All the time she was dressing she heard Jack singing lustily in the next room. He was impatient to try the new brace, and paused between solos to exhort her to greater haste. She knelt just an instant by the low window-seat. The prayer she made was one of the shortest she had ever uttered, and one of the most heartfelt: "Give me this day my daily bread." That was all; yet it included everything—strength, courage, temporal help, disappointments or blessings—anything the dear Father saw she needed in her spiritual growth. When she arose from her knees, it was with a feeling of perfect security and peace. No matter what the day might bring forth, she would take it trustingly, and be thankful.

About an hour after breakfast she wheeled Jack to a front window. It was growing very warm again.

"It doesn't hurt me at all to sit up with this brace on," he said. "If you like, I'll help you practice, while I watch people go by on the street." He had often helped her gain stenographic speed by dictating rapid sentences. He read too slowly to be of any service that way, but he knew yards of nursery rhymes that he could repeat with amazing rapidity.

"I know there isn't a lawyer living that can make a speech as fast as I can say the piece about 'Who killed Cock Robin,'" he remarked when he first proposed such dictation; "and I can say the 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers' verse fast enough to make you dizzy."

Bethany's pencil was flying as rapidly as the boy's tongue, when they heard a cheery voice in the hall.

"It's Cousin Ray!" cried Jack. "I have felt all morning that something nice was going to happen, and now it has." Then he called out in a tragic tone, "'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.'"

"You saucy boy!" laughed Mrs. Marion, as she appeared in the doorway. "I think he is decidedly better, Bethany; you need not worry about him any longer."

She stooped to kiss his forehead, and drop a great yellow pear in his lap.

"No; I haven't time to stay," she said, when Bethany insisted on taking her hat. "I am to entertain the Missionary Society this afternoon, and Dr. Bascom has given me an unusually long list of the 'sick and in prison' kind to look after this month. It gives me an 'all out of breath' sensation every time I think of all that ought to be attended to."

She dropped into a chair near a window, and picked up a fan.

"You never could guess my errand," she began, hesitatingly.

"I know it is something nice," said Jack, "from the way your eyes shine."

"I think it is fine," she answered; "but I don't know how it will impress Bethany."

She plunged into the subject abruptly.

"The Courtney sisters want to come here to live."

"The Courtney sisters!" echoed Bethany, blankly. "To live! In our house? O Cousin Ray! I have realized for some time that we might have to give up the dear old place; but I did hope that it need not be to strangers."

"Why, they are not strangers, Bethany. They went to school with your mother for years and years. You have heard of Harry and Carrie Morse, I am sure."

"O yes," answered Bethany, quickly. "They were the twins who used to do such outlandish things at Forest Seminary. I remember, mamma used to speak of them very often. But I thought you said it was the Courtney sisters who wanted the house."

"I did. They married brothers, Joe and Ralph Courtney, who were both killed in the late war. They have been widows for over thirty years, you see. They are just the dearest old souls! They have been away so many, many years, of course you can't remember them. I did not know they were in the city until last night. But just as soon as I heard that they had come to stay, and wanted to go to housekeeping, I thought of you immediately. I couldn't wait for the storm to stop. I went over to see them in all that rain."

"Well," prompted Bethany, breathlessly, as Mrs. Marion paused.

She gave a quick glance around the room. She felt sick and faint, now that the prospect of leaving stared her in the face. Yet she felt that, since it had been unsolicited, there must be something providential in the sending of such an opportunity.

"O, they will be only too glad to come," resumed Mrs. Marion, "if you are willing. They remembered the arrangement of the house perfectly, and we planned it all out beautifully. Since Jack's accident you sleep down-stairs anyhow. You could keep the library and the two smaller rooms back of it, and may be a couple of rooms up-stairs. They would take the rest of the house, and board you and Jack for the rent. Your bread and butter would be assured in that way. They are model housekeepers, and such a comfortable sort of bodies to have around, that I couldn't possibly think of a nicer arrangement. Then you could devote your time and strength to something more profitable than taking care of this big house."

