-
tion. If she had been but full of love and
longing to do her duty, she would have had no
trouble. There is no better way of filling our
lot with little trials, than by starting out in
the morning with some set plan of enjoyment
which we want to follow, and then everything
that interferes with it is an annoyance. Far
better is it to be in the spirit of obedience,
ready to do just what God sends us to do; and
so pleasures will come when least expected,
like the little flowers that spring from the
clefts of the rocks to cheer the traveller as he
climbs the mountain side. Carrie went off to
school with the feeling that she had passed
through a very hard time since breakfast, and
was glad that she had not shown her annoy-
ance by a single fretful word.
Mrs. Eaton had not needed words to tell
her the mood of her darling, but she had let



her work her way through her own struggles,
only helping her by the silent prayer that went
up from the mother's loving heart.
Carrie had only time to prepare herself for
dinner, after her return from school, though she
longed to have just one peep at the Andes, by
way of giving her an appetite.
The afternoon, however, was all before her,
and as soon as she could be excused from the
table, she went to get on her garden bonnet
and apron, and go post-haste to "South
America." Poor little traveller She was not
to see the Andes in their beauty. Destruction
had gone in among the miniature mountains,
as if volcanoes, earthquakes, and tornadoes had
been busy doing their work. It was in vain
to look for Sorata or Chimborazo. They were
not to be distinguished from the ignoble heaps
of earth about them. The bed of the Amazon
was half filled up; and Tierra del Fuego had
deserted Cape Horn, and taken up its abode at
the mouth of the Orinoco.
Carrie burst into tears. All her labour had
been in vain. Who could have done the mis-
chief ? She was at a loss for a conjecture.



The enemy was no four-footed creature, to be
forgiven for its very lack of the mind that had
helped Carrie to plan her favourite undertak-
ing. No! it was plain that spade and hoe had
been wielded to cause the terrible destruction.
"Who could it be ?" repeated Carrie. "So
unkind! Just as I was ready to put on the
powdered marble for snow on the tops of the
mountains. It is too bad!"
What is too bad ?" said the voice of Mr.
Grant, who had his own reasons for repairing
to the unfortunate spot.
Carrie turned her flushed face toward the
speaker. Mr. Grant's arms were full of leaden
pipes and troughs, through which the waters
of the Orinoco, La Plata, and Amazon were in-
tended to flow.
Only see, Mr. Grant, what somebody has
done! The Andes are all knocked down, and
Tierra del Fuego moved clear up here, and my
bucket of sand for the sea-shore all upset
right in the middle of Patagonia! It is too
bad !"
Indeed it is too bad!" said Mr. Grant.
I can't bear to look at it!" exclaimed Carrie,



as she darted away, ashamed to show before
Mr. Grant how thoroughly she was vexed.
Under the old pear tree she soon found her-
self seated, and then her head dropped upon
her hands, and she had a good hearty cry, as
much from anger as from sorrow.
"It is of no use to cry about it," said Carrie
to herself, when the first burst of feeling was
over. The currant bushes stood off from the
green circle, the pear tree scattered its shower
of blossoms, and Carrie's mind flew back to the
moment when she had braced herself against
that sturdy old trunk, fancying she was ready
to be a martyr, to suffer all for Jesus' sake.
What was the great trial that had so roused
her temper and filled her with disappointment?
The result of the amusement of a few leisure
hours had been overthrown-work which she
could renew on a better plan; and yet she had
so utterly lost her self-command, that not even
the presence of a stranger could keep her from
expressing her anger. Was this bearing
patiently the little crosses of her daily life ?
Ah, no!
Carrie looked about her, and thought of her
(656) 4



pleasant home, her kind parents, her numberless
blessings, and deep shame overcame her that
such a trifle should have had power so to annoy
There, under the old pear tree, she asked the
Lord Jesus to forgive her anger and impatience,
and to send her more of his own sweet, sub-
missive spirit.
Carrie jumped up, saying to herself, I will
go at once and tell Mr. Grant that I am sorry
I was so vexed, and that I don't mean to mind
it, but begin right away to make it over again,
better than before."
Instinctively Carrie hastened to the spot
where she had left Mr. Grant, though she had
no reason to suppose that he was lingering to
mourn over the ruin of the geographical garden.
Mr. Grant had done more than exclaim at
the mischief; he had stooped down to examine
the marks of two small feet that he found in
the soft earth. Beyond the grass-plat, in the
centre of which South America had been located,
were the vegetable beds, made soft and smooth
by the gardener's busy rake. Across that even
surface those same small feet had stepped



remorselessly, leaving deep tracks as if the re-
treat had been made in haste. With the keen
look of a policeman, Mr. Grant followed these
traces as they here and there appeared, until he
came to a thick clump of lilac bushes, quite on
the opposite side of the garden. From behind
this screen, a pair of wide-open black eyes
were watching him. As he drew nearer and
nearer, a small figure jumped from side to side,
and at length Rache stood out openly before
"0 massa!" she exclaimed, "I didn't do
nothing Don't whip me. I never went near
them Andes!"
Mr. Grant took her sternly by the arm, and
led her to the scene which had so lately been
Carrie's pride.
'I didn't! I didn't!" screamed Rache, more
and more vehemently, as she approached the
"I'll teach you not to meddle, you mischief-
maker !" said Mr. Grant, looking about angrily
for a switch.
Not a switch, but Carrie's imploring face,
met his eyes.



