It was hard for Isabella to “cease to do evil,” and harder still for her to “learn to do well;” and it would fill a much larger book than this, were I to tell you of all the difficulties she met with in trying to “put on the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.”

But God was near.  He saw her efforts and her failures, and he saw that his correcting hand must be stretched forth to finish the good work which he had begun.  He sent sickness upon her, and the lately blooming Isabella was laid low upon the bed of pain.  It was then she was called upon to “let patience have its perfect work.”

When Isabella heard her physician say that she would probably be ill for a long time, she thought of her resolution, and feared that she would be unable to keep it when there was so much pain to bear, and so much medicine to be taken.  Then the solemn thought came that death might be very near, and that she might have but a little time left to correct her fault; and she determined to pray for patience, and to be particularly watchful over herself.

“I have indulged my old habit of fretfulness a good deal to-day, mother,” she said, as Mrs. Gardner sat down by her side, after making everything ready for the night.  “I fear I shall never correct it; but I did not think of this sick bed when I made my resolution.”

“Has not God promised to be ‘about your bed, and about your path,’ my dear child?” said Mrs. Gardner.

“Yes, mother; and could I but remember his presence, I should not so often grieve you by my impatience.”

“You must not talk any more tonight, Isabella,” said her mother affectionately; “but try to go to sleep, and remember that God is always near you, and that his Holy Spirit is more grieved than even your mother by any disobedience to his commands.  I love you, and forgive you.  Now go to sleep, and may you awake refreshed in body and soul.”

Mary nursed her sister night and day, and never left her except when Mrs. Gardner insisted upon her going away to rest herself.  Isabella was often impatient toward her, but Mary quietly went on treating her with more and more tenderness.  She scarcely spoke, but humbly and silently went on doing everything a sister’s love could suggest.

“I wish you would speak cross to me sometimes,” said Isabella to her one day, “and then I should not feel so sorry after I had been unkind to you; but you are so patient and good, that it makes me quite ashamed of my fretfulness.”

“I will do anything for you but that, Isabella,” said Mary; “but it is my constant prayer that my Saviour may grant me the temper of mind that becometh his disciple, and that I may ‘sin not with my lips’ against him.”

Isabella became rapidly worse, and the sorrowful countenance of her father, and the anxious tenderness of her mother, showed how dear their erring child was to their hearts.

Edward would come home early from school to know how his sister was, and to see if there was anything he could do for her; and the merry voice of little George was still, and no one heard the sound of his ball or top.