"Polishin', child. I learnt it long ago. One day I was that wore out I wouldn't have cared if the sky had fallen,--things had been goin' crooked, an' Mother hadn't slept well for a fortnight, an' I was that narvous an' tuckered out I thought I'd fly to pieces. There's an old hymn Mother's dredful fond of,--I don't remember how it goes now, but there's one line she keeps repeatin' over an' over till I feel ready to jump. It's this,--'What dyin' wurms we be.' So, when she begun her wurm song that mornin' I just let fly. 'Ef I _am_ a wurm,' sez I, 'I ain't goin' ter be allers lookin' to see myself squirm!' and with that I up and out of the house. My head was that tight inside I felt if I didn't git out that minit somethin' would snap. I went straight up to Mis' Everidge's. She's one of the people you see who always lives on a hill, inside an' out. When I got there I couldn't speak. My heart's weak at the best of times an' the weather in there was pretty stormy. I just dropped into the first chair an' she put her hands on my two shoulders an' sez she,--'You poor child!' an' then she went away an' made me a syllabub." "'Look on the bright side,' sez she in her cheery way when I had finished drinkin'." "'Sakes alive, Mis' Everidge,' sez I, 'there isn't any bright side!'" "'Then polish up the dark one,' sez she, ez quick ez a flash. I've been tryin' to do it ever since." "You dear Penelope!" exclaimed Evadne, "I think you have!" "It's all a wale, child, a wale o' tears," old Mrs. Riggs complained as she bade her good-bye in the porch, but when she reached the turn in the road she heard Penelope singing,-- "Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be! Lead me by Thine own hand; Choose out my path for me. I dare not choose my lot, I would not if I might; Choose Thou for me, My God, So shall I walk aright." and Evadne knew that in the brave heart the voice of Christ had made the storm a calm. "You dear Aunt Marthe! How am I ever going to thank you for all you have been to me; and what shall I do without you?" Evadne spoke the words wistfully. They were making the most of their last evening. "Why, dear child, we can always be together in spirit. 'It is not distance in miles that separates people but distance in feeling.' Emerson says,--'A man really lives where his thought is,' so you can be in Vernon and I in Marlborough,--each of us held close in the hush of God's love, which 'in its breadth is a girdle that encompasses the globe and a mantle that enwraps it.'" Evadne caught Mrs. Everidge's face between her hands and kissed it reverently. "I mean to devote my life to making other people happy, as you do, my saint," she said. * * * * * "Board!" The conductor's cry of warning smote the air and the train passengers made a final bustle of preparation for a start. Mrs. Everidge caught Evadne close in a last embrace.