Just be glad that you are living and keep cheering someone on.

Venna sat alone at lunch, idly toying with her food. Stella busied herself around her mistress, offering first one thing and then another, with real concern in her honest face.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you've hardly eaten anything since your aunt went away. You're right pale, you are."

"Am I?" returned Venna with a feeble smile. "I guess I must be going to the country soon. The fresh air makes me hungry."

"It's a warm day now, ma'am. John says, don't you want to use the car this afternoon?" Stella ventured anxiously.

"No, Stella, I don't want to go out today," she replied dully. "I don't think I care for any lunch either. You fixed everything so nice, too. I'll try to do better next time."

She arose from the table and was about to leave the room when she turned at the door.

"Stella, if anyone comes, remember I'm out—unless it's Mrs. Halloway. She wrote she would be home from the West any day. I'll see her."

"All right, ma'am."

But Stella shook her head as Venna disappeared.

"There's something wrong somewhere," she said to herself sadly. "She looks like a wilted flower. It's a dull old house with her father dead, her aunt married, and her husband traveling. But that doesn't account for her looking as though life was all entirely over, the poor dear!"

Venna went to her room and threw herself upon her couch in real despair.

Two weeks ago her aunt left the old home, a happy but tearful bride. Venna played her role, and smiled gaily until the time of parting was over, when she found herself alone with the servants in the once happy home of her girlhood. That was two weeks ago. It seemed like two years.

Her aunt's wedding trip was to be a joyous extended affair—she probably would be away three months.

Hadly had not returned. He had written Venna twice—polite, cynical letters, in which he assured her he would not return to the city until she was pleasantly located elsewhere for the summer. Would she inform him of her absence.

It seemed to Venna her whole life had collapsed. She saw nothing ahead of her but a sham existence, constantly scheming to hide the reality of her empty existence from her aunt and others. The fear of gossip among her friends worried her equally as much as the desire not to pain her aunt. Each day she sat in her room, thinking and perplexing herself with the thought of her future. Where could she go in the summer, alone—without society asking questions?

Oh, how she longed for Daddy, and the old times of freedom and light-heartedness. Every night she cried herself to sleep with Daddy upon her lips.

But there came no answer. Only a blank silence, bringing the reality of death's destruction to all hope and love. Some nights Venna couldn't sleep. She would lie with eyes wide open, praying God that she might die, too. But her prayer was a vague murmuring and God seemed very far off.

How she longed for some vital religion! The uncertain teachings of her childhood and girlhood did not help her in her despondency. She always had cherished the thought that her mother's spirit hovered near to her—there had been times when she felt her presence. Why did she not have that consolation now? She found no answer. She only knew that within her troubled heart, faith was at a very low ebb.

Today was a little harder than usual. A dull heavy atmosphere without did not tend to cheer. "If only the sun would shine! Anything, anything to lift this morbid, overpowering depression!"

As if in answer to her heart's cry, a cheery voice called outside her door,

"Venna! Venna! Let me in! I couldn't wait for you to come down. Open the door, dear, quick?"

Venna started with sudden heart-beating. Anna Halloway! Her school chum of happy days! Bright, joyous Anna!

One moment and the door was opened and Venna found herself sobbing hysterically in her friend's arms.

In surprise Anna hugged her close, and caressed her curls.

"Why, Venna dear, what is the matter? I expected to find my little bride all smiles. Oh, it's so good to see you after two long years. But not like this! What on earth troubles you?"

Venna did not immediately answer, but after Anna had calmed her with loving assurances, she said with a tired little smile, "O Anna, I've been so lonely. I believe God sent you right to me, you dear, cheerful thing! So much has happened to me since you went West."

"Tell me all about it," said Anna, still encircling her arms around Venna, as they sat down upon the couch.

So Venna, hungry for sympathy, laid bare her heart, as she never thought it possible for her to do.

Anna drew from her everything, though at times the confidence came in broken, timid sentences.

"So you see, Anna, what a failure my life has been," she concluded piteously.

Anna laughed.

"You little goose! Your first trials have knocked you right down and out, haven't they? I appreciate your position, dear, but I'll have you all smiles again, very soon. You need a strong, vital faith, dearie— something to lift you right up and keep you there."

