"My work has sped well to-day, for a girl in a lowly home, just along the path of her daily life, has helped me greatly. Ever so many times during the hours of light she has started, here and there, the sweet chiming bells of hope."

"Ah," said the Angel of the Rainbow, "now I understand how it was they sounded so much clearer to-day, and why my colors were so bright. Did you see the lovely bow I threw across from hill to hill, and then a second one, the rays gleaming all down the cliffs? Did they not make you think of the Rainbow round the Throne? It is only as I catch hope's glad singing rising from the byways below that I can paint my brightest colors."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ONE GIRL'S INFLUENCE

"A young girl went from home," writes Mrs. Sangster, "to a large school where more than usual freedom of action and less than customary restraints were characteristics of the management. She found very little decided religious life there--an atmosphere, upon the whole, unfavorable to Christian culture. But she had given herself to the Lord, and she could live nowhere without letting her light shine.

"In a very short time she found two or three congenial spirits, more timid than herself, but equally devoted. A little prayer meeting began to be held once a week in her room. On Sabbaths in the afternoon, a few of the girls came together to study the Bible. Before the half year was over, the hallowed flame had swept from heart to heart, and there was a revival in that school."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Yes, father, your dinner is ready_.]

TWO KINDS OF SERVICE

"Have you put up my dinner, Maude?"

John Melvin asked the question almost timidly. His daughter's face was clouded, her lips were compressed, and she was making a great deal of unnecessary noise as she moved about the kitchen. She did not reply at once, and when she spoke it was in no pleasant voice.

"Yes, father, your dinner is ready. Now I must put up the children's dinners, and there is the ironing to do, and I must do some cooking also. This will be a busy day with me, but all my days seem to be busy.

Perhaps I do not understand how to keep ahead of the work. I have no time for recreation; there seems to be nothing in life for me but drudgery."

Mr. Melvin sighed heavily.

"I am sorry, Maude. If last season's crops had not failed, I should have hired some stout woman to do the heavy work. It is too much for you, a girl of nineteen, to have all these cares; but what can I do?"

"You can do nothing, father, and no one is to blame. I expect to be a drudge. Amy," raising her voice, "where are you? Go and pick up the breakfast dishes, and be quick about it. It isn't time to get ready for school. Fred, what are you doing? Haven't I told you not to whistle in the kitchen? Oh, dear! one needs more patience than any mortal ever had!"

"I am sorry, Maude," said Mr. Melvin, again. "It was a sad day for us all when your mother died."

And then the discouraged man, old and worn before his time, took his dinner-pail and started for the distant wood-lot.

Maude continued to move rapidly about the kitchen and pantry, doing the morning's work and scolding the children in a shrill voice.

"What's the use of being so cross, Maude?" asked Amy, a bright-eyed girl of twelve. "I can't see that it does any good."

"I can't be so easy as you are, Amy. I wish things didn't fret me, but they do. And you have an easy time, while I have to work like a slave."

"I'm sure I help you all I can, Maude. I don't suppose you want me to stay out of school to work."

"You know I don't. You won't have time to do any more this morning.

Now, Fred, I told you to study hard to-day and not fail in your lessons."

"All right sis," rejoined Fred carelessly.

"Fred, how many times have I told you not to call me 'Sis?' I am tired beyond endurance. I don't want to hear another word from you this morning, sir," she added as she saw the boy was about to speak.

As the children left the house, Fred looked significantly at his sister.

"Wasn't Maude cross this morning? How she did bang things!"

Amy puckered up her brow.

"I can't understand it, Fred. Maude is always scolding."

"Yes, and she belongs to the church. I'm glad I'm not a Christian, if she's one."

"Oh, hush, Fred! Christian people are happier than we are."

"Humph! Maude professes to be a Christian, but she can't be happy. Seems to me she's the unhappiest person I know. Papa doesn't belong to the church, but he isn't always scolding."

"Well, I can't understand it," sighed Amy. "But, Fred, you know mama was a Christian."

"She was a real Christian, too," said Fred soberly. "But I guess it's hard work to be the real thing. Maude must be a make-believe one," he added.

"Oh, hush, Fred! I don't like to hear you say such things."

Left alone, Maude's hands were busy. At dinner time she ate a lunch, and at two o'clock was through her work.

"Everything's in order," she thought, as she looked about the neat kitchen. "And I'm not going to touch a bit of sewing this afternoon.

I'll go into the sitting-room and rest until it's time to think about supper."

THE DREAM

In the pleasant little sitting-room Maude sat down in an easy rocker at the front window and looked out over the snow-covered fields. Presently she saw the bent form of a little old lady in a black coat and red hood coming up the path.

"Aunt Sarah Easler," she said to herself, "and coming here, too."

The old lady came in without knocking and Maude rose to meet her. Aunt Sarah seemed much agitated. She took both of the girl's hands in hers, tears streaming from her eyes.

"What is it, Aunt Sarah?" cried Maude. "Has anything happened?"

"My poor child! My poor child! May G.o.d help you!"

Maude felt herself growing faint, but she resolutely banished the feeling.

"What has happened?" she asked, in a voice so calm that it astonished herself. "The children?"