14
FOOTPRINTS ON THE SANDS.

Pe Qo
J rs ART

af ,
a are; * ELL, auntie, I don’t see that it matters one bit.

If Cecil and I like to play by ourselves, why
shouldn't we? It’s perfectly sorrid of that
Gracie Gladman to come poking her nose into
oe all our fun as she does. We don’t want her,
ge “QO and we won’t have her, so there!”

“Come here, Ethel,” said Auntie Meg. Ethel obeyed
unwillingly. ‘Suppose you were to go back to the shore
where you played this morning, do you think you could find
on the sand any of the prints of your shoes?” ‘“ Why,
auntie, what a funny question! Of course not! The tide
has washed them away hours ago! Besides, what has that
to do with Gracie Gladman?” “Just this, my hasty little
maiden ; there are other sands than those of the sea—sands
over which no tidal waters ever roll. Sands of time they
_ are, and the footprints we make on them will remain to tell
how we have walked, till the great sea of eternity washes
-them away. When poor Gracie, who has felt so unhappy
since her little sister died, came and asked to join your play,
and you coldly turned away, what kind of footprints did you
leave behind? Oh, my bairnies, none of us can afford to
make such accusing footmarks. Go to Gracie in the morning,
and say you are sorry. Will you?” From the folds of
auntie’s dress two muffled voices whispered “Yes”; and
then, after kissing each bowed head, auntie sent the children
to bed. :

The next day Cecil and Ethel wandered again on the
sands. Presently they met Gracie, who readily forgave them,
and in a little while they were the best of friends.