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"She was punished for striking one of the girls, and she was so offended by that that she would not come any more. Her grandmother is very foolish, and lets her do just as she likes."

"And is Patience in the Sunday school?"

"No, she never has been. I have tried several times to get her for a scholar, in hopes that she would learn something that would do her good, but I have tried in vain. I called at her grandmother's for that purpose only last month; and when Patience, who was standing at the door, observed me turning toward the mill, she ran out of the house as fast as she could, lest she should have to see me and speak to me. What can you do with such a girl?"

"I do not know," said Annie, smiling; but I think she has taken rather a fancy to me, and I shall perhaps be able to gain some influence over her. I shall not rest until I persuade her to come to my class. I am fond, you know, of having trials to overcome; they seem to urge one on with so much more zeal."

"Well, you will find plenty if you take Patience in hand," said Ruth.

Annie thought, from the little which she had already seen of Patience, that Ruth's opinion of her was incorrect; but she did not say so, -- she left it for time to prove. Only she also thought, as she went upstairs to put off her bonnet, that, even if Patience was so very bad, there was all the more need to persevere in trying to make her better. Should we ever give up the worst of cases in despair, when the Saviour, in whose footsteps we profess to tread, came "to seek and to save that which was lost"?

After Miss Annie went away, Patience sat still for some time in the same place. She watched her across the meadow, and along the road as far as she could see, with that sort of pleasure which we feel when we look at a picture which pleases us. There was a charm to her about Annie, which she could not have described, and which, perhaps, she hardly understood; it was the charm which a kind heart and an unselfish love threw around her. Patience had found somebody at last who could feel for and with her, -- somebody to whom she might look up for help and advice, without any fear of being pushed away or harshly scolded. And the poor, sickly, deformed child trudged back to her grandmother's cottage with a little bit of sunshine in her mind, which Annie must have put there, for it had not been there before she came. And though, as she went on, Patience heard in the distance the loud shouts of the children still playing on the village green, they did not disturb the soft calm which now rested on her spirit.

Patience did not forget what Annie had told her about the love which Jesus feels for us. She had read of it in the New Testament, but she had never thought much about it, nor thought, indeed, that it in any way concerned her; but now it seemed fresh and real to her, and she liked to think it over when she was by herself, and to wonder how it was that he could love her. She got down a large Bible with pictures in it, which had belonged to her father and mother, and she read over again much of the Saviour's history, and she read it now with far more delight than she used to do at school; but there were many words and things in it which she did not understand, and she laid them aside in her memory till Annie should come and make them plain to her.

She longed very much for Annie's promised visit, and hardly went out of doors, at least not far out of sight of the house, for fear she should miss her. She tidied up the cottage as well as she could, that it might look its best when she did come; and, what was still better, she made herself a little tidier. The rough hair was brushed and combed behind her ears, and her hands and face were as clean as soap and water would make them.

At length, to her great joy, on the third afternoon, as she was sitting on the door-step gazing eagerly up the lane, she saw a blue muslin dress in the distance, and she knew who was the wearer of that blue dress. Not many minutes had passed before Annie had entered the cottage, and been awkwardly, but eagerly, welcomed by Patience. The best arm-chair, which was never used except on Sundays, had been brought out of its corner for her use. Annie sat down in it, and Patience stood beside her, too shy, if not too happy, to speak, until Annie put her quite at ease again by admiring a pet canary, the greatest treasure that Patience possessed, which hung in a cage by the window. Patience willingly related the history of her little bird, and from the bird's history Annie easily led her to speak of her own; and Patience told her all that she knew about her father and mother, and a great deal about herself, and her school-days, and her troubles. It certainly seemed, from her account, that she had a great deal to bear with from many of the children of the village. "But I wouldn't mind anything," said Patience, "if I was only straight and strong, like other girls. It's so hard that I should be lame and crooked, and not able to run about, or work, as they do!" Her lip trembled, and a few tears, in spite of her efforts to hide them, ran down her cheeks.