Now was Mr. Alfred Ried embarrassed. It was true that his eyes had been
long open to the subject; it was true that he had given it a great deal
of what he had called thought. But with those alert eyes fixed on his
face, her whole manner indicating intense earnestness, he suddenly
realized that all his thought had been to no purpose, had accomplished
nothing, unless it had served to give him a feeling almost of irritation
against the boys, and their teachers who made failures, and the people
who folded their hands and let things go to ruin. Here confronted him
one, whose hands were not folded, though they rested quietly enough on
the counter before him. He began to feel that there might be latent
power in them.

"I have nothing to say," and he said it at last with flushed face and
embarrassed voice; "I have thought out nothing. The whole thing seemed
hopeless to me with my utter lack of resources. My sister had schemes,
many of them, and they seemed to me good ones, even then; they seem
better now, only I cannot carry them out."

She caught at the name.

"Your sister? Ester Ried? Good! Let us carry them out, you and I, and as
many more as we can get to help us. She is at work yet,--don't you see?
What is that prophecy about her?--that voice which the prophet heard,
you know, 'And I heard a voice saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the
dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that
they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.'"

How strangely the words sounded, repeated in her low, clear voice, amid
the hum of business on every side! Alfred Ried felt singularly moved. He