please, Mr. Grant, don't whip her," said
Carrie eagerly. "I don't believe she knew
what harm she was doing. I am quite ashamed
of myself that I was so vexed just now. It
was not right. I'll tell you what I mean to do:
I am going to fix it all over better than it was
before, and Rache shall help me, if you will let
her, and I will tell her just what I am doing.-
You are sorry, I know you are, Rache."
Mr. Grant looked into Carrie's face; there
was something in its sweet, cheerful expression
that calmed his anger, and drew him lovingly
towards his little friend. Rache opened her
eyes even wider than usual. When she had
seen Carrie coming up, she thought her doom
sealed and her whipping sure. This free for-
giveness she did not understand. It so thor-
oughly confused her, that she blubbered out,
"There warn't no gold there, nor silver, nor no
such things as massa said. I never found
nothing ; I never took nothing ; there warn't
nothing' but dirt there."
Carrie could not help laughing as she under-
stood at once what had prompted Rache to her
thorough exploration of the miniature South



America. The ignorant creature had heard her
master talking at the table of the Andes, and
thought the treasures of gold of which he had
spoken were hidden under the heaps of earth
that Carrie had been so carefully raising. Half
from curiosity, and half from the desire to pil-
fer, which seemed her second nature, Rache had
plied hoe and spade to find the buried treasure.
"These are only play Andes, not the real
big, big mountains,," said Carrie, condescending
to explain.
Mr. Grant's hand was still holding tightly on
to Rache's arm, but he now relaxed his hold,
and said sternly, Go in to your mistress; and
if you are found in any such mischief again,
you will not get off so easily. You are to
thank Miss Carrie that you miss a whipping
this time !"
T'ank 'ee, Miss Carr !" said Rache, dropping
an odd little courtesy, while there was a lively
blink in the corner of her eye that looked like
anything but penitence.
"I am going to begin all over again," said
Carrie cheerily, and I shall fix my sea-shore
first. The grass is for the ocean; it waves,



you know, in the wind. All round the coast I
am going to scatter this sand with the pebbles
in it; and those little flat stones are for the
stony plains of Patagonia. I picked them up
in the play-ground at recess to-day. Oh, it
will be splendid!"
Carrie went vigorously to work. Mr. Grant
looked on for a moment in silence, and then he
said quickly, "What made you change your
mind so suddenly, when you went away with
those big tears in your eyes ?"
Carrie looked full into the inquirer's face, as
she said frankly,-
I cried hard under the pear tree; and then
I happened to think that it was wrong to take
little trials so-that I ought to bear them
patiently, and be very thankful that I had no
worse sent to me. I am very, very sorry I was
so angry. I was coming to tell you so when I
found you here with Rache."
"Who taught you so well about bearing
troubles ?" asked Mr. Grant.
"Mother teaches me everything good," said
Carrie. She says our little troubles are steps
to a great ladder that leads us up to heaven;



that is, if we take them patiently, because our
dear Saviour sends them to us, and every one
we bear as we ought takes us up higher and
nearer to Christ."
"And what about the great troubles?" asked
Mr. Grant thoughtfully.
"Mother says they are long steps on the
ladder, where the bars are far apart, and hard
to climb. When we come to those, she says
we must trust Christ to help us, and it will
be just as if he had put his hands under our
arms and lifted us up, and we shall find after-
wards that our great trouble has brought us
ever so much nearer heaven. She told me that,
when I felt so badly when grandma died; and
I tried her way, and I know what she said was
As Carrie paused, she looked very earnestly
at Mr. Grant.
"I'll come by-and-by and help you about
your rivers," said Mr. Grant, turning away, and
wandering off to another part of the garden.
Mr. Grant wanted a few moments of quiet
thought. Light-hearted as he seemed, he
deeply felt his present position. Without



means and with no career open before him, the
world seemed very dark to him. He had no
home for the young wife he so dearly loved,
and even her presence at times was painful to
him, it so reminded him of his inability to pro-
vide for her as he desired. Through the influ-
ence of a friend he had obtained the clerkship
at Washington from which he was now re-
moved. That friend no longer had the power
to serve him; and but for Mr. Eaton's timely
invitation, he would not have known where to
find a home, without the painful consciousness
of forming debts he might never pay. Mr.
Grant had come to one of the "great troubles"
of which Carrie had spoken, but it had never
struck him that it was to be borne in the way
she described.
From afar in the past rose to his mind the
teachings of his own mother, her prayers at his
bedside, her words of blessing as her thin hands
were laid upon his head. A chord had been
touched in the stranger's heart; would it bring
forth heavenly music ? Across the garden he
could see the busy little girl repairing the mis-
chief that had been wrought. Why should not



he so labour to repair his broken fortunes ?
Why should he yield to the despair that was
threatening him, even in the midst of his light-
ness and seeming mirth ?
Such and more serious questioning thronged
the mind of Mr. Grant, as he paced up and
down the long path in the centre of the garden.
Often had a dear old lady walked there to
and fro among her flowers. Sweet had been
her meditations, precious her communion with
the unseen Saviour by her side. Many had
been her prayers for the pilgrims of earth who
should tread those pathways when she should
be at rest. Had that young stranger come
hither to share the blessing that lingers about
the dwelling-place of every aged saint?


F Carrie Eaton had had her way, she
would have lived in a land of per-
petual drought. The day never
seemed to come on which she was
glad to see the rain, and the patter-
ing of drops on the windows was too often fol-
lowed by a disagreeable murmuring and a flow
of salt tears from our little friend. Ah, if the
grumblers were listened to, the poor fields and
flowers would fare but ill, and decay and deso-
lation would take the place of greenness and
beauty. We may well lift up our hearts in
thankfulness that the clouds drop their bless-
ings in spite of the disappointments of pleasure-
lovers, and the complaining of those who
would have perpetual sunshine.


