ead to Aunt Elsie what a help
and comfort her dear little sister had been to the writer in the midst
of sickness and sorrow; and more than that, how, by means of her little
Bible and her earnest, humble words, she had opened to her a way to a
higher hope and a better consolation than earth could give, and how the
lady could not go away without doing what she knew would give her friend
more pleasure than anything else she could do. She must tell Christie's
sister how good and patient and useful she had been.

"And so, Christie, when you are weary or desponding, as I am afraid you
sometimes are, I think you may take a little rest and pleasure from the
thought that you have been favoured to be made the giver of a `cup of
cold water to one of _His_ little ones.'"

Oh, it was too much! Such words from her dearest sister Effie! And to
think that Mrs Lee should have written them that last night, when she
must have been so weary! And had she really done her good? Oh, it was
too much happiness! The letter fell from her hands, and her face, as
she burst into happy tears, was hidden by them. It was only for a
moment, however. She fancied herself quite unobserved as she took up
her precious letter.

"Are they all well at home?" asked Miss Gertrude, as Christie, having
stealthily wiped away all traces of her tears, came and sat down on the
other side of the cot, where Claude was now sleeping soundly.

"They are all quite well. My aunt is better. Everything is just as
usual."

"Your sister is a very pretty writer, is she not?" she asked.

"Yes, she writes very plain and even. Her writing is easily read." But
Christie did not offer to show her the letter, as Miss Gertrude half
hoped she would. It was not altogether for the gratification of her
curiosity, nor chiefly for that, she wanted to see it. Though her
companion was sitting there, with her cheek leaning on her hand, so
gravely and so quietly, she knew that her heart was by no means so quiet
as her outward appearance seemed to indicate. She saw that it was ready
to overflow with emotion of some kind--happiness, Miss Gertrude thought,
but was not sure.

But it could not be all happiness. Christie must be longing for the
sight of the sister whose written words could call forth such tears as
she had seen falling even now. And she wished to be able to sympathise
with her, to say some word that would establish confidence between them.
Besides, she had a feelin