temper, would glow like a fiery furnace,--the
irons would scorch,--the linens would dry,--and
spirits would fail, though patience never.

Nan tugged on, growing hotter and wearier,
more hurried and more hopeless, till at last the
crisis came; for in one fell moment she tore her
gown, burnt her hand, and smutched the collar she
was preparing to finish in the most unexceptionable
style. Then, if she had been a nervous
woman, she would have scolded; being a gentle
girl, she only "lifted up her voice and wept."

"Behold, she watereth her linen with salt tears,
and bewaileth herself because of much tribulation.
But, lo! Help cometh from afar: a strong man
bringeth lettuce wherewith to stay her, plucketh
berries to comfort her withal, and clasheth cymbals
that she may dance for joy."

The voice came from the porch, and, with her
hope fulfilled, Nan looked up to greet John Lord,
the house-friend, who stood there with a basket
on his arm; and as she saw his honest eyes, kind
lips, and helpful hands, the girl thought this plain
young man the comeliest, most welcome sight she
had beheld that day.

"How good of you, to come through all this
heat, and not to laugh at my despair!" she said,