"Why, yes--I've had my share."

"I don't mean to be personal," Ruth explained, "I was just
thinking."

"I understand," said the other, gently. Then, after a little, she
spoke again:

"We all have trouble, deary--it's part of life; but I believe
that we all share equally in the joy of the world. Allowing for
temperament, I mean. Sorrows that would crush some are lightly
borne by others, and some have the gift of finding great
happiness in little things.

"Then, too, we never have any more than we can bear--nothing that
has not been borne before, and bravely at that. There isn't a new
sorrow in the world--they're all old ones--but we can all find
new happiness if we look in the right way."

The voice had a full music, instinct with tenderness, and
gradually Ruth's troubled spirit was eased. "I don't know what's
the matter with me," she said, meditatively, "for I'm not morbid,
and I don't have the blues very often, but almost ever since I've
been at Aunt Jane's, I've been restless and disturbed. I know
there's no reason for it, but I can't help it."

"Don't you think that it's because you have nothing to do? You've
always been so busy, and you aren't used to idleness."

"Perhaps so. I miss my work, but at the same time, I haven't