The glory of her hair swept about her knees.

Her arms were empty; her hands locked; her head bent.

Above stood a little child, with hand just extended to open a great door, which was about to unclose and admit him.

He reached up his hand fearlessly ("and that is faith," thought Polly), and at the same time he glanced down at his weeping mother, as if to say, "Look up, mother dear! I am safely in." Just then the choir burst into a grand hymn which was new to Polly, and which came to her with the force of a personal message:-- "The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain; His blood-red banner streams afar-- Who follows in His train?
Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears his cross below, He follows in His train." Verse after verse rang in splendid strength through the solemn aisles of the church, ending with the lines:-- "O God, to us may strength be given To follow in His train!" Dr.George's voice came to Polly as it sounded that gray October afternoon beside the sea; "When the sun of one's happiness is set, one lights a candle called 'Patience,' and guides one's footsteps by that." She leaned her head on the pew in front of her, and breathed a prayer.
The minister was praying for the rest of the people, but she needed to utter her own thought just then.
"Father in heaven, I will try to follow; I have lighted my little candle, help me to keep it burning! I shall stumble often in the darkness, I know, for it was all so clear when I could walk by my darling mother's light, which was like the sun, so bright, so pure, so strong! Help me to keep the little candle steady, so that it may throw its beams farther and farther into the pathway that now looks so dim." * * * * * Polly sank to sleep that night in her white bed in the Pilgrim Chamber; and the name of the chamber was Peace indeed, for she had a smile on her lips,--a smile that looked as if the little candle had in truth been lighted in her soul, and was shining through her face as though it were a window..