nd every one was, and of
all the wrongs she had had to bear,--of Kitty's laziness, of her
mother's rebukes, and then of her beautiful rose, and the naughty
baby. "Kitty and the baby might do just what they liked, but if she
did the least thing wrong she was scolded and punished." But this
thought of the rose led her back to Mrs. Mordaunt's lesson on Sunday.
Had the good seed borne good fruit this week,--this week that was to
have been the beginning of a new life? Had it led her to overcome one
fault, to be a step nearer to God and goodness than before? Yet she
had prayed and tried. What was then wanting? She was afraid she never
should be God's happy child, she was so full of faults, and no one
helped her to overcome them; and yet it was wretched to be as she was.
What should she do?

So she sat rocking the cradle, and thinking of her resolutions and her
failures until the tears rolled fast over her cheeks, and all the
proud heart within her was melted into sorrow. As she sat thus, her
elbows on her knees and her hands hiding her face, she heard a gentle
voice at the door. She looked up. It was Mrs. Mordaunt asking for her
mother. Amy was ashamed to be seen crying, and rose quickly, and
answered as briskly as she could. But Mrs. Mordaunt saw she was
unhappy, and she came forward, and laying her hand kindly on her
shoulder she asked what was the matter.

Amy's tears flowed faster than ever now, and as soon as she could
speak she sobbed out in a faint voice, "O ma'am, I cannot do right,--I
cannot be good." Mrs. Mordaunt sat down beside her and said, "Don't
despair, my child; you know the little song you sing in school. Try
again and again until you succeed. Every one succeeds who goes on
trying."

"But I have tried again and again," said poor Amy, "and I only get
worse and worse. In the very moment when I want it, the strength goes
away."

"Our own strength always will," said the lady. "Have you remembered to
ask God for his strength? Do you remember what I told you about the
little seed? its enemies are stronger than itself, but God is stronger
than its enemies."

"I have prayed, ma'am," said Amy mournfully, "but I am ashamed to ask
God any more. I have done what he tells us not so very often, I am
afraid he never can love me;" and Amy cried bitterly.

"My child," said Mrs. Mordaunt, taking her hand, "if you had disobeyed
your mother, and she were angry with you, would you run away from the
house in the night, a