e father and mother
had died, and she was taken into another family. The first night she
asked if she could pray, as she used to do.

They said, Oh, yes! So she knelt down, and prayed as her mother taught
her, and when that was ended she added a little prayer of her own: "_Oh,
God, make these people as kind to me as father and mother were_." Then
she paused, and looked up, as if expecting an answer, and added, "_Of
course he will_."

How sweetly simple was that little one's faith; she expected God to
"do," and she got her request.

STRIKING ANSWER.

The following incidents are specially contributed to these pages by Rev.
J.S. Bass, a Home Missionary of Brooklyn, N.Y.:

"While living in Canada, my eldest daughter, then a girl of ten years of
age, rather delicate and of feeble health, had a severe attack of
chorea, "St. Vitus's dance." To those who have had any experience in
this distressing complaint, nothing need be said of the deep affliction
of the household at the sight of our loved one, as all her muscles
appeared to be affected, the face distorted with protrusion of the
tongue, and the continuous involuntary motions by jerks of her limbs.
The ablest medical advice and assistance were employed, and all that the
sympathy of friends and the skill of physicians could do were of no
avail. She grew worse rather than better, and death was looked to as a
happy release to the sufferings of the child, and the anguish of the
parents; as the medical men had given as their opinion that the mind of
the child would become diseased, and if her life were lengthened, it
would be an enfeebled body united to an idiotic mind.

"But God was better to us than our most sanguine hopes far better to us
than our fears.

"In our trouble we thought on God, and asked his help. We knew we had
the prayers of some of God's chosen ones. On a certain Sunday morning I
left my home to fill an appointment in the Wesleyan chapel in the
village of Cooksville, two miles distant. I left with a heavy heart. My
child was distressing to look upon, my wife and her sister were worn out
with watching and fatigue. It was only from a sense of duty that I left
my home that morning. During the sermon God refreshed and encouraged my
heart still to trust in him. After the service, many of the congregation
tarried to inquire of my daughter's condition, among them an aged saint,
Sister Wilson, widow of a Wesleyan preacher, and Sister Galbraith, wife
of the