What sent her back, just then, to her little class in Sabbath-school? seven or eight of the babies under her care. What verse was that which she had taught them only last Sabbath? "Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord, and who shall stand in His holy place?" That was the question she had asked. How had she taught them to answer? She seemed to see the sixteen little hands raised, while eight little voices repeated: "He that hath clean hands and a pure heart." Whose fanaticism was this? What had she herself taught those little ones that "clean hands" meant? Had she really meant that they, those babes in Christ, must carefully watch their small hands, lest they slam the door in anger or throw the book, and that she, Elsie Burton, eighteen years old and for four years a Christian, could do any of these trifles without soiling hers? It was illogical, certainly. Yet, can I make you understand, I wonder, what a ferment all these little things set Miss Elsie into? They seemed so new to her; so unexpected. She was a bright young Christian; she desired in general, to honor her Master. Yet, like many another, she had selected great ways in which to honor Him, and, occasionally, at least, looked about for something large to do in His service, forgetting, or ignoring, many small daily opportunities. She liked her own way royally well, did this young lady; and when on occasion older wills in authority crossed hers, she submitted indeed; it would be unladylike to do otherwise, and Elsie Burton did not like to be unladylike; but she frowned and banged the door; yes, she did, a little, a very little, occasionally, and threw her books on the table with determination, and wrote sarcastic letters to her special friend, and grumbled occasionally to mamma. All these things she had rather looked upon as her perquisites; little personal rewards for submitting. In what a different way did the tiny book talk about them all! She sat very still and thought it over. "It reaches too far," she told herself, catching her breath. "It would make perfectly awful work of living! Just think! One couldn't—oh dear! one couldn't do anything, without looking at it to see if it were just exactly the right thing to do. According to that doctrine, I don't belong to myself at all. Such fanaticism!" "Ye are not your own; ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your bodies and your spirits, which are His." Who whispered that verse to her? It was not in the offending little book. Whose fanaticism was this?