"Why, my dear? what's the matter? I have wanted to see you, but not dolefully." "That's the very thing, Mrs. Vawse; I wanted to see you to get a lesson of quiet contentment." "I never thought you wanted such a lesson, Miss Alice. What's the matter?" "I can't get over John's going away." Her lip trembled and her eye was swimming as she said so. The old woman passed her hands over the gentle head, and kissed her brow. "So I thought — so I felt, when my mistress died, and my husband, and my sons, one after the other. But now I think I can say, with Paul, 'I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.' I think so — maybe that I deceive myself; but they are all gone, and I am certain that I am content now." "Then surely I ought to be," said Alice. "It is not till one looses one's hold of other things, and looks to Jesus alone, that one finds how much he can do. 'There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother;' but I never knew all that meant till I had no other friends to lean upon; — nay, I should not say _no_ other friends; — but my dearest were taken away. You have _your_ dearest still, Miss Alice." "Two of them," said Alice, faintly, — "and hardly that, now." "I have not one," said the old woman, — "I have not one; but my home is in heaven, and my Saviour is there, preparing a place for me. I know it — I am sure of it — and I can wait a little while, and rejoice all the while I am waiting. Dearest Miss Alice — 'none of them that trust in him shall be desolate;' don't you believe that?" "I do, surely, Mrs. Vawse," said Alice, wiping away a tear or two; "but I forget it sometimes; or the pressure of present pain is too much for all that faith and hope can do." "It hinders faith and hope from acting — that is the trouble. 'They that seek the Lord, shall not want any good thing.' I know that is true, of my own experience; so will you, dear." "I know it, Mrs. Vawse — I know it all; but it does me good to hear you say it. I thought I should become accustomed to John's absence, but I do not at all; the autumn winds all the while seem to sing to me that he is away." "My dear love," said the old lady, "it sorrows me much to hear you speak so; I would take away this trial from you if I could; but He knows best. Seek to live nearer to the Lord, dear Miss Alice, and he will give you much more than he has taken away." Alice again brushed away some tears. "I felt I must come and see you to-day," said she, "and you have comforted me already. The sound of your voice always does me good. I catch courage and patience from you, I believe." " 'As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.' How did you leave Mr. and Mrs. Marshman? and has Mr. George returned yet?"