tender
sympathy, this young girl would lose all her self-control and be that
which she so much shrank from, an object of general wonderment and
conversation. Marion felt that she must bestow her sympathy sparingly.

"I dare say you would give yourself over to a hearty struggle not to
hate her outright," she said, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. The sobs
which were shaking the young girl beside her were suddenly checked.
Presently Gracie looked up, a gleam half of mirth, half of defiance in
her handsome eyes. "I mean a _real_ mother," she said.

"Haven't you one? Doesn't she love her darling and watch over and wait
for her coming?" The voice had taken on its tenderness again. Then,
after a moment, Marion added:

"It is hard to realize, I know, but I believe it, and I look toward that
thought with all my soul. You remember, Gracie, that I have nothing but
that to feed on, no earthly friend to help me realize it."

Grace stole a soft hand into her teacher's. "I wish you would love me
very much," she said, brightly. "I wish you would let me love you. Do
you know you help me every time you speak to me? and you do it in such
strange ways, not at all in the direction that I am looking for help. I
do thank you so much."

"Then suppose you prove it to me, by showing what an immaculate copy of
your exercise you can hand in to-morrow. Don't you know it is by just
such common-place matters as that, that people are permitted to show
their love and gratitude and all those delightful things? That is what
glorifies work."

Another clinging pressure of hands and teacher and pupil went about
their duties. But though Marion had helped Gracie she had not helped
herself, except that in a tired sort of way she realized that it was a
great pleasure to be able to help anybody--most of all, this favorite
pupil. Still the dreariness did not lessen. It went home with her to her
dingy boarding-house, followed her to the gloomy dining-room and the
uninviting supper-table.

The most that was the trouble with Marion Wilbur was, that she was tired
in body and brain. If people only realized it, a great many mental
troubles and trials result from overworked bodies and nerves. Still, it
must be confessed that there were few, if any, outside influences that
were calculated to cheer Marion Wilbur's life.

You are to remember how very much alone she was. There were no letters
to be watched for in the daily mails, no hopeful looking forward if one