If you could have looked upon her, though, you wouldn't have supposed
she had any thing to be happy about. With a skin black as night,
hair gray and scanty, her face was as homely as homely could be,
and her limbs were weak and tottering. The old, unpainted house
she lived in shook and creaked with every blast of the wintry wind,
and the snow drifted in at every crack and crevice. Her furniture
was very poor, and her food mean. But it is not what we see outside
that makes people happy. Oh, no; happiness springs from the inside.
The fountain is in the heart, from which the streams of joy
and gladness flow.

With all her homeliness and poverty, old Dinah was a jewel in
the sight of the Lord. He had graven her upon the palm of his hand,
and written her name in the book of life; and she was treasured
as a precious child in his loving heart. The name of the Lord was
precious to her, also; they were bound together in a covenant of love.
Of course, she was happy.

Her heavenly Friend never forgot her. He sent many a one to bring
her work and money and fuel and clothes. She was never without
her bread and water,--you know the Lord has told his children
that their "BREAD and WATER shall be SURE,"--and almost always she
had a little tea and sugar in the cupboard. At Thanksgiving time,
many a good basket-full of pies and chickens found their way
to her humble door; and when she had received them, she would raise
her hands and eyes to heaven, and thank the Lord for his goodness,
and ask for a blessing upon the kind hearts that sent the gifts.
She did not always know who they were, but she was sure she should
see them and love them in heaven.