Something like this Mrs. Eaton was saying
to Carrie on the second morning after the
arrival of the much-talked-of guests. Carrie
had a thousand reasons, she said, why she did
not want it to rain; but on close questioning,
the ciphers dropped off very rapidly, and the
one came near standing all alone. However,
Carrie managed to muster several reasons which
really were to her very strong. She did not
want to stay away from school, as her lost
lessons could never be made up. She hated
to be irregular, etc.; and then there was her
garden-the sea-shore just completed, and the
process of raising the mountains ready to be
begun anew in earnest. Yes, it was very hard
to bear a rainy day; particularly hard, Carrie
felt it, as Mr. Grant walked off to the study
with her father, and she was left for the morn-
ing with her mother and the young wife.
Carrie had somehow conceived a dislike to
Mrs. Grant, possibly because the little lady had
taken very little notice of her, and Carrie being
an only child, was accustomed to particular
kindness and consideration. Mrs. Grant seemed
indeed to be in a listless state, indifferent to



everybody and everything about her, always
excepting her husband, whose entrance was
sure to bring a bright smile to her face. She
missed the gaiety of the city; she missed the
boarding-house gossip, and the chat about dress,
to which she had been accustomed. She had
not realized that she had been leading an idle
life. Her time had been taken up with going
from room to room, or in shopping and visiting,
so that she had not thought of the possibility
of regular occupation.
In the quietness of Mrs. Eaton's home, Mrs.
Grant felt herself out of place. While her kind
hostess sat beside her with her busy needle in
her fingers, and her pleasant face turned now
and then kindly toward her, Mrs. Grant did not
feel quite at ease with her helpless little hands
lying crossed upon the embroidered skirt ap-
pearing between the folds of her open wrapper.
When Carrie began to murmur about the
weather, Mrs. Grant's sympathies were with
her. The weary guest fancied that the languor
and discomfort she experienced were attribut-
able to the rain, quite forgetting that she had
suffered from precisely the same feelings the



day before. She listened, as Mrs. Eaton kindly
talked to Carrie, and was much surprised when
the little girl frankly said, "I am sorry I
fretted about the rain, mother; I see it was
not right. I mean to be as cheerful as I can
all day, so you must keep me busy to help me
to hold to my resolution."
Carrie put her little chair beside her mother,
and soon her fingers were moving to and fro
in a way that proved that she was no stranger
to the needle, though their acquaintance had
not ripened into friendship. Mrs. Eaton tried
to draw Mrs. Grant into some pleasant conver-
sation, but something seemed to be disturbing
the stranger's mind. At length she said, "I
have not any work with me; I am not much
used to sewing."
There was a wistful, unsettled look about
the speaker. Carrie knew very well the
miseries of idleness, and she ventured to say,
"Maybe Mrs. Grant would read aloud to us.
-Would you, Mrs. Grant? My teacher lent
me a book yesterday, which she said she
was sure mamma would like. Shall I get
it ? "



"Yes; I shouldn't mind reading out," said
Mrs. Grant, with a look of relief.
Carrie sprang away upstairs. She was sure
there was a rustling in her little room the
moment before she opened the door, yet there
was no one in it-at least Carrie saw no one.
Rache had slipped under the bed in a hurry,
not a vestige of her skirt was in sight, and her
black eyes peering through the fringe of the
bed-cover, only saw Carrie come in in a hurry,
and go away with a little red book in her hand.
The story opened in a sprightly and attrac-
tive manner, and Mrs. Grant was an agreeable
reader, so that the party in the breakfast-room
soon wore a very cheerful and easy look as
they were gathered in a group near the long
Mrs. Grant was accustomed to novel-reading,
and had her own views about certain matchless
heroes and persecuted heroines, but to such
simple stories as she held in her hand she was
almost a stranger. There was something in
the nature and truth of the descriptions that
charmed her, and made her feel at once at
home among the characters portrayed. The



pure, the true, and the holy were so inwrought
with the whole narrative, that there was no
escaping the pious teaching in every page.
Mrs. Grant was interested and moved, she
could hardly tell why. The sermons to which
she had lately listened had been prepared for
men-deep-thinking men-and little Mrs.
Grant, in her butterfly garments, had been glad
to shrink into a corner of the pew for a quiet
doze, while the clergyman set forth arguments
and processes of reasoning quite above her com-
prehension. Now she found her conscience
aroused, and plain, simple lessons of duty forced
upon her.
Mrs. Grant had but the mind and feelings
of a child, and now she had found a kind of
reading that spoke to her very heart.
Carrie," said Mrs. Eaton, after a half-hour
of the reading-" Carrie, I have something for
you to do upstairs; so we shall have to leave
Mrs. Grant to herself for a little while if she
will excuse us."
I shall not be lonely if you won't mind my
reading on," said the lady, with an approving
look at the little book.



Carrie had felt inclined the moment before
to rebel against this interruption of their
pleasant occupation, but all such thoughts gave
way to a sudden gush of pleasure. While she
was folding up her work, she was silently
asking her heavenly Father to send his Spirit
to the young wife to teach her holy things
while her eyes were in the book in which she
seemed so much interested. "If it had not
rained we should not have had the reading,
and then, who knows how much good might
have never been done ?" So thought Carrie,
and she was more than ever ashamed of the
discontent to which she had yielded at the
sight of the -t,:rinil
The work v'. li I yi. El t..i had in store for
Carrie was ni'tl. i:- than a thorough
looking over ,' rl-e s ? t, followed by
such mending lI- tli- 'vai,:,l articles might
require. The mother encouraged her little
daughter by telling her that she was going to
be at the same business; and soon they would
be dropping their contributions into the great
mending-basket that was placed between the
doors to the two chambers.



