Mary found one of her scholars sick,—­a little girl, named Sarah, who on the Sunday before was as bright and as well as any child in school.  Now her hands were burning with fever, and her large dark eyes were dim with disease.  Once they brightened a little when Mary spoke to her of her class, but she soon turned over her little head, and sunk into an uneasy sleep.  Her Testament was by her bedside, and her mother said that her last effort, before she was taken ill, was to learn her Sunday lesson.  Mary watched by her all the afternoon:  she lifted her aching head, and spread under it the cool pillows:  she bathed her burning temples, and gently fanned her; and when, she gave the medicine, she silently prayed that the means used for her recovery might be blessed.  Sarah did not speak, but when she opened her eyes she looked pleased that Mary was beside her.  She remained with the little sufferer until her brother came for her in the evening, and promised to return the next day.

Isabella had gone to her room before Mary got home.  She did not like to meet her; for the unpleasant feelings had not left her bosom, though she sincerely regretted her impatience.  Pride now prevented her acknowledging her fault.  When alone, she took her Bible, and sat down to read our Saviour’s sermon on the mount.  As the sacred precepts, one after another, met her eye, she felt serious and humble.  When she came to the verse, “If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way:  first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift;” she felt that Jesus Christ had spoken these words directly to her.  She had often read them before, but never until this moment had they reached her heart.

“What gift have I to lay upon God’s altar?” she said to herself:  “prayer is my only offering; one that I am now about to present.  Will God accept it while I am angry with my sister?  O no!  I will go this moment to her, and confess my fault, and ask her forgiveness.  I will first be reconciled, and then come and offer my gift.”

She went to Mary’s room, and putting her arms around her neck, she said, “Dear sister, I cannot ask God to forgive me my trespasses this night until I have told you how sorry I am that I treated you so unkindly this afternoon.  You are a good, affectionate sister to me, and I am very ungrateful.  Will you forgive me?  I will try to check my impatient feelings in future, and I hope to try in better strength than my own.”

“I am quite ready to forgive you,” said Mary, affectionately:  “the offense to me is but a trifle; it is not that I regret.  It is the sin we commit against God, when we give way to improper feelings of any kind, we should mourn over.  He has commanded us to be patient and forgiving; and it makes me sad to think how often we grieve his Holy Spirit by doing what we know is wrong.”