mother from saving the life of my father. She came near never forgiving
me."

"Ah, cruel!" cried Philip.

"I find much in life that is cruel, from our standpoints," said Elnora.
"It takes the large wisdom of the Unfathomable, the philosophy of the
Almighty, to endure some of it. But there is always right somewhere, and
at last it seems to come."

"Will it come to you?" asked Philip, who found himself deeply affected.

"It has come," said the girl serenely. "It came a week ago. It came in
fullest measure when my mother ceased to regret that I had been born.
Now, work that I love has come--that should constitute happiness. A
little farther along is my violet bed. I want you to see it."

As Philip Ammon followed he definitely settled upon the name of the
unusual feature of Elnora's face. It should be called "experience."
She had known bitter experiences early in life. Suffering had been
her familiar more than joy. He watched her earnestly, his heart deeply
moved. She led him into a swampy half-open space in the woods, stopped
and stepped aside. He uttered a cry of surprised delight.

A few decaying logs were scattered around, the grass grew in tufts long
and fine. Blue flags waved, clusters of cowslips nodded gold heads, but
the whole earth was purple with a thick blanket of violets nodding from
stems a foot in length. Elnora knelt and slipping her fingers between
the leaves and grasses to the roots, gathered a few violets and gave
them to Philip.