of servants, and her faith, hope, and love began to grow dim.
A dull, heavy manner, and a careless, reckless state of mind was
growing upon her.

It required deeper sorrow than she had yet experienced to wake
her up from this sluggish, unhappy condition.


CHAPTER XIV.

CRUELTY.

SHE was standing one beautiful evening at the front gate of the house,
leaning on the rail, and gazing listlessly up the street.
She was thinking, perhaps, of that starry night when first she had
heard of the name of God, or that other, when her faith had been
so wonderfully built up in listening to the striking experiences
and prayer of the memorable Lony. Perhaps she had wandered
farther back to the time, when, under old Rosa's protection,
she had fed the chickens and watered the flowers at Rosevale
with childish content. Whatever it was, the tears would come,
and several times she raised her hand and dashed them away.
Then she turned her head and gazed the other way.

A large hotel stood nearly opposite the house, and across the narrow
street she watched the mingling, busy crowd of black and white,
young and old, coming and going, each intent on his own interests,
each holding in his heart the secret of his own history.
Who are they all? thought Tidy, what business are they all about?
I wonder if they are all happy? not one of them knows or cares for poor,