never knew what it was to put
my arms around my mother, and kiss her. I used to long to, at times.
And often I would plan to surprise her by suddenly running into her
arms and embracing her. But then, when I would see her, she was always
so far away, so cold, so beautifully dressed. And she seldom spoke to
me, or to Kathleen, until we were grown up. And by that time I was
running wild. And then--then--"

"There!" admonished Carmen, reaching over and taking his hand. "That's
in our little private cemetery, you know. The old error is dead, and
we are not going to dig it up and rehearse it, are we?"

He smiled wanly. "I'm like a little baby," he said sadly. "I'm just
beginning to live. And you are my mother, the only one I've ever
known."

Carmen laughed merrily. "Let me be your sister," she said. "We are so
near of an age, you know."

He raised her hand to his lips. "You are my angel," he murmured. "My
bright, beautiful angel. What would I have been without you!"

"Now, Sidney!" she warned, holding up a finger. "What have I told you
so often that Jesus said? 'Of mine own self I can do nothing.' Nor can
I, Sidney dear. It was--" her voice sank to a whisper--"it was the
Christ-principle. It worked through him as a channel; and it worked
through me."

"You're going to teach me all about that," he said, again pressing her
hand to his lips. "You won't cast me adrift yet, will you, little
sister?"

"Cast you adrift! Never, Sidney dear! Why, you're still mine, you
know! I haven't given you back to yourself yet, have I? But now let's
talk about your work. If you want to write, you are going to, and you
are going to write _right_."

"And you, Carmen?" he asked, wondering.

"Back to the Express," she said lightly. "I haven't written a word for
it now for a month. And how dear, funny old Ned has scolded!"

"You--you dropped everything--your work--all--for a poor, worthless
hulk like me," he sighed. "I--I can't understand it. You didn't know
me, hardly."

"Sidney dear," the girl replied. "It wasn't for you. It was for God.
Everything I do is '_as unto Him_.' I would have done the same for
anybody, whether I knew the person or not. I saw, not you, but the
human need--oh, such a need! And the Christ-principle made me a human
channel for meeting it, that is all. Drop my work, and my own
interests! Why, Sidney, what is anything compared with meeting human
needs? Didn't Jesus drop everything and hurry out to meet the sick a