er sings to me
now," he added wistfully.

Miss Patch's tender heart was touched, and her shyness overcome.
"Very well, dear, I will," she agreed bravely, and it was really
brave of her, for to do so cost her a great effort. "Perhaps we
could choose a hymn we all know, and we could all join in. I am sure
we all know 'Safe in the arms of Jesus,' or 'There's a home for
little children.' You know them, don't you, Jessamine May?"

"Yes," said Jessie, "granp and I used to sing them on Sunday
afternoons."

But when they had begun "There's a home for little children," Miss
Patch was soon left to sing it through alone, for Charlie was too
exhausted, and after the first line or so Mrs. Lang could not get out
another word for the pain at her heart and the lump in her throat,
and taking Charlie in her arms she sat with bowed head looking down
at him.

"Would it be better--for him," she thought heart-brokenly, "would not
that home be better than this--the only one she could give him--and
what was to become of him if he lost her?" But she forced the
thought away. "And what is to become of me--if I lose him?" she
asked herself fiercely--and found no answer.

The last verse was reached, and she felt almost glad, the pain and
the pathos were more than she could bear.

"Now, one more," pleaded Charlie's weak voice from the shelter of his
mother's arms, and Miss Patch in her thin, sweet voice sang to a
plaintive chanting air of her own the beautiful hymn written by Miss
M. Betham-Edwards--

"God make my life a little light
Within the world to glow;
A little flame that burneth bright
Wherever I may go."

"God made my life a little flower,
That giveth joy to all,
Content to bloom in native bower
Although its place be small."

"God make my life a little staff,
Whereon the weak may rest,
That so what health and strength I have
May serve my neighbours best."

"It isn't a real tune," she explained shyly, when she had reached the
end. "I liked the words so much that I learnt them by heart, and
they ran in my head until I found myself singing them to any sort of
drone that would fit them."

"I think it is all lovely," said Charlie; "don't you, Jessie?"

"Oh, _lovely_," breathed Jessie softly. She was too deeply impressed
to be able to talk much. "God make my life a little flower," the
words repeated themselves again in her brain. "Miss P