d her
neck, and looking up beseechingly. So Nannie laid down her book and took
Charlie to bed.

Poor Belle! She held her book up to hide the tears that would come.
"There's no use in trying," she thought. "It wasn't my fault if Charlie
wouldn't let me."

Whose fault was it?

Dr. Merry had seen it all. He saw the struggle it had been for Belle
to put away her book, and he saw the tears fill her eyes when Charlie
refused; and now, as he got up to go to his surgery, he whispered to
her, "Be strong and of a good courage. For the Lord thy God, he it is
that doth go with thee."

"What could her father mean?" Belle kept thinking it over and over.
"Be strong and of a good courage"--she knew well enough what the words
meant, but why should her father say them to her. She wondered if he
knew she was trying to do better, and was almost ready to give up.

"Be strong and of a good courage,"--she said it again. "Of good courage,
means not to be afraid, not to give up, to go on trying, no matter how
hard it is. But I don't see the use in trying. It's always the same,
everything goes wrong. I may as well give up at first as at last."

There was a Bible lying by her on the table, and, almost without thinking,
she took it up, and began turning over the leaves to find the words; she
knew where they were, for she had seen them many times. She found the
place, and read over again the words,--

"For the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail
thee, nor forsake thee."

"I can't do right,--there's no use trying;" but while she said it, she
was reading over again the last part, "He will not fail thee."

"I wonder," she said, brightening up as the thought struck her, "if that
is what father meant! I can't do right myself, but God will help me."

CHAPTER VI.

THE STORY.

One Sunday afternoon, as Mary sat reading in the porch, Jack and Charlie
came and sat down by her on the old sofa; and soon Charlie put his little
curly head between her face and the book, and said coaxingly, "Please
tell us a story, sister Mary."

The little upturned face was well kissed before sister Mary said, "Well,
Jack, call Nannie and Belle, and we'll have a story."

Jack ran off in high glee, for sister Mary's stories were always
welcomed by the children.

Nannie and Belle came as fast as their feet would bring them, and were
soon sitting in readiness on the porch steps.

"Now, sister Mary," said Nannie, "a _good_ story