Carrie was in no mood for murmuring. She
closed the door to her small, quiet room, turned
the key very gently, and then knelt down to
ask God to help her to take more pleasantly
the little trials and annoyances of every hour,
and to realize that every such effort is accept-
able to the meek and loving Saviour.
Carrie had hardly done her prayer when
she was conscious of a deep, unnatural breath-
ing near her. She was startled for the moment,
as there seemed no one in the room. Lifting
up the bedcover, she saw Rache crouched down,
and with her hands clasped over her mouth to
insure perfect silence. Her lungs would have
their use, and the long gasps were the louder
for the effort it was necessary for her to make
to restrain them.
What are you doing here, Rache ?" said
Carrie quickly.
There was something very painful to Carrie
in the idea of being watched in such a moment
of retirement.
Rache gave a low giggle, but did not offer
to leave her hiding-place.
"I want you to go out of my room" said
(656) 5



Carrie, with all the dignity she could com-
Rache still remained motionless, only answer-
ing by a grin.
"I'll tell Mrs. Grant," said Carrie, moving
quickly towards the door, and unlocking it.
At that moment she remembered how she had
left Mrs. Grant occupied. Should she interrupt
her ? Should she procure for Rache the
whipping with which her master had threatened
her ?
Carrie stood with her hand irresolutely on
the lock. Rache, meanwhile, managed to thrust
under the bedding the handful of things which
she had covered with her dress. Ribbons, pins,
dolls, clothing, and a cake of soap were promis-
cuously huddled together between the mattress
and the bedstead, and then Rache was ready to
leave her retreat.
I'se goin', Miss Carr-I'se jes' a gittin' up,"
said Rache, standing on her feet in the little
room. "I an't done nothing but jes' lie down
under Miss Carr's bed."
You go now, Rache, like a good girl, and
I won't tell Mrs. Grant," said Carrie, in what



she meant to have been a very condescending
"T'ank 'ee, Miss Carr," said Rache, with one
of her queer bobbing courtesies, and a mys-
terious twinkle of her round eyes.
Carrie soon had good reason to suspect that
Rache had explored other parts of the room
than the hiding-place where she was found.
There was not a bag or a box in Carrie's
drawers that had not been thoroughly rum-
maged; and as to her favourite doll, Miss
Fanny, she seemed just recovering from an
attack of malignant small-pox. Waxen face,
neck, and arms were all scarred over, where
some mischievous nails had nipped out little
morsels with industrious zeal. Never was a
fine complexion more suddenly ruined. Miss
Fanny's hair, too, had been under an unskilful
barber, and her stiff, glossy curls were trans-
formed into a frizzed mass, much in the style
of Rache's own wool. Yes,-there, in the
midst of the general confusion, Rache had
attempted a braid, in close imitation of her own.
Carrie did not know whether to laugh or to
cry, her misfortune had come in so ridiculous a



form. Mother mother do look at Fanny!"
she exclaimed, as she burst into her mother's
room. "See what Rache must have done to
her Indeed, it is too bad I wish she would
go home to-morrow. She has ransacked all
my things, turned everything upside down;
and then when I found her under my bed, she
said she had not done anything at all, 'but jes'
lie under Miss Carr's bed.' "
Carrie had no little brothers or sisters to
meddle with her possessions, and it was quite a
new thing to her to have her rights so invaded.
Not that she was the most particular person in
the world; but she liked to do her own rum-
maging, and wear out her own playthings in a
lawful way.
Her mother did not laugh at Carrie's annoy-
ance, though Miss Fanny was droll to look upon.
Very kindly Mrs. Eaton soothed her little
daughter until she thought she was quite com-
posed; but Carrie suddenly broke out: "If I
were sure this was all; but how can I tell what
I shall have to bear from her ? O dear, how
pleasant and quiet it used to be when only you
and father and I were here "



Carrie," said her mother gently, "I know
you respect and admire the courage of the good
missionaries who have left their own homes to
go into far away foreign countries to teach the
poor heathen about the Lord Jesus Christ. You
have thought it wonderful that they should be
willing to risk the terrible fevers of hot climates
and the long dark winters of the cold ones.
You have pitied them in the midst of reptiles
or wild beasts, or suffering for the want of the
very necessaries of life. I wonder if you ever
thought of what it must be to live among a
people who have no idea of right and wrong, to
whom it seems far more natural to lie and steal
than to be honest and truthful. Ah, my dear
child, many missionaries have been robbed of
every loose article of clothing, every pencil,
book, or paper, by the ignorant people they
have gone to teach. Yet they have borne all,
hoping by love and patience to bring these poor
creatures to a knowledge of the true God.
Now, darling, I believe you love our Lord Jesus,
and want to do something for him. Suppose
you consider that Rache is a little heathen, one
of those for whom you have so often prayed.



You have been very willing to give your pennies
to send Bibles to the heathen far away. Let
me see if you can give patience to this little
heathen who has come among us. It is very
plain that no one has ever taught her to love
and fear God, and try to do his will. Perhaps
it is to learn this blessed lesson that she has
been sent to us. Perhaps the Lord Jesus has
given you this poor lost lamb to lead into his
fold. Will you try ?"
"I don't know how, mother, she is so queer;
she is not like anybody I ever saw before,"
said Carrie despondingly.
You can at least pray for her, and try to
be kind and gentle to her, and perhaps the way
may be opened for you to do her good. Try
to look upon her as a little heathen child, to
whom you are willing to be a young missionary.
You can at least speak her language. She can
understand you when you talk to her, and she
can be influenced by a faithful example. 'Go
ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to
every creature,' was our Lord's last command.
You cannot go into foreign countries as the
apostles did, and as the missionaries do now;



but will you not try to do what you can for
this little ignorant child who is here under our
roof ? You are not called to face dangers and
leave your home and friends, but if you give
your 'mite' cheerfully, and do your duty faith-
fully, you will not lose your reward."
I will try, mother," said Carrie earnestly;
" but indeed, mother, I think I should be as
poor a missionary as a martyr."
Remember, darling, you are not to be judged
for being unfit for duties not laid upon you.
Bear the trials that are sent to you, do the
duties put in your way, and He who gives the
martyr his crown will have his great, his ex-
ceeding great reward for you."
Carrie went silently to her own room. Rache
was not bodily there, but she was present to
Carrie's mind, and as she knelt to pray, it was
for Rache, the little heathen, that her prayers
ascended; it was for strength to lead this lost
child aright that her earnest petitions were



Zile Acr.obs.

