tmosphere, she benefited all with whom she
came in contact. She took delight in simple pleasures. She had the
power of extracting happiness from the common, little every-day tasks
and frequently remarked, "Don't strive to live without work, but to
find more joy in your work." Her opinions were highly respected by
every one in the neighborhood, and, being possessed of an unselfish
disposition, she thought and saw good in every one; brought out the
best in one, and made one long to do better, just to gain her
approval, if for no higher reward. Sarah Landis was a loyal friend and
one would think the following, by Mrs. Craik, applied to her:

"Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a
person--having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but
pouring them all right out, just as they are--chaff and grain
together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep
what is worth keeping and then with the breath of kindness blow the
rest away."

She was never so happy as when doing an act of kindness for some poor
unfortunate, and often said. "If 'twere not for God and good people,
what would become of the unfortunate?" and thought like George
McDonald, "If I can put one touch of rosy sunset into the life of any
man or woman (I should add child) I shall feel that I have worked with
God."

Aunt Sarah's sweet, lovable face was the first beheld by many a
little, new-born infant; her voice, the first to hush its wailing
cries as she cuddled it up to her motherly breast, and oft, with
loving hands, softly closed the lids over eyes no longer able to see;
whom the Gracious Master had taken into His keeping.

One day I overheard Aunt Sarah quote to a sorrowing friend these fine,
true lines from Longfellow's "Resignation": "Let us be patient, these
severe afflictions not from the ground arise, but celestial
benedictions assume the dark disguise."

[Illustration: THE OLD SPRING HOUSE]

CHAPTER II.

MARY'S ARRIVAL AT THE FARM.

The day preceding that of Mary's arrival at the farm was a busy one
for Aunt Sarah, who, since early morning, had been preparing the
dishes she knew Mary enjoyed. Pans of the whitest, flakiest rolls, a
large loaf of sweetest nut-brown, freshly-baked "graham bread," of
which Mary was especially fond; an array of crumb-cakes and pies of
every description covered the well-scrubbed table in the summer
kitchen, situated a short distance from the house. A large, y