Sarah was coming from the mill. It was a clear, frosty night, and she saw the bright blaze of the cottage fire glinting cheerfully through the darkness. She was thinking of Steve, thinking of him tossing on the stormy Atlantic, and yet thinking of him with a glad and grateful heart. Last year at that very time they had been in such poverty and anxiety. Steve's life then seemed to be altogether waste material. He had almost slipped beyond even her ever-green hope. Oh, how good God had been to him! When every one else's love and patience had been worn out, God's was still fresh. "His loving-kindness faileth not"—the words were on her lips when the village postman touched her.
"Here's a letter for thy folks, Sarah, an American letter. Happen there'll be good news in it."
"Happen there will, Joe. Good news comes to them as look and hope for it, and our Joyce says she has hed a feeling like it." She took the letter and hurried home, and gave it into Joyce's hand with a kiss. In a few moments she heard Joyce calling her in an excited manner, and she hurried down-stairs.
"Look thee here, Sarah. I hev gotten a
