“Never mind now,” said Celia; “I cannot explain, only I thought I could not go.” Her offering seemed to her small and uncalled-for; she could not talk about it. Yet, before the morning prayer in church was over, the shadow had lifted. “I did it truly for Him,” said Celia softly, to herself; “He knows I did, and whether it was of use or not, it is all right.” And when Lorene sang, in a voice like an angel’s: “Low in the grave he lay, Jesus my Saviour,” she could not help being glad that she did it. That evening, when they were coming out of the Christian Endeavor meeting, the minister, who was shaking hands with the young people on every side, held in his left hand a single calla lily of rare beauty. As he held out his hand to Celia he laid the lily against her cheek and said: “That is for you, little girl. A token from the Master, I think, since he made it. Let me tell you something which will make it bloom for you forever. Hester came to me this evening to say that she wanted to belong to Jesus, and learn how to grow like him, just as you had.” PANSY. [Illustration: BURSTING INTO LIFE.] [Illustration: A STORMY MORNING.] [Illustration: CROSSING THE ATLANTIC. (_See “The Old World Too.”_)] WHITE AS WOOL. WOOL is not always white. Its owner sometimes is black—was born black. It can’t help it, you see. Sometimes, however, it gets into the dirt, and the snowy wool becomes dirty. Sometimes it creeps among the burned stumps and logs, and soon looks as black as the stump itself. Now what happens? The shearer does not want to clip off such stuff, and the merchant can’t sell dirty wool, nor can the weaver weave a nice shawl from it; and, if he did, no clean Pansy would want to put it on week days or Sundays. What then? It must be washed. The dirty black sheep must be put into the water, and washed and washed and washed. Then let him go up from the water and give himself a good shaking and stand in the green grass and let the warm, shining sun dry its hair—I mean wool. Now it is white and soft and beautiful, and if Mr. Sheep could see himself in the looking-glass he might be proud of his beauty. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin. Sin is a dirty thing—worse than mud. Heathenism is a dreadfully dirty, filthy thing. The Gospel we send them is like water for the dirty wool. The Bible says to the worst sinner there is in the world: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson they shall be as wool.” (Is. i. 18.) L. EASTER GREETING. BE thy risen Lord, to-day, All thy help and all thy stay; All thy comfort in the night; All thy gladness in the light; Filling, with his love divine, Every hungering of thine! ALICE F. DUNLAP. MISS LOUISE JOHNSON’S LETTER.