ould be
unable to keep it when there was so much pain to bear, and so much
medicine to be taken. Then the solemn thought came that death might be
very near, and that she might have but a little time left to correct her
fault; and she determined to pray for patience, and to be particularly
watchful over herself.

"I have indulged my old habit of fretfulness a good deal to-day,
mother," she said, as Mrs. Gardner sat down by her side, after making
everything ready for the night. "I fear I shall never correct it; but I
did not think of this sick bed when I made my resolution."

"Has not God promised to be 'about your bed, and about your path,' my
dear child?" said Mrs. Gardner.

"Yes, mother; and could I but remember his presence, I should not so
often grieve you by my impatience."

"You must not talk any more tonight, Isabella," said her mother
affectionately; "but try to go to sleep, and remember that God is always
near you, and that his Holy Spirit is more grieved than even your mother
by any disobedience to his commands. I love you, and forgive you. Now go
to sleep, and may you awake refreshed in body and soul."

Mary nursed her sister night and day, and never left her except when
Mrs. Gardner insisted upon her going away to rest herself. Isabella was
often impatient toward her, but Mary quietly went on treating her with
more and more tenderness. She scarcely spoke, but humbly and silently
went on doing everything a sister's love could suggest.

"I wish you would speak cross to me sometimes," said Isabella to her
one day, "and then I should not feel so sorry after I had been unkind
to you; but you are so patient and good, that it makes me quite ashamed
of my fretfulness."

"I will do anything for you but that, Isabella," said Mary; "but it is
my constant prayer that my Saviour may grant me the temper of mind that
becometh his disciple, and that I may 'sin not with my lips' against
him."

Isabella became rapidly worse, and the sorrowful countenance of her
father, and the anxious tenderness of her mother, showed how dear their
erring child was to their hearts.

Edward would come home early from school to know how his sister was, and
to see if there was anything he could do for her; and the merry voice of
little George was still, and no one heard the sound of his ball or top.

It was a house of sadness, but of composure,--a house of Christian
sorrow! Trouble had entered it; but its inmates felt that the trouble