t of her mother's approaching widowhood.

"Yes, I will be lonely," wailed the mother. "God only knows the
loneliness and heart-ache that is in store for me. But we'll not shed
tears now, child, there'll be time enough by and by. We must away to to
see him; he'll have a word to say to us I'm thinking."

She meant to be brave, and to keep back the tears until "by and by," but
the thought of hearing the last words, perhaps, or what was worse,
finding him unable to speak to her, completely unnerved her, and the
strength she had all along tried to keep for her children's sake, failed
her. In the midst of this scene, while Martha stood beside her mother,
wringing her hands and beseeching her not to groan so, Agnes stepped in,
having had but one session of school.

"What is it?" she enquired, alarmed. "Your father is not dead, Martha?"

"I don't know, they sent word that he was dying, and we are going to
him. Won't you go, Miss Agnes? I am afraid," and the child shuddered as
she spoke.

A shudder passed through Agnes, but she said: "Yes, I will go with you,
but I must find some of the scholars to send home and tell Miss Ruth."
She thought with horror of going there to the hospital, where men and
women were lying struggling for life, to be followed by their wild,
staring eyes, and their cries of entreaty for relief. For a moment she
was possessed with the feeling that she could not encounter the fearful
sight, and the question arose: "Why need I cause myself to suffer when I
cannot relieve the sufferings I shall witness?" But ashamed of her
cowardice, she banished the thought as unworthy a place in her heart,
glad to be able to share the sorrows and help to comfort those whose
time of trial and sore distress had come.

"I shall need help one day, perhaps," she said to herself, "if Ruth or
Guy should be taken first. But I pray God that I may die before them,
unless--" here the child-like-spirit showed itself, and her soul became
suddenly strong--"it would be to His glory that I should thus suffer."

A boy was sent with a message to Ruth, and then, as Mrs. Nelson was
ready, they set out on their mournful visit. It was a long and silent
walk. The heart of the sorrow-stricken woman was too full for words, and
Agnes, so young and unaccustomed to such scenes, did not know what was
best to say.

The hand that held Martha's tightened its grasp as they came within
sight of the hospital, and although the voice was very low that