And ask them how they fare.

He is not very far away,
For mother said he'd come to-day--
We knew it by her face;
She caught you up and kissed you so,
And now she's busy to and fro,
And sings about the place.

THE LIGHT ON THE HILLS.

"I want to work at my picture," he said, and went into the field. The
little sister went too, and stood by him watching while he painted.

"The trees are not quite straight," she said, presently, "and oh, dear
brother, the sky is not blue enough."

"It will all come right soon," he answered. "Will it be of any good?"

"Oh yes," she said, wondering that he should even ask, "it will make
people happy to look at it. They will feel as if they were in the
field."

"If I do it badly, will it make them unhappy?"

"Not if you do your very best," she answered; "for they will know how
hard you have tried. Look up," she said suddenly, "look up at the light
upon the hills," and they stood together looking at all he was trying
to paint, at the trees and the field, at the deep shadows and the hills
beyond, and the light that rested upon them.

"It is a beautiful world," the girl said. "It is a great honour to make
things for it."

"It is a beautiful world," the boy echoed sadly. "It is a sin to
disgrace it with things that are badly done."

"But you will do things well?"

"I get so tired," he said, "and long to leave off so much. What do you
do when you want to do your best,--your very, very best?" he asked,
suddenly.

"I think that I am doing it for the people I love," she answered. "It
makes you very strong if you think of them; you can bear pain, and walk
far, and do all manner of things, and you don't get tired so soon."

He thought for a moment. "Then I shall paint my picture for you," he
said; "I shall think of you all the time I am doing it."

Once more they looked at the hills that seemed to rise up out of the
deep shadows into the light, and then together they went home.

Soon afterwards a great sorrow came to the boy. While the little sister
slept, she wandered into another world, and journeyed on so far that
she lost the clue to earth, and came back no more. The boy painted many
pictures before he saw the field again, but in the long hours, as he
sat and worked, there came to him a strange power that answered more
and more truly to the longing in his heart--the longing to put into the
world something of which he was not ashamed, s