HREE weeks had passed swiftly away
since the arrival of Mr. and Mrs.
Grant at Carrie's home. The young
wife was beginning to find the plea-
sure of industry, though she had yet
to acquire a taste for being useful. She was
making her first attempt at embroidery, and
already a dismal-looking grayish-white dog ap-
peared on her canvas, with his two black eyes
painfully squinting at the world opening before
him. Mrs. Eaton kindly gave her interest to
the new undertaking, and was ready to notice
the progress of the work, and give what praise
she could to the execution, as often as she was
called upon for such friendly favours.
Mr. Grant, meanwhile, was spending much


of his time with his kind host; but Carrie was
astonished to find her father having so much
time at his command, and ever ready to ride or
walk with the son of his old friend. She did
not know how far into the night that father
had to be bending over his books and papers to
make up for the hours given to his guest. Mr.
Eaton had undertaken a good work, and he
was determined to carry it through.
Carrie's interest in Mr. Grant increased every
day. She had many kind offices for which to
thank the stranger, and not the least of these
was his effective assistance to her in carrying
out her darling project.
The Andes now rose up snow-crowned-that
is, tipped with white marble dust-and the
volcanoes, though generally quiet, occasionally
poured out alarming quantities of smoke from
the tin boxes ingeniously concealed within
them, and the fumes of burning cloth were per-
ceptible far beyond Cape Horn. The pepper-
grass, mignonette, and balsams that were to re-
present the dense forests of Brazil were coming
up so thick that the sun had scarcely a chance
to peep at the brown earth on the spot where


they had been so lavishly sown. The water-
works were completed,-that having been Mr.
Grant's special department, though he made
himself generally useful in all. But one thing
was needed: the winding leaden troughs, which
served as beds for the rivers, were to be lined
with moss, and then Amazon, Orinoco, and La
Plata were to pour their torrents along to re-
present the rivers of South America, without
even a furrow marking the course of the lesser
A Saturday afternoon had been chosen for
Carrie's trip to the woods to get the requisite
quantity of moss. Mr. Grant was to be her
companion, and very happy she looked as he
held her by the hand and playfully shouldered
her basket as he gave the order, "Forward,
They soon found there was an addition to
their company-a recruit who had not had the
captain's permission to join them. This was
no other than Rache, who seemed to have a
mysterious delight in always keeping Carrie in
sight and watching all her movements. If
Carrie sat down with her Bible under the old




pear tree, Rache was sure to be peeping at her
from among the currant bushes. If the little
girl shut herself in her own room, and firmly
locked her door, Rache's eye was at the key-
hole vigilantly inspecting the proceedings going
on within.
Poor Carrie was often tempted to exclaim,
What must be the trials of the missionaries if
one domestic heathen is such a pest! Thus far
her efforts for Rache's benefit had been most
unsuccessful. If Carrie tried to read or talk
to her, she was met either by her unmeaning
giggle, or by such odd answers as set the young
teacher laughing in the midst of her grave dis-
Carrie was particularly disappointed at see-
ing Rache add herself to the moss-gathering
party, as she had lately had several pleasant
talks with Mr. Grant about heavenly things,
and she feared the presence of such a com-
panion would irritate the not over-patient
master and make such conversation impossible.
Carrie, however, conquered her annoyance, and
inwardly asked her heavenly Friend to help
her to remember that her Saviour was walking


with her by the way, and to make the after-
noon profitable to the little heathen as well as
to her master. Bobbing backwards and for-
wards went Rache; now in front and now in
the rear of Mr. Grant and Carrie. At one
moment she came up with her hands full
of most unattractive specimens of moss; at
another, she was climbing a young tree and
swinging from its topmost branch like a
"Here is a pleasant place, Carrie; you had
better sit down and rest a while," said Mr.
Grant, pointing out a great rock at the foot of
some tall trees. Carrie took her seat, and both
were soon occupied in exploring the treasures
of the basket; while Rache perched herself on
a limb above their heads, and amused herself
with using her sharp teeth to strip the bark
from a branch near her.
"If I were a queen," said Carrie, "I'd have
a bower with everything beautiful in it that
could be found. The carpet should all be of
this rich, green moss, and the curtains of wild
vines that blossomed all the year; roses should
look in at the windows, and lilies of the valley




should hide in every dark corner. Oh how
beautiful I would have it!"
I am afraid even a queen would have to let
the mosquitoes in at the windows, and risk the
hiding of a snake in the thick moss," said Mr.
Grant with a mischievous smile.
Carrie looked up very soberly, as she an-
swered: "I suppose in this world there can't
be any perfect place, either in a bower or a
palace. But, Mr. Grant, it will be beautiful in
heaven, when we walk the golden streets and
hear the sound of the river of the water of life.
What lovely things we shall see up there!" and
Carrie pointed toward the clear blue sky.
"I suppose it is not much to you that there
will be no sorrow there ?" said Mr. Grant,
taking the grave tone of his little com-
Oh yes; no sorrow and no sickness, no
night, no sin, no death, no parting. That is
what grandmother used to say, and now she
has gone to the beautiful land!" Carrie looked
up into the far-off sky, and was silent a few
"It must be first-rate there," said Rache,



