enton. Surely you have not forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"The strength which has been your stay for long years. You remember
how sad and dreary was the world yesterday. How dismal everything
appeared, with not a glimpse of the blue sky. But look now at all
this," and Douglas threw out his hand in an eloquent gesture. "See
what a change has taken place in a short time. The greyness is gone,
and look how blue is the sky, and how bright and warm the sun. Surely
He who is able to effect such a marvellous change in Nature in such a
few hours, will not forsake His servant in the hour of need. Cheer up,
sir, and do not be so down-hearted. Though things seem dark now, yet
hope for the best, and trust that the clouds will scatter and the
shadows will flee away."

"Your words are full of wisdom," Joe slowly replied, "and you speak
like a man who has known trouble. But have you ever experienced a
father's sorrow at the loss of a darling child? Can you look back
through the years and see that child pure and beautiful, loving and
true, making the home ring with her happy laughter and joyous ways?
Then at last to see her degraded, half-demented, a total wreck, with
all parental love crushed out of her heart like my Jean over there?
Have you known any sorrow like that, young man?"

"No, indeed I have not," Douglas emphatically replied. "Your trouble
is truly great. But why give up in despair? Jean is still alive, and
she may yet return to her former ways. She is in the depths now, but
this Valley of Achor may be to her a door of hope, as it was to the
woman we read of in the Bible. Suppose we visit her now, and learn how
she is getting along? She may have changed as much since you saw her
last as Nature has changed since yesterday."

Douglas rose to his feet and picked up his violin.

"Come," and he laid his hand affectionately upon the old man's
shoulder, "let us go together. We may be able to cheer her up a bit."

Without a word Joe rose slowly to his feet and walked along by Douglas'
side. Over the hill they moved and then down into the valley below.
The path, now worn deep by the feet of cows, for this region was
pasture land, wound through a swamp where they had to pick their way
owing to the water which settled here. Up a steep bank they scrambled,
and when they at last gained the top they came in sight of Mrs.
Dempster's house but fifty yards beyond.

The widow was sitting under the shade of an ap