given no one since they came to
Redding.

"Mary is doing famously," Mr. Forcythe told his wife that night. "She
has a first-rate head on her shoulders for a girl of her age." Mary
heard him, and was pleased. She liked--we all like--to be counted useful
and valuable. The bit of praise sent her back to her work with redoubled
zeal.

Next morning Mrs. Forcythe was a little better. Her head ached less; she
sat up on her pillows and drank a cup of tea. Mary was smoothing her
mother's hair with soft pats of the brush, when suddenly the church
bells began to ring. She had never heard such sounds before. The bell at
Valley Hill was cracked, and went tang--tang--tang, as if the
meeting-house were an old cow walking slowly about. These bells had a
dozen different voices,--some deep and solemn, others bright and clear,
but all beautiful; and across their pealing a soft, delicious chime from
the tower of the Episcopal church went to and fro, and wove itself in
and out like a thread of silver embroidery. Mary dropped the brush, and
clasped her hands tight. It was like listening to a song of which she
could not hear enough. When the last tinkle of the chime died away, she
unclasped her hands, and, turning from the window, cried, "O mother!
wasn't that lovely? There is _one_ pleasant thing in Redding, after
all!"

I do not think matters ever seemed so hard again after that morning when
Mary made friends with the church bells. It was the beginning of a
better understanding between her and her new home; and there is a great
deal in beginnings, even though they may work slowly toward their ends.

By the close of the week Mrs. Forcythe was downstairs again, weak and
pale, but able to sit in her chair and direct things, which Mary felt to
be a great comfort. The parishioners began to call. There were no rich
people among them; but it was a hard-working, active parish, and did a
great deal for its means. The Sunday-school was large and flourishing;
there was a missionary association, a home missionary association, a
mite society, and a sewing circle, which met every week to make clothes
for the poor and partake of tea, soda biscuit, and six sorts of cake.
Beside these, a new project had just been started, "The Seamen's
Daughters' Industrial Society;" or, in other words, a sewing-school for
little girls whose fathers were sailors. There were plenty of such
little girls in Redding.

"Your daughter will join, of course," said Mrs. Walli