rchief about my throbbing
temples, I blurted out three words: "_A comedy part!_" and fell face
downward on the bed, and cried until there was not a tear left in me, and
considering my record as a shedder of tears, that's saying a good deal.
Afterward I knelt down and hid my shamed face in the pillow and asked
forgiveness from the ever-pitiful and patient One above, and prayed for a
clear understanding of the part entrusted to me. Oh, don't be shocked. I
have prayed over my work all my life long, and I can't think the Father
despises any labor that is done to His honor. And I humbly gave over my
further thought of _Anne_, and praying pardon for the folly of "kicking
against the pricks" and wasting my scant strength in useless passion, I
retired, at peace with myself, the world, and even _Blanche_.

Next morning a curious thing happened. I heard, or thought I heard, the
words: "The first shall be last and the last shall be first," and I
called from my bed: "Did you speak to me, mother?" and she answered,
"No."

As I sat over my coffee and rolls, I said, absently: "The first shall be
last, and the _last_ shall be first."

"What do you mean?" mother asked.

"Nothing," I said. "The words were in my ears when I awoke, and they keep
coming back to me."

I rose and dressed for rehearsal. As I drew on my gloves I heard a
hurried voice asking for me in the hall. I recognized it as M. Benot's.
My heart sank like lead--was even the comedy part to be taken from me? I
opened the door. Out of breath, the little man gasped: "I so come quite
quick for Monsieur Da-_lay_. He make me to ask you right away, very
quick, can you play that part of _Anne_?"

My breath came in gasps, I might have been the runner! I answered,
briefly: "Yes!"

"Then," said he, "here give you to me that other part, _Blanche_."

I gave it joyously.

"Take you now this of _Anne_ and make of the great haste to Monsieur
Da-_lay's_ office, before--_comprenez-vous_--before that you go on the
stage, or see anyone else, he want you to make some lies, I tink, so you
best hurry!"

"Mother, mother!" I cried. As she ran, I held out to her the part, _Anne
Sylvester_, written large on it. She looked, and said: "The last shall be
first!" and kissing me, pushed me toward the stairs.

I almost ran in my anxiety to obey orders; my mind was in a state of
happy confusion--what could it all mean? The announcement had been
distinctly made only yesterday that Miss Agnes Eth