Again the mist passes over the light picture and changes it. A woodland scene is painted there now. Amid the fern and moss and twigs under the trees, wild flowers are blowing. A pathway intersects the little wood, and across it shadows of the trees fall, with sunlight between. In the foremost patch of sunshine, at the edge of the path, is a sprinkling of anemone leaves. And there amongst them a delicate blossom, half crushed by the superincumbent weight of moss, the fallen leaves of last year, and tiny, lichen-covered twigs. The white, transparent petals are soiled and deformed, thrust down to the earth. As Hazel looks, regretting that she has not the power to stretch forth her hand and clear away the destructive weight, the leaves and twigs tremble, and are uplifted, and fall away from the slender plant, for close beside it a hardy little fern frond slowly uncurls itself and arises. The frail blossom stirs slightly, released from the overwhelming pressure; but has no strength to do more. Oh, for water to revive it! And, lo! from the fair green fern drops of dew embosomed there are shed and scattered over the downcast head. They are drunk in, and by degrees the drooping cup is raised to the friendly fern. And then, the straight young frond, itself ever growing, waves aside in a natural, graceful sweep, and allows the sunshine in all its strong radiance and reviving force to fall full on the flower. And the half-closed bell joyously expanding, grows white and strong and beautiful. And so the crystal pictures change and change, till Hazel's every helpful act has been set forth. Then, as the last fades, and the arch of storied light itself dissolves and melts, with one all-absorbing passion of eternal devotion flooding her whole being, Hazel turns to Him who has kept her beside Him throughout, her hand retained in His. For one moment she beholds Him, the Unutterable One; and in His Sacred Face she reads, amid ineffable love and infinite majesty, a look of gratitude. And once more the Divine accents fall on her ear, saying-- "'Inasmuch as thou didst it unto one of these My brethren, even these least, thou didst it unto Me.' "Let not those, the queens of the earth, to whom I have given the priceless gifts of life and leisure, hold either lightly. Life, with its sorrows and its joys, is but the education time fitting them to live for ever with Me. The leisure I have bestowed may be used for Me, in doing work in My garden--work which I have prepared for them to do, and which I long to see done. Let them see to it that they waste not the opportunity in fretful discontent and idleness--'And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones, a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, she shall in no wise lose her reward.'" * * * * *