wearily.

"It's surely rest," Mildred replied quickly, "for I remember a
place in the Bible where it says, 'There remaineth a rest for the
people of God.'"

"That's it," said Clara with some bitterness; "it's always the people
of God. What remains for such as we, who have always been so busy
fighting the wolf that we've thought little of God or church?"

"You've been no poorer, Clara, than Christ was all His life, and
were He on earth now as He was once, I'd bring Him here to your
room. He'd come, too, for He lived among just such people as we
are, and never once refused to help them in their troubles or their
sins."

"Once--once," cried Clara, with a gush of tears. "Where is He now?"

"Here with us. I know it, for we need Him. Our need is our strongest
claim--one that He never refused. I have entreated Him in your
behalf and your mother's, and do you ask Him also to put heaven at
the end of this dark and often thorny path which most of us must
tread in this world."

"Oh, Millie, Millie, I'm ignorant as a heathen. I did have a Bible,
but I sold even that to buy wine to save mother's life. I might
better have been thinking of saving her soul. She's too sick to be
talked to now, but surely she ought to find at least a heaven of
rest. You could never understand the life she's led. She hasn't
lived--she's just been dragged through the world. She was born in