"'Because we're often hard in our thoughts on other people—at least I am. But I'm often glad to remember that God is sorry for our mistakes without being hard, and He makes even our mistakes work round for our good if we will trust Him.'" "Rollo looked dissatisfied." "'Doesn't that help you at all?' asked Mary." "'We're always paying each other out at school, or wishing we could,' objected Rollo. 'I don't seem to be able to help it.'" "'Yes, I know; but when we get very tired of trying to be kind and to pay back a kind action instead of a nasty word, it does help to say to one's self, "His compassions fail not."'" "'Well—' said Rollo, with a long-drawn breath, 'I'll try it. And here's dinner!'" "He retraced his steps over the snow, and he looked up at the sky and saw the little robin singing on the branches in spite of the cold, and he repeated to himself tenderly, thinking of Mary's face: 'His compassions fail not; they are new every morning.'" "For a moment his heart stood still. What about Mary's years of helplessness?" "But he remembered that she had meant what she said, and there was nothing but truth from those gentle lips and eyes." "When he got inside school he was almost late. In his hurry, he stumbled up against George Runton, and nearly knocked him over. He paused for one instant, then said, hastily, 'I'm sorry you lost your book, old fellow—it was awfully vexing.' And so passed on into school, with a wonderfully lightened heart." * * * * * * There was silence for a minute round the bright fire, for Auntie had set the children thinking. "I suppose we are all apt to be hard on someone!" ventured Rose, at last. "Yes, I expect we are," said Aunt Ruth. "We all have our different ways of showing it, and the things that make us hard differ with each of our dispositions. But God seems to me to stand like 'a shadow of a great rock in a weary land,' with His everlasting love ready to enfold us and protect us and calm us." "Why did you tell us this to-day, Auntie?" asked Tom. "Because—" she smiled archly, "I had heard those words, 'Serve him right,' eight times within the last two days!" "Oh, Auntie!" She jumped up and turned up the gas. "Who wants a game of dominoes till teatime?" she said brightly. But nevertheless, they did not forget her little story. CHAPTER IX. NELLIE'S HINDRANCE. NELLIE had come out from home with rather a heavy heart. Her basket full of fresh eggs for the Vicarage had been taken safely there, and now she was returning. The twilight was deepening, and she stood still to hear a thrush's good-night song. Yesterday a Missioner had come to their village, and Nellie had gone to the service, and she had been dissatisfied with herself ever since. The subject had been hindrances to prayer, and as Nellie stood beneath the trees breathing in the soft spring air, she recalled almost every word the Missioner had said.