medical skill had been done. As the money left by her mother dwindled,
she had no anxiety, for she knew that the life she so tenderly cherished
would not outlast the gold which lengthened out the tenuous chain of
being. This last illness of her father's had been the salvation of her
mind, the saving of her health. Maybe it had been the saving of her
soul; for at times a curious contempt of life came upon her--she who had
loved it so eagerly and fully. There descended on her then the bitter
conviction that never again would she see the man she loved. Then not
even Mrs. Flynn could call back "the fun o' the world" to her step and
her tongue and her eye. At first there had been a timid shrinking, but
soon her father and herself were brighter and better for the old
Irishwoman's presence, and she began to take comfort in Mrs. Flynn.

Mrs. Flynn gave hopefulness to whatever life she touched, and Rosalie,
buoyant and hopeful enough by nature, responded to the living warmth and
the religion of life in the Irishwoman's heart.

"'Tis worth the doin', ivery bit of it, darlin', the bither an' the
swate, the hard an' the aisy, the rough an' the smooth, the good an' the
bad," said Mrs. Flynn to her this very Easter morning. "Even the avil is
worth doin', if so be 'twas not mint, an' the good is in yer heart in the
ind, an' ye do be turnip' to the Almoighty, repentin' an' glad to be
aloive: provin' to Him 'twas worth while makin' the world an' you, to
want, an' worry, an' work, an' play, an' pick the flowers, an' bleed o'
the thorns, an' dhrink the sun, an' ate the dust, an' be lovin' all the
way! Ah, that's it, darlin'," persisted Mrs. Flynn, "'tis lovin' all the
way makes it aisier. There's manny kinds o' love. There's lad an' lass,
there's maid an' man. An' that last is spring, an' all the birds
singin', an' shtorms now an' thin, an' siparations, an' misthrust, an'
God in hivin bein' that aisy wid ye for bein' fools an' children, an'