unt to when the year's over?"

"Hush, Christie," said her sister. "The time may come when the
remembrance of these words will be painful to you. The only way we can
prove that we would bear great trials well is by bearing little trials
well. We don't know how soon great trials may come upon us. Every
night that I come home, I am thankful to find things just as I left
them. We need be in no hurry to have any change."

Christie was startled.

"What _do_ you mean, Effie? Are you afraid of anything happening?"

"Oh, no," she said, cheerfully, "I hope not. I dare say we shall do
very well. But we must be thankful for the blessings we have, Christie,
and hopeful for the future."

"Folk say father is not a very good farmer. Is that it, Effie?"
Christie spoke with hesitation, as though she was not quite sure how her
sister would receive her remark. "But we are getting on better now."

Effie only answered the last part of what she said.

"Yes, we are getting on better. Father says we have raised enough to
take us through the year, with something to spare. It's all we have to
depend on--so much has been laid out on the farm; and it must come in
slowly. But things _will_ wear out; and the bairns--I wish I could bide
at home this winter."

"Oh, if you only could!" cried Christie, eagerly.

Effie shook her head. "I can do more good to all by being away. And my
wages have been raised. I couldna leave just now. Oh, I dare say we
shall do very well. But, Christie, you must not fret and be
discontented, and think what you do is not worth while. It is the
motive that makes the work of any one's life great or small. It is
little matter, in one sense, whether it be teaching children, or washing
dishes, or ruling a kingdom, if it is done in the right way and from
right principles. I have read, somewhere, that the daily life of a poor
unknown child, who, striving against sin, does meekly and cheerfully
what is given him to do, may be more acceptable in the sight of God than
the suffering of some whom their fellow-men crown as martyrs. If we
could only forget ourselves and live for others!" She sighed as she
rose to go. "But come, child: we must hurry home now."

Christie had no words with which to answer her. She rose and followed
in silence. "If we could forget ourselves and live for others!" she
murmured. That was not _her_ way, surely. Every day, and every hour of
the day, it was herself she thought