"Well, well," said her uncle, "I don't think Mabel will be in a hurry to go into debt again, and so we'll say no more about it." "Indeed—indeed, uncle, I shall never forget it, I have been so miserable lately," gasped the poor girl, trying to keep back her tears. "Oh, Mabel, and you never told me about it!" said her cousin reproachfully. "Why, what could you have done, Pussy?" said her father. "I would have brought that horrid dressmaker's bill to you, of course, long, long ago, if I had only known about it," said Isabel. But her father shook his head. "It would not have done, Pussy. I don't think I should have paid it. Girls must learn, as well as other people, the true value of money. Mabel has had her lesson, and a rather painful one it has been. Yours will come some day." But even as he said the words, a doubt crept into the father's heart whether such a lesson would ever be needed for his younger daughter—whether the training for life here was not wholly unnecessary, for of late she had grown even more delicate and frail-looking. By a certain intuition Isabel seemed to guess the drift of her father's thoughts, and she whispered: "I am laying up treasures for by and by." "Treasures for by and by!" he repeated, putting from him the thought that her words implied, and pretending not to understand what she meant. "Yes! I shall need the other sort of wealth most. The minister preached about it on Sunday—'Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal.' Treasures of the soul, the minister said it meant—treasures of knowledge and truth concerning God and the Lord Jesus—treasures of love, our loving others—treasures of service. I sha'n't have much of that," said Isabel, "for I'm such a poor thing—of so little use to anybody, but I can love them. Oh, you dear dad, how I love you—best of all, I think; and after you, everybody I know. I should like to help them in all sorts of ways, but as I can't do that, I can love them and pray for them—ask God to help them more than I can." 'Mr. Randolph looked dumbfoundered. All the repressed fear and dread that he had stifled and subdued in his own heart sprang into life as he listened to Isabel. "My dear, my darling," he gasped, "how long is it since you felt worse?" "Worse, papa! I am not worse," said Isabel. "My cough is a little troublesome at night that is all. Only—only, I thought you knew I should never be a very old woman." Her father looked at her earnestly. "You are sure you are no worse, Isabel?" "No, no, dear papa. Why do you look so frightened? You know I promised a long time ago that I would tell you or mamma the moment I felt the least bit worse."