To be suddenly snatched out of the light and the warmth, away from the touch of warm fingers and the sight of dear faces! Ah, I dread it! I loathe the thought of it.

I hate it!" "And yet," mused Barry, "somehow I cannot forget that out there somewhere there is One, kindly, genial, true,--like my dad.

How good he has been to me--my dad, I mean, and that Other, too, has been good.
Somehow I think of them together.

Yes, I am grateful to Him." "Oh, God, you mean," said Paula, a little impatiently.
"Yes, to God.

He saved me to-day.