without giving us something else to make up for it. You think I sit in the dark always; but it isn't dark, Nannie; it's all light—a light brighter than the sun: it's the light of heaven; I see it constantly. It isn't only those that live in heaven that can say they have no need of the sun or moon, for the Lamb is their light: I can say it too.—Yes," she went on, more to herself than Nannie,—"yes, dear Saviour, thou art my light."

Nannie sat looking wonderingly at the wrinkled old face, so happy and peaceful, and at the withered hands folded so quietly, and thought she did not understand it then. Many years after, when she too was old, did she remember that peaceful face and those folded hands, and say in the midst of trial and sorrow,—

"Yes, dear Saviour, thou art my light!"

"I have thought sometimes," grannie went on, "that heaven will be pleasanter to me, for not seeing here. Think how new it will all be there! People that have always had their sight only see something different when they go to heaven; but I haven't seen anything for ten years. Just think what it will be to me to see those beautiful things you read about!"

"What are they, Nannie?"

Nannie said, "Golden streets, gates of pearl, the tree of life, the wall of jasper. I don't remember any more."

"And Jesus, Nannie; you don't forget him? Think of these poor blind eyes, that have seen nothing for so long, opening at last upon his face! I love to think of those blind people Jesus healed, and think that he was the first thing they saw."

Then Nannie read on: "Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful. Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee."

Just as she finished, there was a knock at the door; and who should it be but Dr. Merry, with two pies for grannie, and the horse and gig to take Nannie home. And soon Nannie was lying on the couch by the bright dining-room fire, while mother, and Mary, and Belle, and Charlie all crowded round, asking how she felt.

"Oh, well enough," said Nannie, as sister Mary took off the warm hood, and kissed the dear face inside of it. "I hope it will stop aching in time for me to go to church."

"To church!" said Dr. Merry, looking up from his book; "no church for Nannie to-day."

Nannie said nothing, but turned her head away to hide the tears, while sister Mary, stooping down and kissing her, said, "Never mind; you couldn't walk there, you know."

Afterwards, when no one was in the room except her father, she reached over to the table for the Bible, and found the psalm they had read that morning. Pointing with her finger to the last two verses, she said, "Father, please read that."

Dr. Merry laid down his paper, and coming over to her couch, he read: "I will pay my vows unto the Lord now in the presence of all his people, in the courts of the Lord's house, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem. Praise ye the Lord!"—"Well what of that?" he said, looking up, though the tears stood in his eyes, as he watched the little face turned so wistfully toward him.

"I want to go to church so much, father," she said, as she saw he understood her.

"But, Nannie, I don't think David went to church when he couldn't walk."

"He might have been carried," said Nannie, driving back the tears that wanted to come.

"Perhaps he was," said her father; "and so might you be, if father thought it right."

"Would it hurt me, father?"

"I don't know that it would. It might, though; so I think you had better not try. You must be patient, and remember what I've told you, that God sends all these little trials. Do you understand me?"

"I think I do."

"I like to see my little daughter love God's house, but I like to see her bear it patiently when she can't go there."

"I will try," said Nannie, while she kept saying "No!" to the tears as fast as they came. Every little while, however, one wouldn't mind, and would jump over the edge and run