“Your kind Heavenly Father didn’t give you just what you asked for, because he saw that it would not be best for you. Perhaps he saw that his servant must learn patiently to serve him at home, among trials, before she would ever make the right kind of servant out in the world. He will answer your prayer in some other way than the one you had planned, Margaret. He loves you a great deal better than you love yourself. Can’t you trust him?” And then the minister went away without his hot water. Went back to his room to pray for the poor little troubled disciple down-stairs. And Margaret sat and thought. She saw now just how foolish and wicked she had been. She had a long struggle with her rebellious heart, kneeling on the bare floor with her head on the kitchen table, but she conquered at last, and the peace of God filled her heart. She was resolved now to give up her own way and try to do God’s way. “But, dear Jesus,” she prayed, “I’ll have to be helped a great deal, for I can’t do it alone, and I know I shall cry if they say much about Aunt Cornelia.” Margaret had found the right way to do all she could herself and trust in Jesus for the rest, and to give up her life, her will, her whole self into his keeping. But she remembered that she had other duties and that her father might be down-stairs at any moment, so she hastened to her room to wash away the traces of tears. Half-way down the stairs she paused. “Would not it please Jesus if she were to knock at mother’s door and ask if there was anything she could do?” She retraced her steps softly and gave a very gentle knock. Her father came from the darkened room, his face so careworn that it almost startled her. “Father, please don’t look so worried. Everything will be all right. I can keep house,” she said. Her father regarded her with a tender, sorrowful look. “Does my little girl know that she cannot go away this winter?” “Yes, sir; I know it. Never mind that. It’s all right, father.” Mr. Moore was so amazed and pleased at this new character exhibited by his daughter that he scarcely knew what to say. “I am very sorry it is so, Margaret, but your mother is very sick. She has been under a great strain this summer. You will have to wait on her and be a general help. I would hire some one else to do it if I could afford it, but I cannot. Your mother’s sister, Amelia, who has been living in Brierly with her brother, will come, I think, and keep house, and then the minister need not go away, for we need all the money we can get now to pay the doctor’s bills.” [Illustration: THERE SAT JOHNNIE.] Margaret’s face fell. “Must we have her? Isn’t there some one else we can have?” she said, lowering her voice. “Not without paying for it,” said her father, sadly. “Couldn’t I do the work?” she asked.