A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with increased stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a sharper angle with the ground.  The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of his head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly at his bridle.  It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by any such arguments.

“Don’t do so, John!” I turned my head as the maiden’s sweet voice reached my ear.  She was passing through the gate into the road, and, in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away from the animal.  No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony’s neck, and a single low word spoken.  How instantly were the tense muscles relaxed—­how quickly the stubborn air vanished.

“Poor Dick!” said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or softly patted it with a child-like hand.

“Now, go along, you provoking fellow!” she added, in a half-chiding, yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle.  The pony turned toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever entered his stubborn brain.

“What a wonderful power that hand possesses!” said I, speaking to my companion, as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned surprise.  Then a light came into his countenance, and he said, briefly—­

“She’s good!  Everybody and every thing loves her.”

Was that, indeed, the secret of her power?  Was the quality of her soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts!  The father’s explanation was, doubtless, the true one.  Yet have I ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay in that maiden’s magic touch.  I have seen something of the same power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still call “Gentle Hand.”

A gentle touch, a soft word.  Ah! how few of us, when the will is strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so apparently insignificant!  And yet all great influences effect their ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first glance to be altogether inadequate.  Is there not a lesson for us all in this?

WILL IT PAY?

“I want an hour of your time this morning,” said Mr. Smith, as he entered the counting-room of his neighbour, Mr. Jones.

“Will it pay?” inquired Mr. Jones, smiling.