one else to give a thought or prayer for my happiness. This event,
which my friends have looked upon as a calamity, has already proved a
blessing, and has opened for me a new source of innocent pleasure."

"Well, now you _are_ visionary," said her companion. "Mrs. Wynn said so,
and she gets things generally pretty near right. Guess you'll learn to
be a little more practical before you get through with this life. The
world ain't made for folks to dream away their time in, for there's work
to be done, and you know that them that don't work shan't eat. Food and
shelter and good, warm clothing, to say nothin' of fine lady fixins,
don't come for a song, I can tell you."

"I know it," said Clemence, drearily, her thoughts going back to the
great city, where she had lived and struggled for one who was no more.
"If I am given to dreams," she mused, "they are not of a sanguine
nature. There are weary months of toil and discouragements, and many
failures before me, for the 'end is not yet.' As another has remarked,
'a wide, rich heaven hangs above you, but it hangs very high. A wide,
rough world is around you, and it lies very low.'"

A tear trickled down the girl's cheek, and fell upon her black dress. A
little figure stole up, and knelt beside her, and a timid voice said,
"Don't cry, please, Johnny's sorry for you." Clemence raised the little
form.

"Poor child," she said, "you are early accustomed to sorrow." She parted
the hair from off his forehead, with a mother touch, and noted the
intelligence and sympathy in the great, thoughtful eyes. "You are a good
boy, dear, let me see if I have not got something to please you." She
put her hand in her pocket, and drew out a tiny Bible, and wrote
therein, before handing it to him, these words in pencil--"John Brier, a
gift from his Teacher."

"There, Johnny," she said, "keep that always, and promise me to read it
every day, and try to follow its instructions, for, if you act in
accordance with its precepts, you will have that peace and happiness
that comes from a consciousness of having performed our duty."

She leaned forward and rested her head upon her hand after a way she had
when troubled. Mrs. Brier's uncalled for remarks had disturbed her. Why
should people say unkind things of her, when she was trying so hard to
do right. Surely, there could be no wrong in the act of comforting a
dying woman with the promise that her only child should be cared for and
protected. She ha