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CHAPTER IV.

Getting Better.

SOW often little Rose Clare said those words before she could say, "I am quite well," I could not count up for you. It was long before she seemed her former self, long before she could play, and study, and walk, and drive; but she made a very patient invalid, and to every inquiry would answer,

I am getting better."

Have you ever had sickness in your home, little folks? Have you ever had a chance of noticing the difference it makes when the illness is borne with courage and patience?

I have known quite a young child bear pain, and weariness, and restless nights and days, with scarce a murmur, receiving every care and kindness sweetly and gratefully. And I have known quite a big boy or girl fuss, and

fret, and grumble over a little ailment, to the misery of the entire household. Which would you be, I wonder, a "good" or a "bad" invalid?

The reward of White Rose's patience came at last. She was well, and strong, and straight as before her fall; the bruises were all things of the past; an awkward cut upon her forehead was healed now, and the scar was almost hidden by her fair thick hair. She was just the same as before to the eye; but oh, so changed, so different in God's sight.

Lessons such as young folks commonly learn had been all put aside during those weeks she spent upstairs. I daresay some geography, and grammar, and French verbs had slipped out of her memory; but she had been taught still more useful needful lessons -those which God teaches best when He gets us alone with Him, and there is little to shut out the whispers of His voice.

At the beginning of Rose Clare's illness, her mother had brought a little Testament in her hand each morning, and read from it a few verses, hoping that her child might begin to take some heed of serious things; nor did she hope in vain. It did not happen on one

special day, or in my sking manner. I think it was almost consecusiy that our White Rose began to feel a pleasure in the morning reading, began to think of God with love, and to believe that because Christ died for her, every one of her sins would be wasted away and fully forgiven. And with this boge and belief she seemed to understand better how-though only a child little more than nine years old—very much and how seriously she had offended God. The tears would often spring into her eyes as she lay listening to the sweet story of Christ's life and death. Oh! how kind He had been to every one, how forgiving, how patient; and she had never tried at all to be like Him.

Then, too, His death-that cruel painful death, when He seemed left alone with no one to comfort Him-it was borne for her, Rose Clare. Yes, as certainly as if no one else had ever needed a Saviour; and though she knew all about it when she was but little more than a baby, it was only now she was lying still upon her bed that she began to think at all about Christ, and love Him for what He had done.

The fruit of this was quickly seen in the

patience with which she bore her weakness; who-unless God helped-could keep from murmuring at being confined in a sick room, while the bright summer days were slipping by? What little girl among you—unless God helped her could take disagreeable medicines without grumbling at all, and bear to be deprived of fun and frolic, of picnics and haymaking parties, to which brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends were invited?

But still more good fruit came from Rose Clare's resolves, and prayers, and holy desires, when she got quite well again; and this was an excellent sign, for it has often been said that people forget in health all they have promised God in sickness, and returning to their usual way of life, they are soon as careless and prayerless as ever they were before.

It is not difficult to see that when this is the case, they have not really been in earnest; perhaps pain or the fear of death brought some grave thoughts, some good wishes; but they were not solid, not strong enough to endure.

Ah, whatever we wish to be successful in, it is certain that earnestness is required; once quite sure that what we aim at is worth effort

and struggle, we set to work to secure it. If to be in earnest is so necessary in worldly things, it is doubly necessary in the service of God; so, should any boy or girl whose eyes fall upon these pages say, "I did begin, but it was no use," it is certain that the failure of the effort had been from want of earnestness.

White Rose happily was very much in earnest when in the silence of her sick room she made so many promises to God; when she began again to mix with her family and friends, they soon noticed some change in her, and said, "How different she is, how unselfish, how gentle!" and so grew convinced that her illness had been sent as a blessing, just as the text tell us, "All things work together for good to them that love God."

The first day of lessons in the familiar schoolroom with Miss Maddox was a happy day to the "Two Roses;" not a cloud came over either face, not a word was spoken which could have been thought hasty or unkind,it was quite delightful to see how each little girl sought to put the other's wishes before her own, and practise a sweet spirit of self-denial.

The second day passed off quite as smoothly, the third was very calm, on the fourth morning