making her comments from her perch above.
"Where did you say, Miss Carr ?"
"Up there, in God's home," said Carrie
"And your ladder of self-denial leads that
way ?" said Mr. Grant.
"So mother says. But she says if we were
to reach the very gate of heaven we could not
enter in if our Saviour had not opened it for
us. She says the best ladder will all crumble
away and seem worth nothing to us then, for
we shall know that only for Christ's sake we
enter in."
"Ah, Miss Carrie, you little realize what it
is to have such a mother," said Mr. Grant
The conversation now wandered off to other
matters, and Carrie was in the midst of de-
scribing the party her grandmother had had on
her eightieth birthday, when there came a loud
scream from the top of the tree.
'I can't get up there It's just as far off as
it was Dear, deary-di-dumpkin deary me "
Mr. Grant and Carrie looked up and saw
Rache at the top of the tall tree over their



heads. Up the slender branches she had made
her way, meaning to climb to the heaven of
which Carrie had spoken; and now, in her dis-
appointment, the sky that had seemed to rest
on those feathery topmost branches was grandly
reaching far above her.
Rache's disappointment changed to paralyz-
ing fear as she turned her glance from the soft
white clouds to the ground below. If she was
not nearer heaven she was far indeed from
earth. The scream she sent forth rang through
the woods and startled every living thing.
"O Mass Grant! 0 mass!"
Come down very carefully, Rache. Keep
looking up, and come down backwards," shouted
Mr. Grant. The branches will bear you.
Come down quietly, like a good girl."
Like a lifeless creature Rache crouched
motionless among the nodding branches; no
persuasion or threats could induce her to
"I must go up for her," said Mr. Grant,
throwing aside his coat. I am afraid she will
get dizzy and fall."
Mr. Grant, you can't! The limbs won't



bear you. Please don't try. Let us see if
something else cannot be done," urged Carrie.
"I dare not wait another minute," said Mr.
Grant; and he was soon far up the tree, while
Carrie watched him with tears in her eyes and
prayer in her heart.
The upper limbs bent beneath his weight as
he rested but for an instant on each, passing
swiftly on like a skilful skater gliding over the
thin ice. Rache's hand was in his at last, and
slowly he began the descent. The slender
boughs, which had borne his hasty tread, bent
and cracked beneath his firmer and more
cautious movements. But half the difficult
descent was made when Mr. Grant placed his
foot on a dead branch. There was a sudden
crash. He dropped Rache's hand and caught
at a slender bough near him. It broke beneath
his grasp, and he fell headlong from the
Carrie held her breath, fearing that he would
strike the rock upon which she sat.
On the mossy ground he dropped heavily.
No groan came from his white lips, no gesture
of pain stirred his limbs. Like one dead he



lay in silence, while Carrie bent over him in an
agony of distress.
Rache forgot her fear when she saw what
had happened to her master, and coming down
the tree as swiftly as a wild-cat, she reached
his side. With a terrible wail she began to
bemoan his misfortune, but no idea of help
seemed to enter her bewildered head.
Carrie at once thought of going to the near-
est farm-house, but she could not bear to leave
her friend in such a condition, alone with
At this moment she heard the welcome
sound of wheels on the road close by. The
strong-handed carter found it no difficult under-
taking to lay the slender youth in his empty
waggon, and then helping Carrie and Rache to
a place at his side, he drove carefully toward
Mr. Eaton's.
When the poor little wife saw the senseless
form of her husband her shrieks were terrible.
She wrung her small hands and bemoaned her-
self in an agony of terror, and when he was
laid upon the bed in her own room, she flitted
around him, the very image of distress. Yet
(656) 6



even in the midst of sorrow she did not forget
to loose her long dark hair, that it might float
around her in the confusion that became the
What a strange thing is human vanity!


RAIN fever was the consequence of Mr.
Grant's terrible fall. Though his little
wife perched beside him on the bed
for hours together, he but turned his
eyes languidly towards her. Though
she had tried to wash away the traces of her
tears, and to dress in a style which pleased him
best, he had no looks of admiration for her now.
She even doubted if he knew her face, on which
he had looked so fondly.
This was a dreary time for Carrie. The
house was hushed to perfect stillness, not a skip
or a song was to be tolerated, and in truth
Carrie had no heart for any such signs of
cheerfulness. The solemn thought was ever in
her mind that Mr. Grant might soon be in the

unseen world, might soon be called to his last
account. How she wished that she could re-
member words of his that would make her sure
that when his eyes closed on this world they
would open on the brightness of eternal glory i
How different had been her feelings when her
dear grandmother had lain in that same room,
peacefully awaiting the summons that should
bid her see her Saviour face to face!
Carrie could but hide her tearful eyes as she
knelt to pray for the sick man in the secrecy
of her own quiet chamber.
There was another name that daily mingled
in Carrie's prayers, even that of little Rache.
The poor creature seemed perfectly stunned by
the illness of her master. Mrs. Grant gave her
up at last as utterly unmanageable, and left
her to have her own way.
Beside the door of the sick-room Rache
crouched day and night, whether sleeping or
waking no one could tell. She seemed more
like a faithful dog under like circumstances
than a human being. She would not leave her
post even to take her meals, and often the plate
heaped with food which Carrie placed beside



