"Isn't it queer," she said one day to herself, "that such pretty things can come out of such ugly little things." Nothing in nature seemed to turn away from her, any more than would nature's God. The dumb life around began to speak to her in many and varied voices, and she who fled from companionship with her own kind would sit and chirp and talk to the birds, as if they understood her. And they did seem to grow strangely familiar, and would almost eat crumbs out of her hand. One day in June she said to Hannibal, who was working near, "Isn't it strange the flowers grow so well for me?" "Why shouldn't dey grow for you, Miss Zell?" asked he, straightening his old back up. "Good, innocent Hannibal, how indeed should you know anything about it?" "Yes, I does know all 'bout it," said he, earnestly, and he came to her where she stood by a rosebush. "Does you see dis white rose?" "Yes," said Zell, "it opened this morning. I've been watching it." Poor Hannibal could not read print, but he seemed to understand this exquisite passage in nature's open book, for he put his black finger on the rose (which made it look whiter than before), and commenced expounding it as a preacher might his text. "Now look at it sharp, Miss Zell, 'cause it'll show you I does know all 'bout it. It's white, isn't it?" "Yes," said Zell, eagerly, for Hannibal held the attention of his audience. "Dat means pure, doesn't it?" continued he. "Yes," said Zell, looking sadly down. "And it's sweet, isn't it? Now dat means lub." And Zell looked hopefully up. "And now, dear chile," said he, giving her a little impressive nudge, "see whar de white rose come from--right up out of de brack, ugly ground." Having concluded his argument and made his point, the simple orator began his application, and Zell was leaning toward him in her interest. "De good Lord, he make it grow to show what He can do for us. Miss Zell," he said, in an awed whisper, "my ole heart was as brack as dat ground, but de blessed Jesus turn it as white as dis rose. Miss Edie, Lor' bless her, telled me 'bout Him, and I'se found it all true. Now, doesn't I know 'bout it? I knows dat de good Jesus can turn de brackest heart in de world jes like dis rose, make it white and pure, and fill it up wid de sweetness of lub. I knows all 'bout it." He spoke with the power of absolute certainty and strong feeling, therefore his hearer was deeply moved. "Hannibal," she said, coming close to him, and putting her hand on his shoulder, "do you think Jesus could turn my heart white?" "Sartin, Miss Zell," answered he, stoutly. "Jes as easy as He make dis white rose grow." "Would you mind asking Him? It seems to me I would rather pray out here among the flowers," she said, in low, tremulous tones. So Hannibal concluded his simple, but most effective, service by kneeling down by his pulpit, the rosebush, and praying: