is life the wonder
and the worship of the ages.

And didn't little Lizzie want to do something for Him? Mother
MacAllister asked, and Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak for the great
lump in her throat. And then the wise woman showed her how He was
pleased with even a tidy desk at school, or a sum with the right answer
or all the words correct in a spelling lesson.

The memory of that golden afternoon never left Elizabeth, never ceased
to illuminate her after-life. Always a shining sunset recalled that
winter evening; the view from the broad, low window of the glorious
staircase of earth leading up to the more glorious heavens, the
reflection from it all flooding the old kitchen, lighting up the sacred
pages, and the beautiful face and white hair bent above her. And, best
of all, the memory of the lesson she had learned that evening at Mother
MacAllister's knee never lost its influence over her life. It was part
of the glory and the most radiant part, that vision of the One who is
the center of all beauty and joy and life.

Sometimes in later years the brightness of the vision waned, often it
almost faded from view; but there always remained a gleam towards which
Elizabeth's soul ever looked. And one day the vision began to
brighten, slowly and imperceptibly, like the coming of the dawn, but as
surely and steadily, until at last its glory filled her whole life and
made it beautiful and noble, meet for the use of Him who is the Father
of Lights.

Meantime, without any warning or apparent reason, Elizabeth suddenly
began to learn her lessons. No one but Mother MacAllister understood
why, but everybody saw the results. The connection between Elizabeth's
heart and brain had been made, and that done she even began to develop
a mathematical head. It was no easy task getting over her idle habits;
and it was so easy when a complex fraction proved stubborn to turn
one's slate into an easel. But the Saturday afternoon talks always
turned upon the subject of the vital connection between fractions and
the glories of the infinite, and every Monday Elizabeth went back to
her tasks with renewed vim. And soon she began to taste something of
the joy of achievement. It was fairly dazzling to feel oneself slowly
creeping up from the foot of the class, and she found a strange
exhilaration in setting herself against a rival and striving to
outspell her in a match. Here was glory right ready to hand. She was
Joan of Arc her