Mrs. Brady looked at her granddaughter wonderingly. This was a view of
things she had never taken.

"Well," said she resignedly, "go your own gait. I don't know where you'll
come up at. All I say is, ef you're going through the world with such high
and mighty fine notions, you'll have a hard time. You can't pick out roses
and cream and a bed of down every day. You have to put up with life as you
find it."

Elizabeth went to her room, the room she shared with Lizzie. She wanted to
get away from her grandmother's disapproval. It lay on her heart like
lead. Was there no refuge in the world? If grandmothers were not refuges,
where should one flee? The old lady in Chicago had understood; why had not
Grandmother Brady?

Then came the sweet old words, "Let not your heart be troubled." "In the
time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion; in the secret of his
tabernacle shall he hide me." She knelt down by the bed and said "Our
Father." She was beginning to add some words of her own now. She had heard
them pray so in Christian Endeavor in the sentence prayers. She wished she
knew more about God, and His Book. She had had so little time to ask or
think about it. Life seemed all one rush for clothes and position.

At supper-time Lizzie came home much excited. She had been in hot water
all the afternoon. The girls had said at lunch-time that the manager was
angry with Bessie, and had discharged her. She found her coat and hat, and
had brought them home. The pocketbook was missing. There was only fifteen
cents in it; but Lizzie was much disturbed, and so was the grandmother.
They had a quiet consultation in the kitchen; and, when the aunt came,