She goes with downcast look about her home, weeping whenever her daughter's name is mentioned, and complains of God's hardness and unkindness in taking away her child.

She is bent down with her eyes to the earth, and sees only the clods and the dust and the grave's gloom, and sees not the blue sky, the bright stars, and the sweet face of the Father.

So long has she now been thus bowed down in the habit of sadness and grieving, that she can in no wise lift herself up.
Since I began to write this chapter I have had a long talk with one whose life is sorely bent.

Ten years since I first knew her as a bright and happy young girl, her face sunny in the light of God's love.
Trouble came into her life in many forms.

Her own father proved unworthy, failing in all the sacred duties of affection toward his child.