"Glory," said she, to-day, "I'm going to let you share a little treasure of mine--something Mr. Armstrong gave me." Glory's eyes deepened and glowed. "It is thoughts," said Faith. "Thoughts in verse. I shall read it to you, because I think it will just answer you, as it did me. Don't you feel, sometimes, like a little brook in a deep wood?" Glory's gaze never moved from Faith's face. Her poetical instinct seized the image, and the thought of her life applied it. "All alone, and singing to myself? Yes, I _did_, Miss Faith. But I think it is growing lighter and pleasanter every day. I think I am getting----" "Stop! stop!" said Faith. "Don't steal the verses before I read them! You're such a queer child, Glory! One never can tell you anything." And then Faith gave her pearls; because she knew they would not be trampled under foot, but taken into a heart and held there; and because just such a rapt and reverent ecstasy as her own had been when the minister had given her, in fulfillment of his promise, this thought of his for the comfort that was in it, looked out from the face that was uplifted to hers. "'Up in the wild, where no one comes to look, There lives and sings, a little lonely brook; Liveth and singeth in the dreary pines, Yet creepeth on to where the daylight shines. "'Pure from their heaven, in mountain chalice caught, It drinks the rains, as drinks the soul her thought; And down dim hollows, where it winds along, Bears its life-burden of unlistened song. "'I catch the murmur of its undertone That sigheth, ceaselessly,--alone! alone! And hear, afar, the Rivers gloriously Shout on their paths toward the shining sea! "'The voiceful Rivers, chanting to the sun; And wearing names of honor, every one; Outreaching wide, and joining hand with hand To pour great gifts along the asking land. "'Ah, lonely brook! creep onward through the pines! Press through the gloom, to where the daylight shines! Sing on among the stones, and secretly Feel how the floods are all akin to thee! "'Drink the sweet rain the gentle heaven sendeth; Hold thine own path, howeverward it tendeth; For, somewhere, underneath the eternal sky, Thou, too, shalt find the Rivers, by-and-by!'" Faith's voice trembled with earnestness as she finished. When she looked up from the paper as she refolded it, tears were running down Glory's cheeks. "Why, the little brook has overflowed!" cried Faith, playfully. If she had not found this to say, she would have cried, herself.