“Cousin, when the Shepherd told you about—about this shortcut to the High Places, did he say anything to you about a new name?”

Her cousin blushed a little and then said hesitatingly: “He said he would give me a new name while I wait here until my husband can go to the High Places too. But the name would be just between himself and me. It was written on a little white stone which he gave me when he planted the seed of love in my heart—a new name which no one knows save she that receives the stone.”

“No one knows!” exclaimed Grace and Glory with a little tremble in her voice. “Why, that is very queer, for he has written it on your forehead for all to see! Didn’t you know that?”

“No,” said her cousin wonderingly. “He gave me the white stone to carry in my heart, but he said nothing about a new name written on my forehead. What name is that, Grace and Glory?”

“Why, it is one of his own names,” said her cousin very softly. “He has marked you with the name, ‘Compassionate.’”

“That is a lovely, lovely name,” said the girl who had been known as Spiteful. “That exactly expresses his attitude to me. But I don’t think it is my name, Grace and Glory. I think it is just the mark of his own compassion and gentleness set there to show that I now belong to him.”

“Well,” said her cousin after a little pause, “I certainly cannot call you by the old name any longer, and the name on the white stone is a secret between you and him, so I think we really must call you by the lovely name which is written for all to see on your forehead.” Then she laughed a little and said, “Compassionate, I will sing you a song especially meant for attic dwellers.” And she sang this song:

O thou afflicted, tempest-tossed,

In sorrow’s pathway led,

Behold thy suffering is not lost,

Thou shalt be comforted.

In fairest colors thou shalt shine,

And precious jewels shall be thine.

Foundation stones of bright sapphires

Shall garnish all thy floors,

Thy ruby windows glow like fires,

And emeralds make thy doors,

And all thy walls and borders be

Of precious stones and porphyry.

Fear not! thy trust ends not in loss,

I’ll not put thee to shame,

There is a purpose in thy cross,

And no reproach and blame.

One day, with glad, exultant voice

Thou, child of sorrow, shalt rejoice.

Stretch forth the curtains of thy tent,

Lengthen the cords, spread wide,

Strengthen thy stakes with great content,

Break forth on every side.

Thine anguish is no barren birth,

Thou shalt have seed through all the earth.

(Isa. 54:11-12)

“What a lovely song,” exclaimed Compassionate, and her eyes were shining like the jewels of the song. “Where did you learn it, Grace and Glory?”