her was left untouched for hours. The family
became accustomed to the dark object cowering
in the hall, and so day by day Rache watched
and waited for some word of good cheer. Her
cheeks were growing wan and wasted, and her
great eyes stared out from the depths into which
they were sinking. She was evidently pining
away, yet even the severest threats could not
drive her from the spot she had chosen.
Carrie had gone to bed one night weary with
the running to and fro on the stairs, which had
been her part of the nursing. Was it fatigue
that made her sleep so restless ? No; there
was certainly some one now laying hold of her
hand, now touching her forehead, as if wishing
to rouse her, and yet not daring to speak to her.
Carrie's eyes opened at last, and she started
with a feeling of terror as she saw in the moon-
light a figure sitting on the foot of her bed,
and evidently drawing back the hand that had
just been laid upon her brow. Carrie rose up
and rubbed her eyes. Her first impulse was to
call her mother, but the remembrance of the
pale weary face of that mother when she had
bidden her good-night" deterred her. A long



earnest look at the figure assured her that it
was poor Rache.
Rache !" said Carrie in a low voice.
Rache's only answer was the screwing of her
fist into her cheek, and a low moan of misery.
Is anything the matter ?" said Carrie, now
thoroughly awake.
Again the fist gave a significant punch, and
there was another moan.
Have you got the toothache, Rache ?" said
Carrie persuasively.
Rache bowed her head, and moaned louder
than before.
Carrie was up in an instant; that was a pain
she knew something about, and the sufferer
from its torture always claimed her deepest
sympathy. She quickly produced a box of
powdered alum and salt which her mother had
provided for night attacks of the enemy. Show-
ing Rache how to apply it on a bit of cotton,
she watched the operation with the air of an
experienced physician.
Does it feel better ?" said Carrie, bending
over poor Rache, who had dropped upon the
floor. Carrie had longed to do the little



heathen good. She had prayed for her; but
never till now had she spoken to her in the
loving tones of affectionate interest.
Rache felt the difference, and turning her
eyes slowly up towards the little figure in white
she said, "Miss Carr, it's done a thrustin' me
now, Miss Carr. Rache thought she didn't
care what took her, but that was most. awful
bad. I'se all miserable all over, in here, in
here, when I thinks about Mass Grant. O
Miss Carr!"
Rache pressed her hand to her side, and
great tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke.
"Dear Rache, don't cry so!" said Carrie
tenderly. "Maybe Mr. Grant will get well;
and if he don't, you know there is a beautiful
place, God's heaven, where He takes those who
love Him, when they die, and makes them very,
very happy. Nobody ever cries there, and
nobody has any pain as you had just now.
The dear good Saviour lives there; and though
he is grander than any king in this world, he
takes even the poor and the little children by
the hand, and leads them along the golden
streets and by the banks of the clear river."




"Will Mass Grant go there?" said Rache
"I cannot be very sure," said Carrie truth-
fully; "but you kneel down as I do, and we
will ask the Saviour, if he takes away Mr.
Grant out of this world, to let him come and
live in his beautiful home. The Saviour can
hear us, though we cannot see him."
Rache did as she was told, and her poor
heart found its first comfort as Carrie prayed
that God would spare Mr. Grant's life, or
else help him so to turn to Christ that he
might enter the bright kingdom above, and be
happy among the angels there.
T'ank 'ee, Miss Carr said Rache, as they
rose from their knees. "I kinder feels set up
now." A sudden shadow overspread her dark
face, as she added, But Rache, Miss Carr-he
"won't leave poor Rache behind. He always
took me every place, ever since Miss Lizzie was
married. He won't leave Rache when he goes,
will he ?"
"Everybody goes alone to heaven," said
Carrie, wiping away the tears that gathered in
her eyes; "but, Rache dear, the Lord Jesus


will take care of him. And you can speak to
that same Lord Jesus; and if you try to be a
very good girl, and not lie, or steal, or do any
naughty thing, when you die you will go to the
happy heaven too, and sing among the beauti-
ful angels."
"Maybe they wouldn't let Rache in ? maybe
only white folks would be there," said Rache
The Lord Jesus loves white and black, poor
and rich, just the same," said Carrie earnestly;
"and if you will try to be good, as he wants
you to be, he will take you to his home."
Rache listened eagerly; a cough interrupted
the earnest young speaker.
0 Miss Carr !" broke in Rache, now you
be taking cold, and you'll go leave Rache, and
nobody will tell her how to get up there. If I
could only climb it, I could know that way.
Now you, Miss Carr, just slip in your warm
bed, and I'll tuck you up close, and then jes'
sit down there by the door and say over them
words you said on your knees. Maybe I won't
get 'em jes' right; will hie mind if I don't say it
jes' so as you did ?"




The Lord Jesus knows what you want; he
will not mind any mistakes you make. You
may speak to him as you would speak to me;
only he loves you ever so much better than I
do, and is, oh, ever so much kinder and wiser."
When Rache had performed her friendly
office and slipped away to her post in the entry,
with double earnestness Carrie's prayers went
up for the poor ignorant creature who was in
her trouble seeking help from on high.


morningg Xight.

