knew little of letters and nothing of the world. Very likely it
would have done neither harm nor good, but it was his best, and he
gave it for love's sake, and I suppose that there is nothing in a
human life so precious to God, neither clever words nor famous
deeds, as the sacrifices of love.

The moon flooded his bedroom with silver light, and he felt the
presence of his mother. His bed stood ghostly with its white
curtains, and he remembered how every night his mother knelt by its
side in prayer for him. He is a boy once more, and repeats the
Lord's Prayer, then he cries again, "My mother! my mother!" and an
indescribable contentment fills his heart.

His prayer next morning was very short, but afterwards he stood at
the window for a space, and when he turned, his aunt said:

"Ye will get yir sermon, and it will be worth hearing."

"How did ye know?"

But she only smiled, "I heard you pray."

When he shut himself into the study that Saturday morning, his aunt
went into her room above, and he knew she had gone to intercede for
him.

An hour afterwards he was pacing the garden in such anxious thought
that he crushed with his foot a rose lying on the path, and then she
saw his face suddenly lighten, and he hurried to the house, but
first he plucked a bunch of forget-me-nots. In the evening she found