had heard but little of her baptismal robe since the days of her early
childhood, and had almost forgotten that she was "to carry it unspotted
to the judgment-seat of Christ."

"I am glad you are here--such a nice, soft-voiced little one," said
Helen, passing her long, white hand over May's head.

"I am glad, too; so come with me, and take something warm. Your supper
is on the kitchen hearth. Come," said May, rising.

"Where--to the kitchen? Do you eat in the kitchen?"

"I lunch there sometimes; it is a very nice one."

"Excuse me; I do not wish any thing."

"But a cup of hot tea, and some nice toast, after your fatiguing, wet
journey," argued May.

"Nothing, I thank you," was the haughty reply.

"Perhaps you wish to retire?"

"Yes! Oh, that I could go to sleep, and never wake again," she cried,
bursting into tears.

"You will feel better to-morrow, dear," said May, gently, "and then it
will soothe you to reflect that each trial has its heavenly mission;
and the thorns which pierce us here give birth to flowers in heaven,
which angels weave into the crown for which we contend!"