"Oh, pa, how I am being taken into things!" said the little girl, the tears toppling over her eyes, and her cheeks bright and rosy. And then the father took Martha on his lap and talked to her of her mother--of the life she had lived, and of the Bible she read, and of the God she loved; talked to her as he had never talked in all her ten years. When he had ended, she put her arms around his neck and held him close. The clock struck eight and the father arose, lighted the little girl's candle, and she mounted the crooked stairs to the small room above. Setting down the candle, she made herself ready for bed, buttoning on the little white night-dress made of flour-sacks and with blue XX's on the back, but which "looked all right in front," as Jerusha said. This done, she blew out the light and, drawing aside the bit of muslin curtain, gazed out on the clear Colorado night, with the stars glimmering through. A moment she stood thus, then she pressed her hands over her face, and bowing her head said, soft and low: "Be a good girl, Mattie." How sweet the words were when voiced! "I will be a good girl--I will," she murmured, and her voice was tender but strong of purpose. As she laid her head down upon the pillow she whispered, "How I be taken into things!" And Martha Matilda never knew that down in the big chair the one she had left sat with his hand covering his bronzed face, motionless. The ticking of the clock was the only sound heard. When he arose, the lamp had burned itself out, and the room stood in darkness. But he failed to sense it. Within him had been kindled a light brighter than an Easter dawn. John Graham was ready to take up life anew. [Illustration: (decoration)]