the poor heart was calmed. "Here is a good place to read to-night, Grandpa," she sometimes said, turning the leaves of the large Bible to some chapter where God's loving heart whispers words that have comforted sad souls in all ages. When he had again realized these gracious promises it was easier to kneel and commit all to "Him who careth for us." And so for the time being it seemed necessary that the learner turn teacher, and keep constantly before the fainting heart the unfailing Refuge. "It will all come out right, dear Grandpa. You told me long ago that God cares for each of his children exactly as if that one were all alone in the world," she would say when the next dark cloud began to settle over him. "The Heavenly Father knows we need another home. He is surely getting it ready for us. We haven't suffered any yet; I know it will come in time." Then Grandpa would murmur, "Blessed child, you shame my feeble faith." Strong as Lily's confidence was, however, she went about the work of seeking some employment exactly as if everything depended upon her own efforts. Day after day with untiring perseverance she answered advertisements, seeking interviews with this and that one, but "the place was just filled," or they "needed no more help," or they "would consider her case." Nothing definite opened, though, through rain and mud, late and early, in schools, offices and families, she pursued her inquiries for a situation as copyist, teacher, governess—anything; pursued them without avail. "In all God's fair, wide world no corner for me," another might have bitterly murmured, but when he sweetens a spirit, what can make it bitter? "It is His way for me, it must be the best way," she continually told herself as she plodded on, "walking with God in the dark," knowing that it was "better than to walk alone in the light;" then brought a cheerful face home to her grandfather, made his tea, sung his evening song each time as fresh and sweet and hopeful as if she had just concluded an engagement at a salary of a thousand or two a year. There were times, though, when it required all her fortitude to bear up against impertinent stares or cold rebuffs as she pushed her way into places where she would never have gone but from necessity. She was often obliged to struggle to keep back tears as she withdrew from some place where she had been rudely repulsed. CHAPTER II. AH! It is pitiful—a woman knocking at iron doors and tugging with feeble fingers at heavy bars, watching eagerly if perchance the great gates may open never so little and let them into a niche—to work for bread. It is not the laborers, at their posts from sun to sun, who need our sympathy, after all. It is the long line of discouraged men and women who cannot get the work to do, who do what is harder than work—wait.