"Come, let us go, and I will fill your pail." "I want no milk.

Good-bye! You will not see me again till Saturday." Late that night, when every one else had gone to bed, the yellow-haired little woman stood alone in the kitchen.

She had come to fill the kettle for the next morning's coffee, and now stood before the fire.

The warm reflection lit the grave old-womanish little face, that was so unusually thoughtful this evening.
"Better than all the world; better than everything; he loves me better than everything!" She said the words aloud, as if they were more easy to believe if she spoke them so.

She had given out so much love in her little life, and had got none of it back with interest.