so hard to make a bow—'a real bow to shoot with,' as he called it? He failed in every effort, until at last he grew discouraged, and cried bitterly, refusing to be comforted. Then you came, took the wood and the knife from his hand, and made the bow. I shall never forget his bright glad face as he stood beside you, watching while you worked. He was so proud of your strength and skill, and your success in doing what he could not do; and when the bow was finished, he bore it off triumphantly, to show every one in the settlement how well his father made it for him. Ivan, our child's trust and joy have been a parable for me to-night. I seem to see him for whom our Easter festival is turned into mourning, standing thus by the side of Christ, in full, restful, glad content. What matter if the work dropped unfinished from his own hand? He no longer heeds it now. It is Christ's work he is watching. He sees Him preparing the true reign of peace and righteousness, the grand, final victory of right over wrong, good over evil. He is satisfied."
Ivan's sad face brightened a little. "You bring me comfort, Clémence," he said. "I begin to see that even failures—"
"If failures after all they were, which I doubt," Clémence interrupted. "Perhaps the seeds he has been sowing will spring up in flower and fruit when not we alone, but our children too, have gone to join him in the resting-place within the veil. Indeed I think no real failure possible to the child of God, except failure in trusting him."
"And there he did not fail," Ivan said. After a pause he added, "Yes, there he won the victory;—and yet Christ's victory is more to him than his own."
"As his glory was ever more to thee than thine, Ivan."
A patter of little feet and a sound of childish voices broke in upon their quiet talk. There was a loud shrill burst of laughter from the baby lips of Henri, checked by low words from Alexander. "Hush! we must not laugh loud—not this morning."
