The whistle shrilled up the narrow valley, echoing back and forth from the steep green hills that bounded it.,
“Papa went away to South America when I was eight. He told me I must be very wise and help mama to do what was right,—sometimes she does take my advice, you know. I’ve tried to be brave so God would bring her back to me; but my braveness isn’t very strong yet, or I wouldn’t cry so, would I?” she questioned, with a teary little smile.,
“St. Elmo’s lost, Ma,” wailed Maria. “We can’t find him and he’s wandered down the creek.”.
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