But as animals are said to have an eye for spirits, children have an eye for souls, which is far rarer than an eye for beautiful surfaces. Mr. Grubb began by loathing Alisa, then patiently suffered her, then pitied, then respected, then loved her. Mrs. Grubb seldom saw her, and objected to nothing by which she herself was relieved of care. So Lisa grew to be first a familiar figure in the household, and later an indispensable one. Poor Mrs. Bennett finally came to the end of things temporal. ‘Dying is the first piece of good luck I ever had,’ she said to Mr. Grubb. ‘If it turns out that I’ve brought a curse upon an innocent creature, I’d rather go and meet my punishment half-way than stay here and see it worked out to the end.’ ‘“In my Father’s house are many mansions,”’ stammered Mr. Grubb, who had never before administered spiritual consolation. She shook her head. ‘If I can only get rid of this world, it’s all I ask,’ she said; ‘if the other one isn’t any better, why, it can’t be any worse! Feel under the mattress and you’ll find money enough to last three or four years. It’s all she’ll ever get, for she hasn’t a soul now to look to for help. That’s the way we human beings arrange things,—we, or the Lord, or the Evil One, or whoever it is; we bring a puzzle into the world, and then leave it for other people to work out—if they can! Who’ll work out this one? Who’ll work out this one? Perhaps she’ll die before the money’s gone; let’s hope for the best.’ ‘Don’t take on like that!’ said Mr. Grubb despairingly,—‘don’t! Pray for resignation, can’t you?’ ‘Pray!’ she exclaimed scornfully. ‘Thank goodness, I’ve got enough self-respect left not to pray!—Yes, I must pray, I _must_ . . . Oh, God! I do not ask forgiveness for him or for myself; I only beg that, in some way I cannot see, we may be punished, and she spared!’ And when the stricken soul had fled from her frail body, they who came to prepare her for the grave looked at her face and found it shining with hope. It was thus that poor little Alisa Bennett assumed maternal responsibilities at the age of ten, and gained her sobriquet of ‘Marm Lisa.’ She grew more human, more tractable, under Mr. Grubb’s fostering care; but that blessed martyr had now been dead two years, and she began to wear her former vacuous look, and to slip back into the past that was still more dreadful than the present.