The listeners were very quiet for some minutes, then Ralph spoke: "I don't see my verse fitting in anywhere, Grandma?"
"But it did," said Grandma, nodding her head. "I was sick all that summer. The shock, they said, was too much for me; I couldn't walk a step for a long time. I used to sit in a big chair out of doors, with Bose by my side; he was the greatest friend I had. No more growls for me; and he wouldn't growl at anybody I told him not to.
"One day Rob Carleton and his sister stopped at the gate to visit with me; they were from the same city where we lived; but I didn't know them much at home. Rob began to tell me how queer he thought it was that that dog should have come after me, when he had always before acted as though he hated children; and something whispered to me to tell him about my little miracle. I didn't quite want to. I was afraid he might laugh at me; but at last I mustered up courage, and told him the whole story. He didn't laugh at all; but he didn't say much of anything, and by and by went away. They left the shore the next day; and I did not see that boy again for five years; and then, don't you think he told me that ever since I told him about my miracle, he couldn't get away from the thought of such things, and at last it led him to decide to belong to Jesus, and he led his little sister May in the same direction! Why, you children have often heard me speak of Doctor Carleton, the missionary in India? He's the very same! And May is a minister's wife in Kansas. Don't you see your verse, Ralph? 'The two disciples heard Him speak, and they followed Jesus.' Rob and May weren't disciples yet, but the dear Lord knew they were going to be; and he let me tell about my little miracle, and used it to help them decide to follow him."
One day when Susie was visiting her great-aunt, she found in one of her old books an excellent rule. It was this: "Aim to make courtesies not an article of dress to put off and on, but a part of ourselves—something that is always with us."
BOB'S FIRST PRAYER.
ONE summer they carried May Vinton to a quiet place by the sea. From the windows of her room she could watch the unceasing roll of the waves, she could mark the incoming and outgoing tide; she grew to love the sea and did not seem to miss the coming and going of friends which she enjoyed so much in her own home. But she missed opportunities for helping others. At least she did at first, but she was not long in finding some one who needed her. It was the boy from the fisherman's little cottage whose acquaintance she first made. He came every morning with fish for her breakfast, and May, calling to him as he passed her window with his basket, soon found out that he lived in the little low-roofed building which she could just see quite a long way down the shore; and she found out that there were several children in the family and that the father went out every day in a boat after fish. She gathered that while they were not suffering for food and clothes, they were still quite poor, and that the children had never been to school and were very ignorant of the knowledge gained from books. The boy could tell her all about the fishing business, about the ways of the old ocean, he knew where to look for the prettiest shells and the finest seaweed. He could tell what the winds and the shifting clouds portended as to the weather, but not a letter of the alphabet did he know.