gs that never fail. It is the surest earthly balm for every grief
and whatever John Hatton was in his home life and in his secret hours,
he was diligent in business, serving God with a fervent, cheerful
spirit. In the mill he never named his loss but once, and that was on
the morning of his return to business. Greenwood then made some remark
about the dead child, and John answered,

"I am very lonely, Greenwood. This world seems empty without her. Why
was she taken away from it?"

"Perhaps she was wanted in some other world, sir."

John lifted a startled face to the speaker, and the man added with an
air of happy triumph, as he walked away,

"A far better world, sir."

For a moment John rested his head on his hand, then he lifted his face
and with level brows fronted the grief he must learn to bear.

Jane's sorrow was a far more severe and constant one. Martha had been
part of all her employments. She could do nothing and go nowhere, but
the act and the place were steeped in memories of the child. All her
work, all her way, all her thoughts, began and ended with Martha. She
fell into a dangerous condition of self-immolation. She complained that
no one cared for her, that her suffering was uniquely great, and that
she alone was the only soul who remembered the dead and loved them.

Mrs. Stephen came from her retreat in Hatton Hall one day in order to
combat this illusion.

"Three mothers living in Hatton village hev buried children this week,
Jane," she said. "Two of them went back to the mill this morning."

"I think it was very wicked of them."

"They _hed_ to go back. They had living children to work for. When the
living cling to you, then you must put the dead aside for the living.
God cares for the dead and they hev all they want in His care. If you
feel that you must fret youself useless to either living or dead, try
the living. They'll mostly give you every reason for fretting."

"John has quite forgotten poor little Martha."

"He's done nothing of that sort, but I think thou hes forgotten John,
poor fellow! I'm sorry for John, I am that!"

"You have no cause to say such things, mother, and I will not listen to
them. John has become wrapped up in that dreadful mill, and when he
comes home at night, he will not talk of Martha."

"I am glad he won't and thou ought to be glad too. How can any man work
his brains all day in noise and worry and confusion and then come home
and fret his heart out all nig