She was just going to stoop again over it, when her eyes caught the unaccustomed frame upon the wall, and she could not but see the words, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" "I've nothing to do but this now," she said, drawing her shoulders nearer to the blaze. "It's holiday time, and I have not lessons or duties of any kind; I may do as I like." But though she tried to read, she could not forget that question. At first she determined to shake it off, but by-and-by her book fell closed on to her lap, and she looked up straight at the words, thoughtfully. "This is the first way I am keeping my resolves; a pretty way!" "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" Then she waited, as her father had said--waited, looking at the words as if they would shine out with an answer. And so they did; for as her eyes rested on the last word, she suddenly started up. "Do," she said, half aloud. "I don't suppose He likes me to sit here idling my time. I wonder if Agnes wants me? Or if not, I promised mother to practise a whole hour every day, and as I am going out to dinner I shall have to do that first." Then her eyes met Minnie's wondering ones shining out from among the golden curls and crimson sofa cushion, and she heard a little voice say: "Who wants you to '_do_'?" Alice pointed with her finger towards the text. "Oh!" said Minnie, comprehending. "But I didn't remember you were there, or I should not have spoken aloud." "I forgot what Agnes said, because I went to sleep; but----" "Yes," answered Alice, waiting for what the little pet sister wanted to say. "I don't think He would have liked me to cry so _much_, if I had asked Him first." And with another little sob she rushed past her sister and flew up the stairs. At five minutes to two o'clock, John opened his bedroom door and called Agnes. She was just coming out on the landing, with her hat on, followed by Minnie and Alice. "Come and see my arrangements," he said, opening the door wider. "I don't see anything particu----Oh!" with a start, "why, John, where did you get that?" "Out of these two hands of mine, to be sure, and these eyes, and that paint box, and that cardboard." On the wall hung the same text that their father had prepared with such care downstairs, only that John's was not framed, but put up with four small nails. "I thought I should see it more up here than downstairs." "And he thought," added Hugh slyly, "that _I_ should have the benefit of it here." "I never thought of you at all," said John. "It is very nice," said Agnes, coming in to examine it. The others went down stairs, and the brother and sister were left alone. "I've been thinking a lot, Agnes," said John, turning his back to her, as he busied himself at one of his drawers, "and I've made up my mind while I've been tracing the words of that text." "What about?" asked Agnes, with a feeling that there was something unusual in his tone. "I've determined to take it as my life text." "John!"