e Healer. Again the light
grew pleasant to her eyes, and Janet came back to her old household
ways, seeing in the life before her God-given work, that might not be
left undone. But she was never quite the same. There was never quite
the old sharp ring in her kindly voice. She was not less cheerful,
perhaps, in time, but her cheerfulness was of a far quieter kind, and
her chidings were rare, and of the mildest, now. Indeed, she had none
to chide but the motherless Emily, who needed little chiding, and much
love. And much love did Janet give her, who had been dear to all the
bairns, and the especial friend of Marian, now in Heaven. And so God's
peace fell on the deacon's quiet household, and the gloom passed away
from the fields and hills of Merleville, and its pleasant nooks and
corners smiled once more with a look of home to Janet, as she grew
content in the knowledge that her darlings were well and happy, though
she might never make them her daily care again. But she never forgot
them. Her remembrance of them never grew less loving, and tender, and
true. And so, as the years passed, the old longing came back, and, day
by day, grew stronger in her heart the wish to know assuredly that the
children of her love were as good and happy as they ought to be.

Had her love been less deep and yearning she might have been more easily
content with the tokens of an innocent and happy life visible in their
home. If happiness had been, in her estimation, but the enjoyment of
genial days and restful nights, with no cares to harass, and only
pleasant duties to perform; if the interchange of kindly offices, the
little acts of self-denial, the giving up of trifles, the taking
cheerfully of the little disappointments, which even their pleasant life
was subject to--if these had been to her sufficient tests of goodness,
she might have been satisfied with all she saw.

But she was not satisfied, for she knew that there are few hearts so
shallow as to be filled full with all that such a life of ease could
give. She knew that the goodness, that might seem to suffice through
these tranquil and pleasant days, could be no defence against the strong
temptations that might beset them amid the cares of life. "For," said
she to herself, "the burn runs smoothly on over the pebbles in its bed
without a break or eddy, till the pebbles change to rocks and stones,
and then it brawls, and murmurs, and dashes itself to foam among them--
and n