Have you ever caught the scent of the clover as you were whirled awayby the train beyond the city on a summer's day and sped through therich pasture lands? And do you remember how you stepped forth at thefirst halting-place to secure a sprig of the sweet, homely flower thathad spoken to you so eloquently in its own language, and how youpressed it in your book? Does not its perfume remain with you tillthis day? And every now and then a fragrance is wafted to our innersenses as we read some simple story which is to us as a breath of theclover, bringing us a message of sweetness and beauty, and goingstraight to our hearts with the power that belongs to the secrets whichlie hidden at our lifers core.
fretful weakness. It seems as if it had caught the glitter of the home, of the pewter covers, and the old silver teaspoons. It is bright. That is its characteristic. The broad brow is smooth, and the mouth, though showing the lines of suffering--what control these lines suggest!--is firm and content. The dark eyes look out from under their straight black brows with a friendly searching. "Come near," they say; "are you to be trusted?" and you know you are being found out. But they are kindly eyes and full of peace, with none of that look in them that shows when the heart is anxious or sore. The face, the mouth, the eyes, tell the same tale of a soul that has left its storms behind and has made the haven, though not without sign of the rough weather without.
There is no sick-room feeling here. The coverlet, the sheets, the night-dress, with frills at the breast and wrists--everything about Katie is sweet and fresh. Every morning of her life she is sponged and dressed and "freshed up a bit" by her mother'