BY MISS ELIZABETH DOTEN

"Daily striving, though so lonely,
Every day reward shall give,
Thou shalt find by striving only,
And in loving, thou canst live."
Miss Edwards.

"On dear!" said Annie Burton, as she sat down under the old apple-tree by the spring; "I wonder what ails me; there's been such a choking feeling in my throat all this afternoon, and though I winked and swallowed with all my might, the tears would come in spite of myself. Here I've been wandering for more than three hours, up hill and down, through brambles and brier-bushes; my hands are scratched and bloody, and the sun has burnt me as brown as a berry. Three long precious hours in the sunny month of August! and what does it all amount to? Why, I have picked a basket of berries that can be eaten in half an hour; and here is a bunch of flowers for little Katie, that she will take and admire, and then tear to pieces; that will be the end of them. But that isn't the worst of all; no, not by a great deal; there is a great rent in my frock, gaping and staring at me, waiting to be mended; and nobody knows how long 't will take me to do that. Oh dear! how I hate to work! I don't see how it is; there's mother takes care of the children, sews, makes bread and washes the dishes, just as willingly and cheerfully as if she were playing on the piano or reading a pleasant book. They say that good people are always happy; but I never am. Oh, I believe I am the worst creature that ever lived!" and she bent her head upon her lap and burst into tears.

It was not long before she was roused by the sound of footsteps; she raised her head, and saw an old woman coming down the road with a large basket on her arm. She looked tired and weary, as well she might be, for she had travelled a long distance; it was a hot, sultry afternoon, and every footstep stirred a cloud of dust. She came towards the spring; but before she reached it, she struck her foot against a stone and fell.

"Have you hurt you?" exclaimed Annie, as she sprung to her side.

"Not a bit, not a bit," she replied, as she shook the dust from her apron, and replaced the things that had fallen from her basket.

"Oh, yes, you have!" said Annie; "see, the blood is streaming down your arm!"

"Oh that's nothing; only a scratch. Blessings on the good Father that watches over me! I might have broken my arm, and that would have been a deal worse! How fortunate I happened to fall just by the spring here! I've been longing for a drink of cold water, and I sha'n't need it any the less for getting such a mouthful of this hot dust."

"Heart's dearest!" she exclaimed, as she put down the iron dipper that always hung by the spring, after having satisfied her thirst, "what is it troubles you? Such sorrowful eyes and a tearful face belong only to older heads and more sinful hearts; and God forbid it even to them, unless it is wrung out of the agony of their very souls; for though his providences are just and wise, yet nature must have its way sometimes."

"Oh," she replied, as the tears filled her eyes again, "I have been crying to think how wicked I am."

"Well-a-day!" said the old woman, looking rather droll; "it's very strange such a young creature as you should come down here to weep on account of great wickedness. You don't look much like a Salem witch, or a runaway from the house of correction."

Annie could not help laughing at such an idea; but as the smile passed away, the troubled waters of her heart seemed to burst forth in a flood, and she wept violently.

"Ah," said the old woman, shaking her head sorrowfully: "I ought not to have spoken thus; I see how it is. Poor lamb! she hears the voice of the Shepherd calling her, but she is bewildered and knows not the way to the fold; and may the Lord Jesus look upon me, as he did upon his sinful servant Peter when he denied him, if I fail to point out to this dear child the path wherein he himself has taught me to tread."

She sat down beside Annie and laid her arm gently around her. "There's a dear girl," said she, raising her head, and putting back the locks of moist hair; "listen to me a little while, and I will tell you what will make you happier." She took the cool waters of the spring, and bathed her burning forehead, and washed away all traces of dust and tears. The water had a cooling and soothing effect upon Annie's troubled brain.

"There now," said the good dame; "don't you feel better?"

"Yes," said Annie, almost cheerfully.

"Well," she continued, "God's love is just like this spring; it is full and free to all. Now don't you suppose, if you could cleanse and purify your heart from all traces of sin and sorrow in its blessed waters, just as you bathe your face in this spring, that you would feel happier and better."

"Yes," said Annie, slowly and thoughtfully, as if a new idea was passing through her mind.

"Well then, I will tell you how. I have felt just as you do now. When I was a girl I was a restless, idle creature; useless to others, and a burden to myself. Of course I was unhappy, miserable. It was in vain that I went to school with such a discontented mind. I had a harder lesson to learn than any that my teacher could learn me. God grant you may not have to learn it in the same way that I did! I learned it by experience; a sorrowful way that is to learn anything, although it is slow and sure; you may be pretty certain that you never will forget it. I have found out, by experience, that the only way that we can live and be happy, is by loving and serving others, just as the blessed Jesus did; and if you will try it you will find it so."

"Oh," said Annie, "I am a little girl. What good can I do? If I was the Lord Jesus, I would go about doing good; then I would cast out devils, and heal the sick, and raise the dead."

