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2 offer of help. “Sunbeanr,” —as they called her—had darted ahead, and they found her by her mother’s invalid-chair, laughing and chat tering as usual. “Mrs. Caruthers is a small, beautiful wo man; and how much alike are the mother and child,” was Margaret’s first thought. She took Margaret’s hand, drew her up close, and smiled kindly, as her eyes read the face. Margaret met her gaze with a look just as kind and gentle, and perhaps with a touch of pity, for her second thought had been: “She is not a happy woman.” “I am glad you came, my dear. My lit tle daughter is right; you are the lady from the enchanted garden, for your pres ence has already made me feel better. Draw that low chair up very close to me— right here, please. lam very glad you came.” “And I am glad,” said Margaret, so quietly and sincerely that Mrs. Caruthers put out her hand and laid it over Marga ret’s, while their eyes again sought each in the other’s soul for some kindred thought or feeling. Sunbeam had curled herself down at Margaret’s feet, and her golden head rested against her knees while she was trying to catch the yellow shafts of sunlight that fell through the lace-hung window. Dr. Caruthers had withdrawn through an open doorway into the next room, where he had taken up a book, but he did not turn a leaf. “It is hard, being an invalid and not permitted to see anyone, and Arthur made me promise not to talk any before he would ask you to come to me. Do you mind it, dear, having all the talking to do?” “Oh, no. Not when I can tell some thing of interest, but I see so little of the world and have so little time for reading, with sewing from early morning till late at night. To-day I’ve been working pur ple flowers and red berries on a bright green dress for Mrs. Blandshaw, and it makes me feel none of the brightest.” Mrs. Caruthers laughed a low little laugh. She was pleased with Margaret’s well modulated tones and unaffected way of speaking. There was much admission in Margaret’s little speech. Mrs. Caruth ers was not slow to see it, for she under stood that Margaret meant she should, and she was doubly pleased. “Do you sew, Queenie?” asked Sunbeam, looking up quickly. “You shouldn’t do it, for it will stick your fingers sore. I knew the ogre made you sew. Well, she sha’n’t any more,” softly patting Margaret’s hand. “I sew for her, but she doesn’t make me do it, fairy, though she does keep me pret ty closely at it. I’ve been with her now nearly three weeks.” “Poor child, don’t you get tired of it?” asked Mrs. Caruthers. “Yes, I do, sometimes. lam going next week to Mrs. Yantis. She is kinder and more considerate. I only stay a week with her though, and then comes Mrs. Givins next. I keep going round in a circle, like the seasons of the year. ’Tis a busy life, and a hard one, sometimes, but I have many little pleasures, and I enjoy them, as I am so much alone.” “Alone? Tell me your name, dear.” “My name is Margaret—Margaret Delan. Everyone calls me Margaret. I wouldn’t recognize anything else.” “Brother called you ‘Queenie,’” put in Sunbeam. “And your people, Margaret, where are they?’’ “I’ve no people that I know of. My father and mother I can just remember. We lived on a farm —a rented one I think —and though they were not rich, we had plenty of everything. Then I lived with a maiden aunt. She was poor, but she gave me what advantages she could, and intended for me to teach but I disliked it so much that when she died I took up her work—sewing. I have never regretted it. I like it really, and it is all that I can do efficiently. It is hard work, and some times disagreeable, but I make my bread independently, and that is a great deal. I have no friends outside of the households where I sew, but many of them are very kind to me. Mrs.,Blandshaw lets me have a little room, bed, table and chair all to myself—there I keep all my possessions, and I call it home. Mrs. Yantis is more kind socially, and has offered me a home many times, but she is poor, has a large family to support, and I would not add a bit to the burden I fain would help her car ry. Yes, and I have three other friends: there is Dave, the newsboy, and Nan his sister (they are good children,) and Myra, the poor, sick washerwoman. Igo to see her as often as I can, but that is not often. I am much alone still, but I have learned to make company for myself, and am nev er lonely.” Mrs. Caruthers was very much interested in the queer little recital. “A Q d you are quite content, Margaret, for your life to wear on in this monoto nous routine for the years to come?’ ” “Ifitseemeth best,” she answered quick ly. “The Father leadeth me and 1 fear not to follow. I used to long for a higher work (a sigh) and dream of bringing king doms to the Lord, but now I am satisfied; if I had been suited for the work He would have given it to me. I have learned, too, that the humblest task as well as the great est work may be made to His glory.” Mrs. Caruthers was looking away out of the window when Margaret ceased speaking, but she turned quickly to her and asked: “You are a child of God?” “Yes—oh, yes—surely,” with the tears standing in her violet eyes. “Don’t, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you; but, tell me, what evidence have you that you are?” Her thin white hand was placed over Margaret’s again with an earnest pressure. “No—no—don’t tell me the ‘evidence of His word or the evidence of his spirit.’ I’ve been told that so much, and I don’t understand it. Tell me in your own words and from your own ex perience.” “A great peace and quiet and trust in here,” Margaret answered, laying her hand over her heart. “A great love for God and all his crea tures; a great gladness and joy that I am His child and that He thinks me worthy of His humblest service: a perfect willingness to follow where He leads me, though it be through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.” Mrs. Caruthers was looking out of the window again. “Ah! you have the pearl of great price.” There were several minutes of silence between them, and then Margaret started. “Oh, it is getting so late! What will Mrs. Blandshaw say!” “I am sorry I detained you longer than you should stay, dear, but you will come again?” “I will come awhile to-morrow, if you would like for me to do so.” “I would like it. I feel that you can comfort me, and I need you sadly; come.” “You are not going back into the ogre’s clutches, Queenie? I will not allow it,” cried Sunbeam, gathering her dress with both hands. “I will come back again, Sunbeam, if you let me go this time,” promised Mar garet, as she disengaged herself and with drew from the room. “Will you, now, Queenie, and not go back any more? Say—say!” begged the child, as she followed Margaret to the im provised gateway. Margaret met Mrs. Blandshaw face to • face in the hall, as she was hurrying up to her work. “Well,” she almost demanded, and Margaret knew she expected an explana tion. “I was over at Mrs. Caruthers,” said Margaret quietly. “Indeed, I did not know you were ac quainted with Mrs. Caruthers.” The tone of Mrs. Blandshaw’s voice said plainly “such brazen impudence.” “I went by invitation,” said Margaret, with a mischievous expression in her eyes. She knew of Mrs. Blandshaw’s ineffectual attempt at being received there, and it was wicked of her. “Well, I suppose she wanted you to do some sewing for her?” “No, merely for conversation. lam go ing back to-morrow, for an hour.” This was a thunderbolt to the good lady, and it was some moments before she could rally. “And, pray, how did you go? Not by the street, that way, I hope.” “No-o-o. I was reading in the garden, and her little daughter and step-son came to the fence and said Mrs. Caruthers wanted me, and I just went through an opening in the palings.” “Very improper indeed,but some girls are very bold about pushing themselves around where there are young men.” Margaret hurried on, with her cheeks tingling, while Mrs. Blandshaw sought her gardener and bade him fasten on that paling and see that no more were loosened. Margaret worked hard all the rest of the day, and far into the night, belore Mrs. Blandshaw could suppose that half hour made up. She was not conscious of having acted im properly, and soon she dismissed the un kind words from her mind altogether. She thought of Mrs. Caruthers much of the time. She felt that her woman’s heart was crushed under a heavy weight of sor row. “Comfort her, O God, with Thy Spirit,” she murmured ever and anon. THE next day, at five minutes past one, found Margaret, hat and gloves on, leaving Mrs. Blandshaw’s gate. Half a dozen steps brought her to Mrs. Caruth ers’, and there; Sunjjqftnq met her with ft lalq of woe, WOMAN’S WORK. A wicked fairy had carried off her An gelina, and she could find her nowhere. Margaret helped her search the garden, round and round, where