with gaunt, wolfish face, met them wherever they turned.  And he, who should have protected, gave them only blows and curses.  Everything went for drink.  Angel tried courageously to find employment, but her slender wages were rudely taken from her, and half the time they went cold and hungry.  Little Mary had always been extremely delicate, and she sunk under it and died, and was buried beside her mother.  Angel despaired then, and went on for the future in a kind of maze of bewilderment, doing that which her hand found to do mechanically.  Only God, who had bereft her, pitied her still, and helped her to resist temptation when it came to her.

“As her mother had done before her, Angel dragged out the weary years, almost hopeless; and the one object of her toil and solicitude, was only a pitiful wreck of the former stalwart William Way.  Only a miserable, wretched creature, that grovelled in the mire of its own degradation, and from whose bosom the last spark of manhood seemed to have forever fled.  To look upon him, you would ask, ‘Can this being have a soul?’

“And fifteen more years dragged their weary round, and Angel was thirty, and a haggard, care-worn woman.  It was a sin and a shame, people said, to wreck that girl’s life, when she had many a chance where she might have married, and enjoyed the comfort of having a home of her own.  And there were even those mean enough to deride her for her sacrifice, and tell her she had no ambition, and call her a fool for her pains; but she did not mind them.

“She felt glad that she had not, when, one day, the Doctor pronounced, over a broken limb that he was bandaging, that William Way was not long for this world.

“’It’s wonderful how he has held on so long, at the dreadful rate he has gone on, but the last few years have told on him.  He can’t survive this last shock.’

“There was but little time for preparation for a future world; but Angel had faith, and, even at the eleventh hour, it met with its reward.  When she closed the dying eyes, she felt that she could trust the penitent soul to the mercy of Him who created it, and ’who can make the vilest clean.’

“For herself, she knew that ‘when time shall be no more,’ she should find eternal peace.”

There was a quick, gasping sob, and Clemence looked up, as she finished, to see a little figure in faded blue calico, flying frantically down the road.

“Which of the scholars left?” she asked.

“Only Ruth Lynn,” said Maurice Wayne. “Her father used to drink, and fell in the mill pond about a year ago, and got drowned.  Her mother’s sick, too, and Dr. Little says she can’t live, and has give up goin’ to see her any longer, ’cause she can’t pay.  He’s stingy mean to do it, for he goes twice a day to see that spiteful old Mrs. March, and I’m sure she can’t live, for ma said yesterday that all her money couldn’t save her.  When I grow up, I’m going to be a doctor, and I’ll look after every poor person twice as good as I will a rich one.  That’s what I’ll do.”