g, lack and weakness,
though plain to see upon them both, had not yet greatly dimmed their
beauty. The faces of the dwarfs, on the other hand, were marked and
lined with suffering; but the suffering was dominated by peace and
strength. There was no sorrow there, little lack, no weakness or fear,
and a great hope. They never spent any time in pitying themselves; the
trouble that alone ever clouded their sky, was the suffering of others.
Even for this they had comfort--their constant ready help consoled both
the sufferer and themselves.

"Will you come and see me, if you die first, uncle?" said Ruth, as they
walked home together in the moonlight. "You will think how lonely I am
without you."

"If it be within the law of things, if I be at liberty, and the thing
seem good for you, my Ruth, you may be sure I will come to you. But of
one thing I am pretty certain, that such visions do not appear when
people are looking for them. You must not go staring into the dark
trying to see me. Do your work, pray your prayers, and be sure I love
you: if I am to come, I will come. It may be in the hot noon or in the
dark night: it may be with no sight and no sound, yet a knowledge of
presence; or I may be watching you, helping you perhaps and you never
know it until I come to fetch you at the last,--if I may. You have been
daughter and sister, and mother to me, my Ruth. You have been my one in
the world. God, I think sometimes, has planted about you and me, my
child, a cactus-hedge of ugliness, that we might be so near and so
lonely as to learn love as few have learned it in this world--love
without fear, or doubt, or pain, or anxiety--with constant satisfaction
in presence, and calm content in absence. Of the last, however, I can
not boast much, seeing we have not been parted a day for--how many years
is it, Ruth?--Ah, Ruth! a bliss beyond speech is waiting us in the
presence of the Master, where, seeing Him as He is, we shall grow like
Him and be no more either dwarfed or sickly. But you will have the same
face, Ruth, else I should be forever missing something."

"But you do not think we shall be perfect all at once?"

"No, not all at once; I can not believe that: God takes time to what He
does--the doing of it is itself good. It would be a sight for heavenly
eyes to see you, like a bent and broken and withered lily, straightening
and lengthening your stalk, and flushing into beauty.--But fancy what it
will be to see at length to