"Never mind; morning will soon be here," said Miss Rose, hopefully,
"and 'joy cometh with the morning.' Now I am going to make up a good
fire, and I will read to you, and you must try, Martha, dear, to
listen, and not to think of anything else."

She made Martha comfortable in the old armchair, with her feet upon a
stool, and a shawl about her knees, then she took down the well-worn
Bible, and began to read. Her sweet voice rose and fell evenly,
soothingly; for more than an hour she read on, unwearied, never
faltering, selecting all the most helpful and comforting passages she
could find; and by-and-by Martha Perry's face grew less drawn and
anxious, her sad eyes grew tired, then the lids closed in a blessed,
peaceful slumber, and Miss Rose's voice ceased, and silence fell on
the little cottage.

The night sped on, the cold grew greater, the darkness deeper.
Miss Rose sat quietly at the table, the open Bible before her,
keeping watch over the sleeping woman and the fire, her ear always
alert for a sound outside. Her hearing grew so strained that over
and over again she thought she heard footsteps coming, Huldah's
quick, brisk step and Dick's pat-pat patter; again and again she
tip-toed to the door, and opening it wide peered out into the
darkness. But no real sound broke the silence, save the hoot of an
owl, and by-and-by the chirping of the waking birds.

Then at last day dawned, and streaks of light appeared in the sky,
turning presently to a glorious fiery radiance, as the sun rose,
flooding the sky and all the world with brightness and with hope.

Martha Perry stirred stiffly in her chair, and opened her eyes.