"I cannot leave you a great number of injunctions," exclaimed Mrs. Headley tearfully, on that last morning when all was ready for departure, and the day for the sailing of the steamer had really come. "I think you have, mother," said Hugh, trying to hide his feeling under a joke. "No, not to you, dear; to Agnes I may have." "Yes, to _me_" said Hugh. "I am to mind Agnes, and not to mind John; and to mind I am kind to Minnie; and to keep in mind that Alice is younger than I; and to----" "Shut up," said John; "we don't want to hear your gabble to the last moment!" "I was going to say," resumed their mother gently, "that there was one thing I did want you to think of." "Tell us then, mother," said Alice, putting her arm round her fondly, "we'll keep it as the most important of all." There was a momentary silence, and then Mrs. Headley turned to her husband with a mute appeal. "Tell them," she said brokenly, "what we were saying this morning." "We want you all to think of one thing. In _any_ difficulty, in _every_ difficulty, in _all_ circumstances, say to yourselves, 'Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?' If you wait and hear the answer, it will help you in everything." "People generally do wait to hear the answer to their question, don't they, father?" asked John. "Not always; especially when they are speaking to God. But you be wiser, my children. In the waiting-time for the answer an extra blessing often comes." The children looked thoughtful; and then their father took from a paper a large painted card in an oak frame, which he proceeded to hang up on a nail ready prepared for it. On the card were letters in crimson and gold and blue, and the children read: "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" Then the sound of wheels suddenly reminded them that the parting had come. With a close embrace to each from their mother, and with an earnest "God bless you" to each from their father, the travellers turned to the door, followed by John and Hugh, who were to accompany them to the railway station. When the last bit of the cab had disappeared. Agnes turned round to her younger sisters and put her arms round them both lovingly. "We'll be ever so happy together when we once get settled in," she said, choking down her own emotion, and bending down to kiss them in turn. "Oh, yes," answered Alice with a sob, trying to look up bravely. But Minnie could not look up. Her mother was her all, and her mother had gone. She threw herself into Agnes's arms in a passion of misery. Agnes sat down and tried to make her comfortable on her lap; but the child wailed and sobbed, and gave way to such violent grief that the elder sister was almost frightened, and looked towards the window with a momentary thought of whether it would be possible to recall her mother. It was only momentary, for how could she? Then her eyes fell on the new text, and her heart, with a throb of joy, realized that the Lord was with her.