named over every one, even to a 'frame-bunnit covered with sating, and
with a bunch of blows on top!'"

Miss Prue had grown grave.

"Yet poor Zeba could teach us both a grand lesson in cheerful patience,"
she said gently.

Sara crimsoned, but did not answer for a moment. They had reached Miss
Prue's gate now, and the latter turned into it. "Wait!" the girl then
said, almost passionately. "I am not worthy to be a King's daughter!
Leave me out of your ten; tell them I can't live up to the simple
requirements; I"--

"Hush! Sara," laying a hand on her young friend who was quivering with
feeling, "I understand it all; you think the Lord has put you into a
niche where you do not belong, for which you have no fitness. Are you
sure you know more than your Maker? Perhaps He sees that, by clipping a
bit here, or adding a trait there, you will be exactly the one for this
niche. Why don't you try and help this beautiful plan, instead of
hindering it?" Then, with a quick change of tone, "Well, good-night,
daughter; remember the first meeting of our circle next Thursday: I
shall depend upon you!" and she hurried in, not giving time for another
word.




CHAPTER XII.