"She is a poor, lonely old woman, Happy. I ask her to come here because it is one of the few places where she has a friend; and she is one of the household, after all."

"I forgot that," said Happy, simply.

"You don't know her yet, Happy. Under all this sharp talk, and strong like or dislike for people, she has a warm, generous, true heart. If Sam Rice were sick or in trouble to-morrow, Miss Lavinny would go to help him in a minute. She has very keen eyes to understand character, and is not backward to speak of anybody, but she is good, and sincerely Christian. What you do for her is done for one of these'; and she is lonely enough to make me pity her sincerely, all the more that I have got you, my child, and she has got nobody." Happy's arms were round her mother in a

moment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I was vexed about her. Mother dear, do ask her here every Sunday."

"Don't go over the other edge now, Happy. No, indeed! I can't afford to give all my Sundays to her; there are other places where she goes, and I think you have a right to me more than half the time, haven't you? Now get your bonnet, it is time for evening meeting."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE next week Happy began again to call on her class. The first place she came to was Mrs. Gray's, who opened the door herself, being a woman whose way was always to do a thing herself rather than wait to have it done by another. Happy had no pleasant experience here: Mrs. Gray was not in a good humor, and she was one of those "well-meaning" people who never seem to get beyond "meaning." She took Happy into the room where she was sitting at work, which happened to be her bedroom: it was cluttered with patterns, shreds, halfmade garments, which were partly stitched on the machine, and waited now for further basting.

"Sit down, sit down," she said, pushing a heap of cloth, scissors, spools and patterns off a chair. "Mary ain't at home; how's your ma?"

Happy answered; and Mrs. Gray went on: "I suppose Mary pesters you a good deal ; she's dreadful queer; she takes after her pa. He was the queerest!

Well, you're pretty young to have a class anyway. Are you gettin' tired?"

"Oh no!" said Happy, earnestly.

"And Mary don't put you out any?"

"Not at all, ma'am; Mary does not trouble me.

I only wish I could make it more interesting for her. I'm afraid she finds the lesson dull sometimes."

“Law!

"Like enough she does; 'tain't to be expected anybody like you could make it real interesting.” Happy colored, but Mrs. Gray went on. you needn't mind me: I'm real blunt, that's my way. I don't say things softly. I'm blunt always; but you no need to resent it."

It did not seem to Happy that it was a valid excuse for such coarse incivility that it was Mrs. Gray's "way;" but in her slight experience she had not discovered that this lady was only one of many people who excuse themselves for being rude in this fashion; fondly deluding themselves—but nobody else with the idea that honesty covers a multitude of their sins, and that to mean well is equivalent to behaving well. Strange that even a lifetime spent without the affection and confidence of others, even the alienation of those allied to them by the strongest ties, does not, cannot, convince them that the fruits of the Spirit are "love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness." Yet Mrs. Gray called and believed herself a Christian; unaware that her

own child had often thought in her heart, though her lips as yet had never uttered it, "If mother is a Christian, then I don't want to be one!" No doubt Mrs. Gray would have been shocked and pained to know this. But the Lord does not always break such delusive fetters: he melts them away more often, by ways which the wearers know not, till they are free. Nor did Happy know how often Mary Gray compared her gentle manner, and sweet, quiet voice, with her mother's harsh, loud tones and exasperating language; it was this contrast which made Mary so devoted to her teacher as she really was at heart, though the time had not come yet for her to show it, or Happy to feel it. But this call did good in one way, it awoke in Happy's mind sincere pity for Mary, and made her unconsciously show her so much care and tenderness that Mary's ideal of a good woman wore, all her life long, the semblance of this poor, pale, limping girl.

At Mrs. Calhoun's she found only Julia at home. The bright, sensible face lit up as she saw her teacher; she led her into a pleasant sunny parlor, put her into a rocking-chair by the open window, where scents of late mignonette and lingering pinks came in on the soft air, and brought her a plate of fresh peaches, sweet and splendid with long days of sun. Happy was not accustomed to such petting: it moved her strangely; and while Julia sat looking

on with glowing face and keen, bright eyes, enjoying the fruit quite as much as Happy did, and entertaining her with a real girl's talk, gay and vivid, the child did not know how near the tears were to her teacher's lids, or how fully Happy understood and loved the frank, generous, genial spirit that promised to bless the world about her some day, as benignly as now she ministered to her teacher. In the midst of their talk Mrs. Calhoun came in; a handsome, cheery, lady-like woman, with whom the tailoress's daughter felt as much at home as with her own mother as far as being at ease in conversation, and having no sense of discomfort went. Happy had yet to learn that some people are ladies and gentlemen in every position in life, and some in none. She only thought, as she left that hospitable house, what a peaceful and pleasant lot in life had fallen to Julia Calhoun, and was glad with all her heart that the child had such goodly shelter; for next to Ruth Holden her heart had gone out to this one of her little flock.

When she entered the yard at Mr. Holden's, Ruth saw her from the window, and ran out to meet her, all her soft wealth of hair flying about her shoulders, and her beautiful face lit up like a blossom in the sun. She gave Happy a warm kiss, without a word, and, drawing her into the house, sat down on a stool at her feet, and looked up at her with silent