she had last had the doll. Finally they found her, and the fairy proved to be Sunbeam’s own little woolly dog. He had pulled off all of An gelina’s lovely hair, and had bitten off her nose. Poor Sunbeam might have been more appropriately called Baindrop, then. Margaret consoled her somewhat, and then went in through the open win dow to Mrs. Caruthers’sitting room, where she had seen her waiting, and watching their mancauvres in the yard. “Margaret, you have a kind, gentle heart,” Mrs. Ca ruthers said, smiling and motioning Mar garet to the same low chair she had occu pied on yesterday. “Doesn’t it come nat ural for you to soothe and comfort? I’ve been watching you and wishing I could be comforted like Sunbeam.” Words of praise were very pleasing to Margaret. She had heard so tew in her life. A warm color rose in her otherwise pale cheeks, and her gaze sank to the floor. “You told me your story yester-eve, dear,” continued Mrs. Caruthers; “I will tell you mine now, and I know you can help me. Something told me so when Sunbeam first began to tell me of you. In my mind there grew a picture of a gentle, sweet face, and a tender heart, and I was not disappointed one bit in you. I’ve talked with ministers, but they are too much in the clouds for them to understand me or for me to understand them. My step-son is a thorough Christian, but I cannot talk to him as I will to you. I will take you down into the depths of this wicked heart of mine. My father—l don’t remember my mother—was a Chris tian, and he tried to lead his only child in the right way. I joined the church at his urgent request, not that I understood what I was doing, or cared to. I don’t think I realized then that there was any wickedness in my heart. It was the thing to belong to a fashionable church, and I joined it. My husband was kind and indulgent, and I was ambitious. We went a great deal into society. My circle of friends widened and widened, un til my life was one continual round of pleasure and excitement. I had no time for my husband, no time for my children, and I almost forgot that there is a God.” Margaret was truly startled. She had heard of the s'aves of society and. fash ion, but she had never been brought to face the fact betore, now only pity shone in her eyes as they rested on the stricken woman. “Can’t you realize it, Margaret? Don’t tell me that I overdraw my own wickedness, for Ido not. I’ve had time to think it all out and see clearly how wicked I have been since I’ve been lying here. And now comes the part I cannot understand—to which I cannot be recon ciled. One evening my husband was brought home to me—dead. I was fairly crushed; I thought it more than I could bear. I knew then that God was terrible in His anger, and I thougnt He was cruel, too, to me. In a few months my precious baby-boy—the very light of my life— drooped and died, in spite of all my care and my prayers to heaven for mercy. O, my baby—my baby!” moaned the almost frantic woman. A spasm of pain distorted her delicate face, and her hands were pressed tightly over her heart. Margaret sprang to the bell, and it was answered by Dr. Caruthers himself. She helped him apply the restor atives, and gently fanned the patient all the while, to the Doctor’s surprise, show ing wonderful nerve and knowledge of how to act. Then, at his request, she sum moned the housekeeper, and between them they carried Mrs. Caruthers to her bed room. Margaret waited in the garden until she could hear from the patient. Dr. Caruth ers joined her there in the course of half an hour. “My mother is better now. You see, Miss Delan, she has heart trouble, and when she becomes worried or excited it brings on one of these attacks.” “1 am sorry, but I did not know,” began Margaret. “O, no, Miss Delan, you are not to blame —you did not know. 1 rather expected that she would bring on an attack, so did not go away. I have warned her often that she brings on these attacks by excitement, and that they are dangerous, but she in sisted that she would control herself this time. She said to talk to you of her sor row would help her to bear it. Poor lit tle Mother—she can’t see yet that the Hand of Affliction is truly a loving and merciful Hand.” “Her heart is too sore yet, Dr. Caruth ers,” Margaret replied quietly, but the young man saw and felt the rebuke con tained in the words, a color ever so slight arose on his cheek, and he gave a limb of geared feuah a plight jerk, He