and I'll dwell in Thy house forever, O Lord--Amen."

For a time she lay open-eyed in her little white bed. A flood of
moonlight came through the window to her pillow. She felt that it
was a shining benediction from our Lord Himself. And indeed it may
have been. Gradually her eyes closed. She smiled as she slept.

The grace of God continued to be there when she awoke. It seemed an
unusual morning. The sun was brighter than on ordinary mornings; the
birds outside were twittering more loudly; even the lawnmower which
black Jeff was already rolling over the grass had assumed a
peculiarly agreeable clatter. And though, at breakfast, father
grumbled at his eggs being overdone, and though mother complained
that the laundress hadn't come, and though Aunt Nettie's head was
still aching, all these things, somehow, seemed trivial and of no
importance.

Missy could scarcely wait to get her dusting and other little
"chores" done, so that she might go to the piano.

However, she hadn't got half-way through "One Sweetly Solemn
Thought" before her mother appeared.

"Missy! what in the world do you mean? I've told you often enough
you must finish your practising before strumming at other things."

Strumming!

But Missy said nothing in defence. She only hung her head. Her
mother went on: