Polly’s tears fell fast on the dear little notes, which she kissed again and again, and tucked under her pillow to bring her sleep. ‘Elsie knows something,’ she thought, ‘but how? she knows that I’m in trouble and that I’ve done wrong, or she wouldn’t have said that about not being able to turn a bad pumpkin into a beautiful gold coach; but perhaps she can get Aunt Truth to forgive me and try me again. Unless she can do it, it will never come to pass, for I haven’t the courage to ask her. I would rather run away early in the morning and go home than have her look at me again as she did to-day. Oh! what shall I do?’ and Polly went down on her knees beside the rough couch, and sobbed her heart out in a childish prayer for help and comfort. It was just the prayer of a little child telling a sorrowful story; because it is when we are alone and in trouble that the unknown and mysterious God seems to us most like a Father, and we throw ourselves into the arms of His love like helpless children, and tell Him our secret thoughts and griefs. ‘Dear Father in heaven,’ she sobbed, ‘don’t forgive me if I ought not to be forgiven, but please make Aunt Truth feel how sorry I am, and show me whether I ought to tell what made me so angry, though it’s no excuse. Bless and keep my darling patient little mother, and help me to grow more like her, and braver and stronger too, so that I can take care of her soon, and she needn’t work hard any longer. Please forgive me for hating some things in my life as much as I do, and I will try and like them better; but I think—yes, I know—that I am full of wicked pride; and oh, it seems as if I could never, never get over wanting to live in a pretty house, and wear pretty dresses, and have my mother live like Bell’s and Margery’s. And oh, if Thou canst only forgive me for hating boarders so dreadfully, and being ashamed of them every minute, I will try and like them better and tell everybody that we take them—I will indeed; and if I can only once make Aunt Truth love and trust me again, I will make the boarders’ beds and dust their rooms for ever without grumbling. Please, dear Father in heaven, remember that I haven’t any father to love me or to teach me to be good; and though mamma does her best, please help her to make something out of me if it can be done. Amen.’ ‘Truth,’ said Mrs. Howard, when all was quiet about the camp, ‘Elsie wants to see you a moment before she goes to sleep. Will you go to her tent, while I play a game of cribbage with Dr. Paul?’ Elsie looked like a blossom in all the beautiful greenness of her tent, with her yellow head coming out from above the greens and browns of the cretonne bed-cover for all the world like a daffodil pushing its way up through the mould towards the spring sunshine.