blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions,
and, as a cloud, thy sins; return unto me; for I have redeemed thee.'
'Sing, O ye heavens; for the Lord hath done it; shout, ye lower parts
of the earth; break forth in singing, ye mountains, O forest, and
every tree therein; for the Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and glorified
himself in Israel.' And in that glorious old prophet's book is my
jubilant verse--'And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come
to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall
obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'"

"Now, Ester, you are very tired, aren't you? and I keep dipping into
my treasure like a thoughtless, selfish girl as I am. You and I will
have some precious readings out of this book, shall we not? Now I'll
read you my sweet good-night Psalm. Don't you think the Psalms are
wonderful, Ester?"

And without waiting for reply the low-toned, musical voice read on
through that marvel of simplicity and grandeur, the 121st Psalm: "I
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord which made heaven and earth. He will not
suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The
Lord is thy keeper, the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The
sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall
preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord
shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth,
and even for evermore."

"Ester, will you pray?" questioned her cousin, as the reading ceased,
and she softly closed her tiny book.

Ester gave her head a nervous, hurried shake.

"Then shall I? or, dear Ester, would you prefer to be alone?"

"No," said Ester; "I should like to hear you?" And so they knelt, and
Abbie's simple, earnest, tender prayer Ester carried with her for many
a day.

After both heads were resting on their pillows, and quiet reigned in
the room, Ester's eyes were wide open. Her Cousin Abbie had astonished
her; she was totally unlike the Cousin Abbie of her dreams in
every particular; in nothing more so than the strangely childlike
matter-of-course way in which she talked about this matter of
religion. Ester had never in her life heard any one talk like that,
except, perhaps, that minister who had spoken to her in the depot.
His religion seemed not un