deserted, not that God had forgotten,--oh, no; but that He did not
need her any longer here, that she had not been worthy of the work she
had thought to be hers, and that now she was to be taken elsewhere to
some other task. She was only a child; her life was strong in every
limb; but God could not mean her to live here, in this way,--that
would not be merciful, and His property was always to have mercy. So
death would come,--death as a friend, just as Auntie Joy had always
described him; and she would go hence, led by her Father's hand.

But now, what change was coming over her? The air seemed lighter,
clearer, since Anderson had left the room. A new hope entered her
heart, coming she knew not whence, filling it with pulses and waves of
joy. She thought of her home; and it seemed to grow nearer, more
distinct, at every moment. She saw (as blind people see) the face of
Rejoice Dale, beaming with joy and peace; she felt the strong clasp of
Miss Vesta's hand. She smelt the lilacs, the white lilacs beneath
which she loved to sit and sing. She heard--oh, God! what did she
hear? What sound was this in her ears? Was it still the dream, the
lovely dream of home, or was a real sound thrilling in her ears,
beating in her heart, filling the whole world with the voice of
hope,--of hope fulfilled, of life and love?

"I've travelled this country all over,
And now to the next I must go;
But I know that good quarters await me,
And a welcome to Rosin the Beau."

Oh, Father of mercy! never doubted, always near in sorrow and in joy!
oh, holy angels, who have held my hands and lifted me up, lest I dash
my foot against a stone! A welcome,--oh, on my knees, in humble