the birds sing to me I can answer them, and they know that my song is
as sweet as their own. The brook tells me its story, and I tell it
again, and every ripple sounds in my voice; and I know that I please
the brook, and all who hear me,--little beasts, and flowers that nod
on their stems to hear, and trees that bend down to touch me, and tell
me by their touch that they are well pleased. And children love to
hear me sing, and I can fill their little hearts with joy. I sing to
sick people, and they are easier of their pain, and perhaps they may
sleep, when they have not been able to sleep for long nights. This is
my life, my work. I am God's child; and do you think I do not know the
work my Father has given me to do?" With a sudden movement she stepped
forward, and laid her hand lightly on the man's breast. "You are God's
child, too!" she said, in a low voice. "Are you doing His work now?"

There was silence in the room. Anderson was as if spellbound, his eyes
fixed on the child, who stood like a youthful prophetess, her head
thrown back, her beautiful face full of solemn light, her arm raised
in awful appeal. The woman threw her apron over her head and began to
cry. The man moistened his lips twice or thrice, trying to speak, but
no words came. At length he made a sign of despair to his accomplice;
moved back from that questioning, warning hand, whose light touch
seemed to burn through and through him,--moved away, groping for the
door, his eyes still fixed on the child's face; stole out finally, as
a thief steals, and closed the door softly behind him.

Melody stood still, looking up to heaven. A great peace filled her
heart, which had been so torn and tortured these many days past, ever
since the dreadful moment when she had been forced away from her home,
from her life, and brought into bondage and the shadow of death. She
had thought till to-day that she should die. Not that she was