s kind of "giving in." But when she had
acknowledged to herself that she had been in the wrong, that she was a
selfish, thoughtless old woman, that she was alone, without friends,
and it had been her own fault, she was puzzled to know how to do
better. She could not begin to be very charitable all at once. The
more she realized what her own character had become, the more hopeless
and necessary seemed reform.

Such times as this come to many of us, both in knowing ourselves and
our friends. An awakening, one might call it,--an opening of the blind
eyes of our spiritual selves. And our ears are open to some of the
voices which call us; while others might as well be silent, for all the
heed we give them. We go on, from day to day, doing, with more or less
faithfulness, that part of our work we have wit enough to comprehend;
but one day suddenly we are shown a broader field, stretching out into
the distance, and know that from this also we may bring in a harvest by
and by, and with God's help.

Miss Sydney meant to be better,--not alone for the sake of having
friends, not alone to quiet her conscience, but because she knew she
had been so far from living a Christian life, and she was bitterly
ashamed. This was all she needed,--all any of us need,--to know that
we must be better men and women for God's sake; that we cannot be
better without his help, and that his help, may be had for the asking.
But where should she begin? She had always treated her servants
kindly, and they were the people she knew best. She would surely try
to be more interested in the friends she met; but it was nearly
Christmas time, and people rarely came to call. Every one was busy.
Becky Marley's cheery face haunted her; and one day after having looked
down from the window on the top of her bonnet, she remembered that she
did not get any candy, after all, and she would go round to see the old
lady again, she looked poor, and she would give her some money. Miss
Sydney dressed herself for the street, and closed the door behind her
very carefully, as if she were a mischievous child running away. It
was very cold, and there were hardly a dozen persons to be seen in the
streets, and Mrs. Marley had evidently been crying.

"I should like some of your candy," said our friend.

"You know I didn't take any, after all the other day." And then she
felt very conscious and awkward, fearing that the candy woman thought
she wished to remind her of h