l end right, and tripped away
down the road to her brother's home. Elizabeth found Mother
MacAllister sitting in her accustomed seat by the kitchen window. She
had more time to sit there now, for Wully Johnstone's only unmarried
daughter had come to be the helper in the MacAllister kitchen when
Sarah Emily became the wife of Peter, and declared she couldn't put up
with anybody's penoeuvres when she was cooking a dinner.

Mother MacAllister's eyes rested fondly on the girl as she laid off her
coat and hat. Lizzie was still to her the little daughter she had
lost, and her homecomings brought her joy second only to that of her
own son.

"And you'll not be looking yourself, lovey," she said tenderly when
Eppie had been inquired for. "Is it a trouble I could be helping?"

Yes, it was just for help she had come, Elizabeth explained, and
sitting on her old seat, the milking-stool, at Mother MacAllister's
knee, she told her all, how she had left Mrs. Jarvis, and the life of
fashion they had lived, because she had been given a glimpse of another
life--one employed in the King's service. And she had seen also the
life that the unfortunate ones of the earth led, the cruel misery they
suffered, and it had all seemed to her the direct result of her own
self-indulgence. She had fled from that selfish life, and now her act
was likely to bring disaster upon those she loved best, and she was in
doubt. Perhaps she had done wrong. Had she? And was it possible a
right act could bring such dire results?

And then Mother MacAllister went, as she always did in times of
perplexity, to the story of the One Who had suffered all man's
infirmities and knew as no other knew how to sympathize with man's
troubles. She read of how He turned away from worldly power and
triumph and chose a life of poverty, and a death of shame, because He
loved, and love gave all. And sitting there, listening, with swelling
heart Elizabeth lived again that radiant evening when Mother
MacAllister had first shown her a glimpse of what His service meant.
And this was a renewed vision, a lifting of the clouds that still
obscured the dawn. She went home with a feeling of exaltation in her
heart. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have
done it unto Me," Mother MacAllister had said in parting. Lizzie had
done right and she must leave the consequences with Him. He would see
that it came out all right. As she paused to open the sodden ga