"O, Cousin Ray!" was all the happy girl could gasp. Her voice faltered from sheer gladness. "You can't imagine what a load you have lifted from me. I love every inch of this place, every stone in its old gray walls. I couldn't bear to think of giving it up. And, just to think! last night, at the very time I was most despondent, the problem was being solved. I can never thank you enough."

"The idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Marion, as she rose to go. "No thanks are due me, child. And Miss Caroline and Miss Harriet, as everybody still calls them, are just as anxious for such an arrangement as you can possibly be. They'll be over to see you to-morrow, for they are quite anxious to get settled. They have roamed about the world so long they begin to feel that 'there's no place like home.' Jack, they've been in China and Africa and the South Sea Islands. Think of the charming tales in store for you!"

"Goodness, Bethany!" exclaimed Jack, when she came back into the room after walking to the gate with Mrs. Marion. "Your face shines as if there was a light inside of you."

"O, there is, Jackie boy," she answered, giving him an ecstatic hug. "I am so very happy! It seems too good to be true."

"Cousin Ray is awful good to us," remarked the boy, thoughtfully. "Seems to me she is always busy doing something for somebody. She never has a minute for herself. I remember, when I used to go up there, people kept coming all day long, and every one of them wanted something. Why do you suppose they all went to her? Did she tell them they might?"

"Jack, do you remember the plant you had in your window last winter?" she replied. "No matter how many times I turned the jar that held it, the flower always turned around again towards the sun. People are the same way, dear. They unconsciously spread out their leaves towards those who have help and comfort to give. They feel they are welcome, without asking."

"She makes me think of that verse in 'Mother Goose,'" said Jack. "'Sugar and spice and everything nice.' Doesn't she you, sister?"

"No," said Bethany, with an amused smile. "Lowell has described her:

"I don't 'zactly understand," said Jack, with a puzzled expression.

She explained it, and he repeated it over and over, until he had it firmly fixed in his mind.

Then they went back to the dictation exercises. It was almost dark when they had another caller. Mr. Marion stopped at the door on his way home to dinner.

"I have good news for you, Bethany," he said, with his face aglow with eager sympathy. "Did Ray tell you?"

"About the house?" she said. "Yes. I've been on a mountain-top all day because of it."

"O, I don't mean that!" he exclaimed, hastily. "It's better than that. I mean about Porter & Edmunds."

"I don't see how anything could be better than the news she brought," said Bethany.

"Well, it is. Mr. Porter asked me to see their new law-office to-day. They have just moved into the Clifton Block. They have an elegant place. As I looked around, making mental notes of all the fine furnishings, I thought of you, and wished you had such a position. I asked him if he needed a stenographer. It was a random shot, for I had no idea they did. The young man they have has been there so long, I considered him a fixture. To my surprise he told me the fellow is going into business for himself, and the place will be open next week. I told him I could fill it for him to his supreme satisfaction. He promised to give you the refusal of it until to-morrow noon. I leave to-night on a business-trip, or I would take you over and introduce you."

"O, thank you, Cousin Frank!" she exclaimed. "I know Mr. Edmunds very well. He was a warm friend of papa's."

Then she added, impulsively:

"Yesterday I thought I had come to such a dark place that I couldn't see my hand before my face. I was just so blue and discouraged I was ready to give up, and now the way has grown so plain and easy, all at once, I feel that I must be living in a dream."

"Bless your brave little soul!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Why didn't you come to me with your troubles? Remember I am always glad to smooth the way for you, just as much as lies in my power."

When he had gone, Bethany crept away into the quiet twilight of the library, and, kneeling before the big arm-chair, laid her head in its cushioned seat.

"O Father," she whispered, "I am so ashamed of myself to think I ever doubted thee for one single moment. Forgive me, please, and help me through every hour of every day to trust unfalteringly in thy great love and goodness."