"The very last Sabbath I was in church," said she to Doctor Wheeler, "Mr. Lewis said in his sermon, that even our afflictions had a blessing wrapped up in them. But I do not believe there is one inside this trouble. I can't conceive of any good that can possibly come out of it all!"

"Well, I don't know," replied Doctor Wheeler, "I should never have conceived of anything like that statue, yet it was inside the marble all the time, and plainly discerned by the eye of the sculptor. There are things in the spiritual world which we cannot conceive until they are revealed to us."

Poor Mrs. Hamlin shook her head doubtfully. She was very sure no good could grow out of this trial. Doctor Wheeler was a sweet-voiced little woman who looked upon the bright side of things and whom the children loved; they were very sorry for their little friend across the street who had the fever and whose father insisted upon sending for that gruff old Doctor Smith, who never had a smile for children.

"Your children have good constitutions and you have good nurses, I see no reason why they should not pull through easily," said Doctor Wheeler when Mr. Hamlin asked her opinion as to the prospects of the recovery of his little folks. "But what about that oldest boy of yours? Does he not have an Easter vacation?"

"Yes; and I suppose he ought not to come home?"

"Most certainly not! It will not be safe for several weeks; he must be kept away from this vicinity, though I hope the disease will not spread. You should send word for him to remain at the school through the vacation."

It was a very sober face indeed that presented itself at Doctor Brown's study door, a day or two after this conversation took place.

Doctor Brown was the principal of Howland Hall School for boys, and was the right man in the right place.

"What is it, Fred?" he asked kindly. "Come in and let me hear about it."

"It is this," replied Fred Hamlin, handing the Doctor his father's letter.

"Ah! Well, my boy, it might be worse news. You understand, the little folks at home are all on the high road to recovery, and it is on your account that you are not to go home."

"I know; but it will be dreadful lonesome here with the boys all away."

"That is so; and what will make it worse is, that we have planned a little trip which will take us all away excepting Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. I am afraid it will be rather doleful for you alone in this great house; but that will be better than the scarlet fever. Eh?"

Fred turned away in a very disconsolate frame of mind. The Easter vacation to which he had been looking forward was likely to be anything but pleasant. Now Fred Hamlin was by no means a model boy, and matters did not always go smoothly with him at home. His own mother died when he was a baby, and his grandmother had taken charge of him until Fred was ten years old. Then she too died, and the boy was taken home by his father. The second mother tried earnestly to win the boy's heart, but seeds of suspicion and jealousy had been dropped into the young mind, and he refused to be won. After three years of trial Mr. Hamlin concluded to send Fred to school. Doctor Brown had the reputation of being a strict disciplinarian, and Mr. Hamlin hoped much as a result of school discipline. But Watt Vinton, Fred's room-mate, knew very well that any such expectations were not likely to be realized. I cannot tell you of all the ways in which Fred contrived to make himself disagreeable to his quiet and gentlemanly companion. But so well did he succeed, that Watt, sometimes, with his face buried in the pillow, would whisper just to himself, "He is the hatefulest, meanest, crossest fellow I ever saw! I don't believe he has a particle of respect or love for anybody on earth!" Now perhaps you will almost doubt me when I tell you that the pillow was Watt's only confident. He never breathed a word of his troubles to a single person. There were several reasons for this reticence. Watt was an orphan, and had learned to keep his troubles to himself. He was too proud to complain; he had a notion that it would be more manly to endure annoyances than to make a fuss over them. It was only when he got out of patience that he took his troubles to his friend the pillow. This will explain why Watt Vinton frowned a little over a letter which he received a few days before the Easter vacation, and why he carried it in his pocket a whole day before coming to a decision in regard to one of its propositions. The letter was from his cousin, May Vinton, and here is one sentence from it: "Now that it is settled that you are to spend your vacation here, would you like to bring a boy with you? If there is somebody who cannot go home, or who needs a chance, whom you would like to bring, you may invite him to be your guest for the week."

It took Watt a whole day to make up his mind that he could do it. But at the end of the twenty-four hours he wrote to his cousin, "I am going to bring my chum."

Well, what came of it all—the scarlet fever, Mrs. Hamlin's trouble, Fred's disappointment, and Watt's sacrifice?

Do you suppose God knew that May Vinton could reach that wayward boy's heart, and help him to a better life, and so planned all this to bring about the meeting? Do you not suppose that he knew that Watt's sacrifice would make him stronger and better? It was a day or two after the boys reached the beautiful home of the Vintons that Fred sat in May's lovely room, chatting confidentially with her. Watt had been called to the library by his guardian, and the boy was left alone with the loveliest young lady he had ever met. Just how it was I do not know; Fred himself does not know, but it was not long before he was telling this new and it seemed to him first friend he had ever known, all his story; how nobody loved him, and how he hated everybody; how dreadful it was to have a stepmother, and a great deal of nonsense which to the mistaken and misunderstood boy seemed very solemn truth.

I have not space in which to tell you how May Vinton helped him to a better understanding of himself, and of his position. But at the close of one of the many conversations which they had during Fred's visit, he said:

"I see how it is! I have been more to blame than anybody else. But the boys have got so used to expecting hatefulness from me, they would never understand if I tried to do differently."

"Never is a long time," said Miss Vinton.

One day Watt said to his cousin, "What have you done to Fred? He is so different here!"

"Perhaps more will come of your sacrifice than you expected," replied May quietly.

"What do you know about a sacrifice?" asked Watt quickly.

A smile was her only reply.

More did grow out of it all than anyone would have suspected. May Vinton's seed-sowing was on good ground. By her love and sympathy she had softened the soil, and the heart of the friendless boy opened to the refining and elevating influences she threw around him, and a month later Watt wrote, "Fred is just as different as you can think. The boys all like him now."