"Yes, yes; I know you are yet but a 'wee thing,' and have much to learn; but 'the race is not always to the swift and the battle to the strong;' it isn't the tallest men and the oldest heads that do the most good in the world. But I'll tell you what you can do, if you can't work miracles; though there's many a devil cast out in these days of sin and sorrow, that men know not of; those who struggle and strive with the Evil One, and thrust him out of the doors of their heart, do not sound a trumpet before them in the streets, for they are true followers of the dear Lamb of God. That same old spirit of selfishness that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden has gone through the world like a creeping, wily serpent ever since. It has wound itself round and round our hearts, coil upon coil, until we scarce seem to have any heart at all. It is this that troubles you, and you must cast it out; you must forget your own interest, and learn everybody to love you; then you can't help loving everybody, and you will be happy. Oh, it will be hard, very hard, to do this; you will stop, and perhaps turn back; but when it is the darkest you must take the gentle hand that our dear brother, the Lord Jesus, stretches out to you, and he will lead you safely to the very bosom of the Father.

"But look up, dear one, the sun has gone down behind the hill, and you must hasten homeward. The mother bird must needs feel anxious when her nestlings are away. But don't forget what I have told you."

"No," said Annie, raising her head, for she had been thinking earnestly; every word that her kind friend had spoken went with a powerful influence to her heart; "I will try and do what I can," said she.

"Ay," said the old woman, "that's right! not even an angel can do more. But stop," she added; "do you remember what day it is?"

"Yes," said Annie.

"Well then, just a year from this time, if the Lord permits, we will meet again by this spring. Now good night, and may the blessing of the Great Father go with you."

"Good night," said Annie, and with a cheerful heart and light footstep, she hastened homeward.

No sooner did she come in sight of her home, than she perceived a horse and carriage standing by the gate. She recognized it in a moment; it was the doctor's. A cold shudder passed over her, and an indefinable fear entered her mind. She hastened onward and entered the house.

Upon the bed lay little Katie; her eyes fixed upon the wall, seemingly unconscious of all that passed around her, sending forth low moans, as if in great pain. Beside her sat the doctor, counting the beatings of her pulse, and closely observing the alterations of her countenance.

"I cannot give you much encouragement," said he. "It is a disease of the brain. All shall be done for her that is possible, but I fear there is not much hope."

Alas! it was even so; all was done in vain. She laid day after day, a helpless sufferer. It was long before the vital energy was spent; but through all this weary time, there was one constant watcher by her bed-side.

Annie, with the impression of a deep truth upon her soul, felt that now was the time to act, and most faithfully did she perform her duty. And when, at last, sweet Katie died, with a warm gush of tears she laid one of the flowers that she had gathered from the hill-side upon her bosom, and clasping her arms around her mother's neck, she said: "Mother, dear sister is gone, and now I must be both Annie and Katie to you; and if God will help me, I shall be more of a blessing to you than I ever yet have been."

Oh, it was like a ray of sunshine to that weeping mother's heart, to hear her once wayward child speak thus! and though it was like taking away the life-drops from her heart to give up her cherished little one, yet she felt there was still a great blessing remaining for her.

Time passed on. Autumn came with its ripened fruits and golden foliage; winter laid his glittering mantle upon the streams and hill-tops, and spring brought blossoms for little Katie's grave.

Annie, the gentle Annie, where was she?

Firm to her purpose, she had gone onward. At times the struggle was hard indeed. Then she would go to the spring, and kneel down, and talk with her Good Father, until the evil feelings had left her heart, and the cheerful smile came again to her countenance.

At length summer, bright, beautiful summer, beamed over the land once more, and as it drew to a close it brought the day on which Annie was to meet her friend at the spring.

It was the close of the Sabbath, and the last rays of the setting sun streamed through the branches of the trees that surrounded the spring, and tinged its waters with a rosy light. There sat the old lady, looking anxiously up the road.

"I wonder why she don't come," said she. "Perhaps the young thing has forgotten me. Sure 'twould be a sorrow to me if I thought she had."

"No indeed," said a pleasant voice. A light form sprang from a clump of bushes close by, and she felt a warm kiss upon her cheek. "No, I have not forgotten you, but I have come to tell you how happy I am. Oh, I have seen trouble and sorrow enough, since I saw you; but for all that, I am much happier than I was then. You told me that I must learn to love everybody, and so I did; and now it seems as if everybody and everything loved me, even our old cat and dog. Strange, isn't it?"

"Heart's dearest!" said the old woman, as soon as she could speak, wiping away the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron; "there's a philosophy in all things, even in baking bread and washing dishes; but the true philosophy of life consists in loving and doing; and, blessed be God! that is so plain, that the least of his children can understand it."