had SEPTEMBER, 1900. been watching Margaret closely, studying the expression of her lovely, unconscious face. “My Mother bade me ask you if you would like to give up your present posi tion and come to live with her. She in tended speaking to you herself, but this sudden indisposition prevented it,” said the Doctor after a pause. Margaret drew a quick breath, almost a gasp of delight. “Oh, I would be so glad,” she began, then added more quietly: “if I can be of service to Mrs. Caruthers in any way, I will be only too glad to come, but I must be kept busy, for I have never spent an idle day in my life.” “Ah! but there are times, I think, when it is a luxury to sit in idleness. She will talk with you of the remuneration when she is stronger; and she bade me tell you that you cannot come too soon. Can she, Sunbeam?” he asked as the child came running to them. “What, Brother?” “Miss Delan is coming to stay with us.” “O, goody—goody—ain’t I glad. Ain’t you glad, Brother?” “Yes, indeed!” he answered, smiling. “My engagement with Mrs. Blandshaw is out to-morrow,” began Margaret, as she turned to go. “We will expect you then," said the Doctor. “No—a week from to-morrow, if you please. Mrs. Yantis will look for me next week, and I cannot disappoint her. She could not get any one on so short a notice. Tell Mrs. Caruthers I will come a week from to-morrow. Good evening! ’ Tne Doctor opened the gate, and then raised his hat with a “Good evening!” Sunbeam followed her out, still holding her hand. “Then you’ll put some new hair on my Angelina and fix her nose, won’t you? You said you could.” “Yes, I will do that the very first thing,” promised Margaret readily, and then hurried home to her work. “O sweet, pale Margaret! O rare, pale Margaret!” murmured the Doctor to him self, as he went up the path t& the house. Saturday evening came at last, and Mar garet had put the last stitch in those pur ple flowers and red berries, folded the dress, and had then given it a final pat. Mrs. Blandshaw laid down her fancy knitting and looked at her over her glass es. “The work is finished now, Ma’am.” “Well, how much do I owe you yet?” “Three dollars, if you please.” “Very well. I will not need, your ser vices any more in the future.” Every word was very distinct and em phatic, so there was no danger of Marga ret misunderstanding. She was picking up the bits of thread from the carpet, thinking how best to tell Mrs. Blandshaw of her altered plans with out offending her. She paused only for a moment and then, taking the money from Mrs. Blandshaw, retired to the little room that she had always occupied. She had altogether spent at least a fourth of every year for the last three years, in this room, and it felt more like home to her than any of the other places she sewed, for here she could be alone with her Bible and her thoughts, while at other places her room and often her bed was shared by some maid of the house. She was sorry that she had offended Mrs. Blandshaw and that the lady should think unkindly of her, yet she could not see how she could explain without offending still further. Marga ret bore no resentment in her heart for any unkind words or reproaches. Tears stood in her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she gathered together her few “tricks” and closed her small trunk lid on all her worldly possessions; but she had brushed them away and her face had resumed its usual sweet expression when she again presented herself before Mrs. Blandshaw. “I am very grateful for all your kind ness, Mrs. Blandshaw,” she said: “I will send for my trunk next Saturday, if you will kindly let it stay until then. lam going to Mrs. Yantis this week. Good evening.” Mrs. Blandshaw could not forgive Mar garet that twinkle in her eye two days be fore, when she had told of her visit to Mrs. Caruthers. She was disappointed, too, because Margaret had taken her dismissal so quietly; so she went directly to a neigh bor to talk over what she thought and what she suspected of Margaret. There are a good many “Mrs. Blandshaws” in this world of ours! The week passed by slowly for Marga ret, though she was very busy and Mrs. Yantis was more kind than ever before. Margaret told her of her new engagement, and of how it had come about. She re joiced in Margaret’s good fortune, yet was sorry to give her up. Mrs. Yantis was a kind-hearted little woman, but had a large family and a slen der purse put ot which to feed and