rest till I give you a good whipping."

"Yes ma'm," said Annette very demurely.

"Oh, Annette!" said her grandmother with a sudden burst of feeling. "You
do give me so much trouble. You give me more worry than all my six
children put together; but there is always one scabby sheep in the flock
and you will be that one. Now get ready for school and don't let me hear
any more complaints about you; I am not going to let you worry me to
death."

Annette took up her bonnet and glided quietly out of the door, glad to
receive instead of the threatened whipping a liberal amount of talk, and
yet the words struck deeper than blows. Her own grandmother had
prophesied evil things of her. She was to be the scabby sheep of the
flock. The memory of the blows upon her body might have passed soon away
after the pain and irritation of the infliction were over, but that
inconsiderate prophecy struck deep into her heart and left its impress
upon her unfolding life. Without intending it, Mrs. Harcourt had struck
a blow at the child's self-respect; one of the things which she should
have strengthened, even if it was "ready to die." Annette had entered
life sadly handicapped. She was the deserted child of a selfish and
unprincipled man and a young mother whose giddiness and lack of
self-control had caused her to trail the robes of her womanhood in the
dust. With such an ante-natal history how much she needed judicious, but
tender, loving guidance. In that restless, sensitive and impulsive child
was the germ of a useful woman with a warm, loving heart, ready to
respond to human suffering, capable of being faithful in friendship and
devoted in love. Before that young life with its sad inheritance seemed
to lay a future of trial, and how much, humanly speaking, seemed to