“It is now your turn, Frank.”

“I,” replied Frank, in his mild but penetrating voice, “if I may be allowed to liken the flowers of the garden to the occupations of human life, I should prefer the part of the violet.”

“It hides itself,” said Mrs. Wolston, “but its presence is not the less felt.”

“When I have allowed myself to indulge in dreams of the future, I have pictured myself dwelling in a modest cottage, partially shrouded in ivy, not very far from the village church.  My coat is a little threadbare.”

“Why threadbare?” inquired Sophia.

“Because there are a number of very poor people all round me, and I cannot make up my mind to lay out money on myself when it is wanted by them.”

“Such a coat would be sacred in our eyes,” said Mrs. Wolston.

“In the morning I take a walk in my little garden; I inspect the flowers one after the other; chide my dog, who is not much of a florist; then, perhaps, I retire to my study, where I am always ready to receive those who may require my aid, my advice, or my personal services.”

Here Mrs. Wolston shook Frank very warmly by the hand.

“Sometimes I go amongst the laborers in the fields, talk to them of the rain, of the fine weather, and of HIM who gives both.  I enter the home of the artizan, cheer him in his labors, and interest myself in the affairs of his family; I call the children by their names, caress them, and make them my friends.  I talk to them of our Redeemer, and thus, in familiarly conversing with the young, I find means of instructing the old.  They, perhaps, tell me of a sick neighbor; I direct my steps there, and endeavor to mitigate the pangs of disease by words of consolation and hope; I strive to pour balm on the wounded spirit, and, if the mind has been led away by the temptations of the world, I urge repentance as a means of grace.  If death should step in, then I kneel with those around, and join them in soliciting a place amongst the blessed for the departed soul.”

“We shall all gladly aid you in such labors of love,” said Mrs. Wolston.

“When death has deprived a family of its chief support, then I appeal to those whom God has blessed with the things of this world for the means of assisting the widow and the fatherless.  To one I say, ’You regret having no children, or bemoan those you have lost; here are some that God has sent you.’  I say to another, ’You have only one child, whilst you have the means of supporting ten; you can at least charge yourself with two.’  Thus I excite the charity of some and the pity of others, till the bereaved family is provided for.  I obtain work for those that are desirous of earning an honest living, I bring back to the fold the sheep that are straying, and rescue those that are tottering on the brink of infidelity.”

Here the girls came forward and volunteered to assist Frank in such works of mercy.