"My dear Ellen in the faithful, patient, self-denying performance of every duty as it comes to hand 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.' "
"It is very little that I can do," said Ellen.
"Perhaps more than you think but never mind that. All are not great stars in the church; you may be only a little rushlight see you burn well."
"I remember," said Ellen, musing, "Mamma once told me, when I was going somewhere, that people would think strangely of her if I didn't behave well."
"Certainly. Why, Ellen, I formed an opinion of her very soon after I saw you."
"Did you?" said Ellen, with a wonderfully brightened face "what was it? was it good? ah! do tell me!"
"I am not quite sure of the wisdom of that," said Alice, smiling: "you might take home the praise that is justly her right and not yours."
"Oh no, indeed," said Ellen; "I had rather she should have it than I. Please tell me what you thought of her, dear Alice I know it was good, at any rate."
"Well, I will tell you," said Alice, "at all risks. I thought your mother was a lady, from the honourable notions she had given you; and, from your ready obedience to her, which was evidently the obedience of love, I judged she had been a good mother in the true sense of the term. I thought she must be a refined and cultivated person, from the manner of your speech and behaviour; and I was sure she was a Christian, because she had taught you the truth, and evidently had tried to lead you in it."
The quivering face of delight with which Ellen began to listen gave way, long before Alice had done, to a burst of tears.