Sometimes a pleasant face looked in upon them, and “Uncle Will” was hailed with delight by Alice and Gracie Vaughn.  At first, Clemence was cool and distant, but the cordial kindness of his manner won upon her, and she soon grew to value the friendship thus strangely formed.  The kind word and beaming smile were very grateful to the weary girl.  Ah, how little do the favored ones of this world know of the influence of one little act of kindness, or one pleasant word, ever so carelessly spoken.  Many a poor, weak mortal has been kept from wrong-doing by a word fitly spoken, and others have gone down and been lost forever, from yielding to the thought that none cared for them, either for their weal or woe.  There is not a day, nor an hour, but that somewhere throughout the length and breadth of the land, large sums of money are expended for charitable objects, and yet there are those who, for the want of a friendly hand to aid them to follow the right way, have crept away, and rid themselves of a life that had become insupportable.  Persons of sensitive feelings, wounded by the indifference of those, who, from their professions, they should, expect only sympathy and forbearance, have suffered and died, and “gave no sign.”  This is a world of misery, and the few who know nothing of its trials, should thank God that they have been kept from an experimental knowledge of what life really is to thousands of their fellow-creatures, who, like themselves, are accountable beings, and with the same capacity for enjoyment or suffering.  Indeed, none of us are always happy.  We all have our hours of trial, when even the strongest-hearted will falter, and the dreamless slumber of the grave seem so sweet to our world-weary spirits.  When it seems so hard to say, “Thy will be done,” perhaps Death enters and robs us of some earthly idol.  We see the dear one droop and die.  It may be some dear, innocent babe God has transplanted.  We watch its tiny life go out; see the sweet mouth quiver with the dying struggle, the strained, eager gaze mutely asking relief that we cannot give.  We try to think it is well, but in place of submission, there are rebellious thoughts.  Yes, we have all striven and suffered, groping, mayhap, in the darkness of unbelief.  God, give us strength to resist and conquer!  But,

    “Never so closely does pain fold its wings,
      But the white robe of sympathy’s near it,
    And each tear that the dark hand of misery wrings,
      Brings the touch of a blessing to cheer it.”

“Courage! weary-hearted one;” God knows what is the best for us in this life, and has promised a glorious reward for those who are faithful, in that life which is to come.

Mrs. Vaughn, the lady who had engaged Clemence’s services, was a widow in affluent circumstances.  She spent but little time with her children, leaving them to the care of the nurse and governess.  She rarely entered the school-room, and even when she did honor Clemence with her presence, paused long enough to give her more than a glance of her proud, beautiful face.  She expressed supreme satisfaction with Clemence’s mode of instruction, and the children worshipped their young teacher.