"Yes, I know I need faith. I really long for it. But where and how are we to get it these days? And you, Anna—you were always so skeptical about religion?"

"Yes, I know I was, but I'm not now. I learned Christian Science since I saw you, dear. Oh, it's just wonderful, Venna. It will lift you out of anything."

"Christian Science? I always thought that more visionary than anything else, Anna."

"You don't understand it, dear. Of course, you'll say I have had no trials yet. That's true, but I'm ready for them. I know just how to meet them."

Anna Halloway was round, rosy and radiant—one of that type of healthy, practical womanhood, that imparts a glow to other natures by its warmth and dynamic force. She could not fully appreciate a nature as refined and aspiring as Venna's. On the other hand, Venna's receptive mind drew in gladly the joy of Anna's nature, and her thirsty soul was for the time refreshed.

"In the first place, Venna dear, you must get those ugly thoughts about your husband right out of your mind. You must think well of him—give him your best thoughts, as we say. Then you'll influence him for good."

"But, Anna, how can I think well of him when he married me after such a past? That was unfair to me."

"And you married him without loving him. Weren't you unfair to him? You gave him next to nothing. Now, dear, I'm going to be terribly frank with you, but there is no other way to bring you to your normal senses. I don't suppose you realize that you have led a very selfish life? Now don't feel hurt, dear. You couldn't help it. You've been loved and flattered ever since you were born. You've never sacrificed anything for anyone outside of Venna Hastings or Venna Hadly, have you? Now, dear, you have an unselfish nature. I know that,—but you've never used it. You have just received, received, received. Now just change your position in the bank and be paying teller for awhile."

"I suppose," Venna said reflectively, "if I had gone on with my settlement work, it would have helped."

"It wouldn't at all," exclaimed Anna, decisively. "The way we society women take up settlement work doesn't require any particular sacrifice. It's a novelty, a pleasure, a sort of 'satisfy conscience' relaxation. What you need now is to get out of yourself. Make a real sacrifice for some one who needs it—for instance, your husband."

"You mean I should live with him?" asked Venna, in sudden consternation.

Anna was momentarily taken back by the strength of the opposition.

"I would," she answered, seriously. "In your place, I would say to myself, 'He cheated me, I cheated him. That's equal. Now we'll make the best of life and help one another.' You know, Venna dear, the average man is no better than Hadly. It wasn't his fault that you were brought up with your eyes shut, was it? Why hate him any more than any one else? Be fair, Venna. He has a right to be well thought of in other respects."

Venna shook her head sadly.

"Yes, I sinned when I married without love. I see that now. But I never could love a man who looks upon his past impurity as a matter of course. So if I never could love him, where is the logic in remaining his wife?"

"Couldn't you pity him enough to let love creep in?" urged Anna.

"One can't love to order," returned Venna sadly.

"Well, if you can't, you can't," concluded Anna, giving up a hopeless case. "But at least, you won't hate him and treat him with scorn."

"No, Anna, I see where I'm not much better in many respects. You've opened my eyes to my own injustice. I'll try not to hate him, and—yes, it has been all self. I see it now."

"It is always self with us girls until we are mothers. Venna, I never woke up myself until—O, can't you guess, Venna? I have a wonderful surprise for you!" And she hugged Venna impulsively.

"You don't mean," began Venna, disentangling herself.

"Yes, I do mean!" interrupted Anna. "I'm the happy mother of a bouncing girlie six months old! I kept it as a surprise. She's such a darling, Venna!"

"I'm so glad for you, Anna. It must be a wonderful happiness to be a mother," she added wistfully.

"There, dear! I'm going to show you how to mother the whole world! No sad thoughts now. I think only of cheerful things. I'll have you the same old bright dear in no time. You shall spend the whole summer with me—we are going for six months, to a quiet little country place because of baby—where the air is fine and I can give my whole attention to her. Why, I hate the servants to even touch her! I'll let you though, and won't she make you laugh again! You'll forget what sadness is. You will go with us, won't you, dear?"

"Oh, how I would love to! Indeed I will!" exclaimed Venna, brightening. "God is good after all. He always finds us a way."

"Of course He's good, Venna, and gives us all Good. It is only our foolish mortal minds that imagine evil."

Venna did not understand what Anna meant, but she thanked God in her heart for sending her friend and with her the sunshine.