basket on her arm. She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for
she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and
every footstep stirred a cloud of dust. She came towards the spring; but
before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell.

"Have you hurt you?" exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side.

"Not a bit, not a bit," she replied, as she shook the dust from her
apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket.

"Oh, yes, you have!" said Annie; "see, the blood is streaming down your
arm!"

"Oh that's nothing; only a scratch. Blessings on the good Father that
watches over me! I might have broken my arm, and that would have been a
deal worse! How fortunate I happened to fall just by the spring here!
I've been longing for a drink of cold water, and I sha'n't need it any
the less for getting such a mouthful of this hot dust."

"Heart's dearest!" she exclaimed, as she put down the iron dipper that
always hung by the spring, after having satisfied her thirst, "what is
it troubles you? Such sorrowful eyes and a tearful face belong only to
older heads and more sinful hearts; and God forbid it even to them,
unless it is wrung out of the agony of their very souls; for though his
providences are just and wise, yet nature must have its way sometimes."

"Oh," she replied, as the tears filled her eyes again, "I have been
crying to think how wicked I am."

"Well-a-day!" said the old woman, looking rather droll; "it's very