ITTLE Mrs. Grant was not of much use
in the sick-room; and she knew it,
and yet she could not be persuaded
to leave her husband wholly to the
care of others. On the couch near
him she lay down, starting up at the least
sound, and watching when his medicines were
administered, as if the glance of her tearful
eyes could give a healing power to the various
doses she could not trust her unsteady hand to
At dawn Mr. Grant had fallen into a deep
sleep, and Mr. Eaton, who was watching beside
him, leaned back in his chair with a wearied,
grateful look in his pale, worn face.
In the stillness Mrs. Grant heard a low mur-


during in the entry without. Silently she
stole to the spot where Rache was crouching.
" Was that you, Rache? said the young mis-
tress, with unusual kindness in her manner.
The creature's abject grief had touched her
heart; a common sorrow had made a new bond
between them.
Rache looked up into the face of her mis-
tress. There was a cheerful light in the great
dark eyes, as she answered,-
"It was jes' me, Miss Lizzie."
"Why don't you go to sleep, poor thing ?
There, throw your carpet over you, and lie
down. You'll be sick, you foolish child."
Rache could feel kindness, and something
choked her as she said, "I an't sleepy, nohow.
You see, Miss Lizzie, I'se jes' askin' de Lord to
make Mass Grant well, and not let him go to
that shinin' place up there till you and me,
Miss Lizzie, gets good enough to go along with
him. Miss Carr said I might ask it jes' my
way, and I'se asked so many times. See, I'se
marked it with dese beans I'se had in my
There was a row of the white beans across



the entry, proofs of poor Rache's perseverance
through the weary hours of the night.
"I'll ask him too, Rache," said the young
wife, her heart swelling in her bosom.
Silently Mrs. Grant moved downstairs to the
quiet parlour. In the darkness of the closed
room she knelt, where no eye could see, save
that Eye which "never slumbers nor sleeps."
Earnestly she repeated Rache's poor prayer,
that the three might be spared to prepare to-
gether to enter that kingdom which had been
so little in all their thoughts.
That was an hour of deep repentance for
Mrs. Grant. What had she done to help her
husband to prepare for the death that might be
soon his sure portion ? Was she herself ready
for such an awful change ? What word or act
of hers had ever led poor Rache to think of
the Saviour of sinners ?
Mrs. Grant's idle, wasted, butterfly life passed
before her like a swift dream. In shame and
sorrow she confessed her utter unworthiness,
and begged the loving Saviour to receive her
as a poor, guilty child, and enable her so to
live that she might be a help to her husband



and to Rache, if indeed that dear husband
should be spared to her.
Mrs. Grant," said a voice in the hall. The
wife sprang to the door in alarm.
"God be praised!" said the earnest voice of
Mr. Eaton. Dear Mrs. Grant, your husband is
better. He has opened his eyes, and they have
their own natural expression. All that wan-
dering, dreamy look is gone."
"I do not deserve it," murmured Mrs. Grant
amid tears of joy.
"May God send his blessing on you both,
and help you so to live to his service that
death shall have for you no more terrors!"
said Mr. Eaton fervently.


ii.inb in lianb.

HE soft summer air had clothed the
old-fashioned garden in wonderful
S beauty. Sweet perfume lingered on
S the gentle breeze, and bright flowers
"were springing everywhere in lavish
luxuriance. The stanch old pear tree had
hung out its fruit to the sun, and the currant
bushes still hoarded a few clusters of gems.
The grass in the favoured circle was smooth
as the rich carpet of the drawing-room, and yet
Carrie seemed to think it not a fit resting-place
for a pair of feet for which she was tenderly
caring. They must have that gay brioche of
her own knitting, and it must be her hand that
placed it just where it would be best for the
invalid's use.


Mr. Grant smiled as she made her arrange-
ments for his comfort, and playfully said, You
will spoil me, Carrie-quite make a woman of
me. I shall have to be at rough work soon,
and forget that I have been ill."
"We can't forget it, you look so pale and
thin. I don't see how you can be so cheerful
and patient," said Carrie warmly.
"I am glad if I even seem patient," was the
serious reply. "I have a great deal to learn
in that way yet. Indeed I have a great deal
to learn every way. I want to begin life all
over again. I wish I were a child like you,
Carrie, with no wrong past to remember, and
no bad habits to overcome."
0 Mr. Grant, I have a great deal to be
sorry for, and ever so many bad habits; but
mother says that is no reason for me to be dis-
couraged. She says my part is to try faith-
fully to do right, and to believe that all my
sins are forgiven, for Jesus' sake."
"And I suppose that must be my lesson, too.
I am trying to teach it to my heart; but I need
a better Teacher, even he who knoweth all my
sins, and is yet ready to wash them away."



Mr. Grant spoke very earnestly, and Carrie's
eyes softened as she listened. When he paused,
she exclaimed, "Dear Mr. Grant, I love to hear
you say so. I was not quite sure you felt this
way before you were sick, and it worried
me not to be sure, as I was about grand-
You were too right, Carrie, in your fears.
I trust that God has blessed this illness to me,
and helped me to resolve to lead a new life,"
was the reply.
This great trouble has helped you to take
a great step toward heaven. You know what
mother said about the ladder," said Carrie
"Yes; and I remember that Christ must
sustain us, or our troubles are worse than lost;
and I mean too, Carrie, to keep in mind that
the Christian who would climb to heaven must
bear cheerfully every little trial, as sent him by
the Lord for a stepping-stone to lift him higher
and nearer to himself."
Carrie's face was perfectly beaming as she
listened to these words, evidently spoken from
the depth of the heart.
(656) 7



"Are you here, William ?" said a voice from
behind the old tree.
"Lizzie !" exclaimed the husband with plea-
sure. "Are you coming to enjoy the shade of
the old pear tree ? "
Mrs. Grant had fancied that she had an
aversion to everything rural, but it was plain
that her taste was changing with regard to that
matter, as it was in many other ways.
She sat down beside her husband and gazed
earnestly into his face. "You do not look
quite like yourself yet," was her sorrowful
comment, after a long survey.
"And yet I feel like myself, and full of new
hopes and new plans," was the cheerful answer.
Carrie stole away to enjoy in solitude the
sweet assurance that she had gathered from
Mr. Grant's last words to her. The young
wife did not particularly regret her absence, as
she had something special to say to her hus-
"I am glad to have you alone," she began,
"for I want to tell you how sorry I am that I
have not been a better wife to you. I never
helped you to do anything that was right, and