Could this be the cold, proud looking man she met in the lane last night? His hat lay tossed at a distance upon the grass, the noble head was bare, and wee Mary was sticking bluebells and cowslips among the fair curls that clustered over it. A glow was on the pale face, and the eyes sparkled and danced with pleasure. "Dorothy! Dorothy!" screamed all the little voices at once. "Here comes our dear Dorothy! Do come and play with us under the tree." Dorothy smiled and shook her head at them, and almost ran into the house. "And who is your dear Dorothy, Harry?" asked Mr. Fitzmorris, looking after the pretty apparition as it vanished. "Oh, she's such a darling, next to papa and mamma, I love her better than anything in the world," said Harry with enthusiasm, "and I know she loves me." "I'm sure, Harry, we all love her as much as you do," said Rosina. "But you always want to keep Dolly all to yourself. She does not love you a bit more than she does me and Johnnie." "That she don't," cried Johnnie. "She loves me more than you all, for I sit on her lap while she tells us pretty stories, and Harry's too old to do that." "I should rather think so," said Mr. Fitzmorris, laughing and looking at Harry, a tall boy of nine years. "I think Johnnie's plea is the best. At any rate, he contrives to get nearest to the young lady's heart. But why are you all so fond of her? Do you love her for her pretty face?" "Not for that alone," returned Harry. "But she is so kind, she never says or does a cross thing, and always tries to make us happy." "Then she deserves all the love you can give her. It is a blessed thing to try and make others happy." Just at that moment the grand notes of the old hundredth floated forth upon the breeze, and became a living harmony, accompanied by Dorothy's delicious voice. Mr. Fitzmorris rose to his feet, and stood with uncovered head: the smile that had recently played upon his lips giving place to an expression of rapt devotion, as if his whole heart and soul were wafted towards heaven in those notes of praise. "It is Dorothy who is singing. She sings in our choir," said Harry. "Hush," returned the vicar, placing his finger on his lip. "We are 'before Jehovah's awful throne.' Wherever you hear that name mentioned, you are upon holy ground." The boy drew back awe-struck, and for the first time in his young life, realized the eternal presence of God in the universe. After Dorothy's lessons were over, Mr. Fitzmorris asked Mrs. Martin to introduce him to her young friend. "I hope you are not vain of that fine voice?" he said, taking a seat beside her. "Why should I be? I can hardly call it mine, for I had no choice in the matter. It was a free gift." Mr. Fitzmorris regarded the youthful speaker with a look of surprise. For the first time it struck him forcibly that her face was very beautiful, while its earnest, truthful expression conveyed the more pleasing impression that it was one of great integrity.