As for herself she was perfectly in love with the work; busy and happy she hind almost forgotten to notice that her many dear friends had nearly all ceased to visit her, so she had ample time for her new pursuit. Bringing to it such zeal and love, success was sure. Shut in her little green world, that other world where she had flitted about with gay butterflies of fashion, seemed far off—another state of existence; this greenery was a better, purer world; it was easier to remember the Heavenly Father when intimate with his delicate creations. Perhaps the work he gave man to do for the new-born earth always has peculiar blessings attending it. However it was, new color and roundness came to her cheek and unwonted love and consecration to her heart. So two years passed away in quiet contentment. With much economy they were more than comfortable, were even able to pay a small rent which added not a little to the happiness of the proud-spirited old gentleman. Just as they were looking forward to another winter of pleasure and profit everything was changed in the space of a few hours. Satan long ago intruded himself among vines and flowers and here he came again—in the person of a sharp, covetous man who claimed the property as his own. The friend, to whose generosity they owed so much, passed to another world without so much as a moment's warning. It had been his purpose to bequeath the Winthrop estate to its lifelong owners, but he had neglected to add this to his will. Much of the property now fell into the hands of a distant relative who claimed the last dollar that the law allowed him, although knowing the often expressed intention of the one whose wishes and words, as far as this life is concerned, had forever come to an end. This very September morning, when the golden sunshine seemed full of blessing, the cruel order came to vacate the premises within three months. This was a heavy blow indeed, and Mr. Winthrop was almost crushed beneath it. To be turned out into the world without a home at his age was bad enough, but to bring this upon the dear child was fearful. All the old struggle of regret and remorse returned. To think that he should have imperiled all, when he had such a treasure entrusted to him. He walked the floor nights and days calling himself by all hard names, sometimes trying to pray, but in despair declaring that he had been so proud and covetous the Lord had forsaken him in his old age. "Poor child!" he would exclaim to Lily. "What a pity it is that you belong to such a senseless old dolt." Lily did not try to talk much at such times. She would sing low and tender in bird-like notes some sweet assuring words, oftenest his favorite hymn that he had sung and believed for fifty years: "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, Is found for your faith in his excellent Word." The grand words of promise were sure to bring relief, and by the time she came to: "I'll never, no, never, no, never, forsake—"