this weary day in shame and pain. How
very little her noble resolves, and efforts, and advances had been
worth after all. How far back she seemed to have gone in that one
day--not strength enough to bear even the little crosses that befell
in an ordinarily quiet life! How she had lost the so-lately-gained
influence over Alfred and Julia by a few cross words! How much reason
she had given Sadie to think that her attempts at following the Master
were, after all, only spasmodic and visionary! But Ester had been to
that little clothes-press up stairs in search of help and forgiveness,
and now she clearly saw there was something to do besides mourn over
her failures. It was hard to do it, too. Ester's spirit was proud, and
it was very humbling to confess herself in the wrong. She hesitated
and shrank from the work, until she finally grew ashamed of herself
for that; and at last, without turning her head from her work, or
giving her resolve time to falter, she called to the twins, who were
occupying seats in one of the dining-room windows, and talking low and
soberly to each other:

"Children, come here a moment, will you?"

The two had been very shy of Ester since the morning's trials,
and were at that moment sympathizing with each other in a manner
uncomplimentary to her. However, they slid down from their perch and
slowly answered her call.

Ester glanced up as they entered the storeroom, and then went on
cutting her cheese, but speaking in low, gentle tones:

"I want to tell you two how sorry I am that I spoke so crossly and
unkindly to you this morning. It was very wrong in me. I thought I
never should displease Jesus so again, but I did, you see; and now I
am very sorry indeed, and I want you to forgive me."

Alfred looked aghast. This was an Ester that he had never seen before,
and he didn't know what to say. He wriggled the toes of his boots
together, and looked down at them in puzzled wonder. At last he
faltered out:

"I didn't know your cheek ached till mother told me, or else I'd have
shut the door right straight. I'd ought to, _any how_, cheek or no
cheek."

This last in a lower tone, and more looking down at his boots. It was
new work for Alfred, this voluntarily owning himself in the wrong.

Julia burst forth eagerly. "And I was very careless and naughty to
keep putting my elbows on the table after you had told me not to, and
I am ever so sorry that I made you such a lot of trouble."

"Well, then,"