“But I am wrong to complain in this way,” she hastened to add, a sudden expression of contrition darkening the sweetness of her glance, “for every one has to endure disappointment and sorrow, sooner or later, as my mother used to tell me when I was a girl; and, after all, ours might have been much worse. I try to comfort myself with the thought that all these little jars of life are just ‘helps’ to fit one for the greater life beyond. Indeed,” she added softly, “I grow ashamed of myself for thinking I am even disappointed, when I think of the renunciation, the sufferings, and the agony of the Man of Sorrows, that we might have joy.” Nathalie made no reply, not only because she was at a loss for words to express her sympathy, but stilled, possibly, by the beautiful look of calm peace that had crept into the sweet eyes. “But I am wearying you,” smiled the invalid, her eyes lighting with a warm glow, “making you think I am a great martyr because I am deprived of a few things that I think needful to my happiness. Perhaps I am in a particularly rebellious mood to-day, for I am so anxious to read a book a friend sent me, but with my poor hands I cannot hold it, and it makes my neck ache to read from the bookstand. But here comes Mona with your dried clothing; yes, and to bring me off my cross of martyrdom by her sweet patience, for she is always cheery and smiling under _her_ great deprivations.” “Oh, and she can’t even read to you!” lamented Nathalie impulsively, suddenly reminded of what it must mean to live with a person who could not talk to you. “Yes, and that is one of the nails in the cross,” said the shut-in, with whimsical sweetness, “for I not only want some one to talk, to read to me, but sometimes I just yearn for the sound of a human voice. Oh, but I am getting selfish again—for,—Yes, as soon as you get your gown on, you must go with Mona to see her sweet peas; she would love to show them to you.” “And I would love to see them,” replied the girl as she dropped the kimono and slipped into her skirt, “for I, too, adore flowers.” And then, as Nathalie fastened up her blouse, and put on her belt, Miss Whipple made her sister understand that their guest wanted to see her bunches of sweet peas. Mona’s face lighted happily as she comprehended, and in a few moments she and Nathalie were standing in an outer shed, where masses of the dainty flowers were piled in heaps, waiting to be tied into bunches, their delicate odor filling the place with quite perceptible fragrance. Nathalie watched the deaf-and-dumb woman tie a few bunches, dimpling in gratified embarrassment as she softly touched the blossoms. She held a beautifully pink-tinted one against the girl’s cheek, to indicate that they were of the same hue, and then smilingly fastened a big bunch to her waist.