“God will bless you!”

Mrs. Endicott never ceased hearing these words, and she felt them to be a prophecy.  And God did bless her.  In bestowing love and care upon the motherless little ones, she received from above double for all she gave.  In blessing, she was twice blessed.  About them her heart entwined daily new tendrils, until her own life beat with theirs in even pulses, and to seek their good was the highest joy of her existence.

Still there were times when Mrs. Endicott felt that to some God was not just in his dispensations, and the closer she observed Mrs. Adair, the less satisfied was she that one so pure-minded, so unselfish, so earnest to impart good to others, should be so hardly dealt by—­should be compelled to grope through life with painful steps along a darkened way.

“There is a mystery in all this which my dim vision fails to penetrate,” she said one day, to Mrs. Adair.  “But we see here only in part—­I must force myself into the belief that all is right.  I say force, for it is indeed force-work.”

“To me,” was answered, “there is no longer a mystery here.  I have been led by at way that I knew not.  For a time I moved along this way, doubting, fearing trembling—­but now I see that it is the right way, and though toilsome at times, yet it is winding steadily upwards, and I begin to see the sunshine resting calmly on the mountain-tops.  Flowers, too, are springing by the wayside—­few they are, as yet, but very fragrant.”

Mrs. Adair paused for a moment, and then resumed,

“It may sound strange to you, but I am really happier than when all was bright and prosperous around me.”

Mrs. Endicott looked surprised.

“I am a better woman, and therefore happier.  I do not say this boastfully, but only to meet your question.  I am a more useful woman, and therefore happier, for, as I have learned, inward peace is the sure reward of benefits conferred.  The doing of good to another, from an unselfish end, brings to the heart its purest pleasure; and is not that the kindest Providence which leads us, no matter by what hard experiences, into a state of willingness to live for others instead of for ourselves alone?  The dying mother, whose gift to you has proved so great—­a good, might have passed away, though her humble abode stood beside the elegant residence I called my home, without exciting more than a passing wave of sympathy—­certainly without filling my heart with the yearning desire to make truly peaceful her last moments, which led to the happy results that followed her efforts in my behalf.  My children, too; you have often lamented that it is not so well with them as it would have been had misfortune not overshadowed us,—­but I am not so sure of that.  I believe that all external disadvantages will be more than counterbalanced by the higher regard I have been led to take in the development of what is good and true in their characters.  I now see them as future men and women, for whose usefulness and happiness I am in a great measure responsible; and as my views of life have become clearer, and I trust wiser, through suffering, I am far better able, under all the disadvantages of my position, to secure this great end than I was before.”