wanted some one whose wits were quickened by love. Mrs. Barton nursed
him admirably; he was kept very neat and nice, and his room always had a
clean tidy appearance; but it lacked the little tokens of love which
oft-times turn the sick chamber into a kind of paradise. No flowers, no
little contrivances for amusement, no delicate article of food to tempt
his sickly appetite. Poor Joe! Edith soon saw this, and yet it needs
experience in illness to adapt one's self to sick nursing. Besides she
was afraid, she did not like to offer books and flowers, and these
visits were quite dreaded by her.

"Will you not go and see Joe, Emilie?" asked Edith, one day of her
friend, as she was recounting the difficulties in her way. "You get at
people's hearts much better than ever I could do."

"My dear child," said Emilie, "did not Joe say that he begged you never
would bring the preaching German to see him? oh no, dear, I cannot
force my company on him. Besides you have not tried long enough,
kindness does not work miracles; try a little longer Edith, and be
patient with Joe as God is with us. How often we turn away from Him when
He offers to be reconciled to us. Think of that, dear."

"Fred is very patient and persevering; I often wonder, Miss Schomberg,
that John, who really did cause the accident, seems to think less about
Joe than Fred, who had not any thing to do with it."

"It is not at all astonishing, Edith. It requires that our actions
should be brought to the light of God's Word to see them in their true
condition. An impenitent murderer thinks less of his crime than a true
penitent, who has been moral all his life, thinks of his great sin of
ingratitude and ungodliness."