1 Over the path of the poor orphan child.
2 He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still.
3 I should fear even to cross his path now: my view must be hateful to him.
4 Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up the field to the wicket.
5 When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up the path to the porch.
6 I was just leaving the stile; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by.
7 It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not stir; her light step came tripping down the path.
8 It was also accompanied by her that I had, nearly nine years ago, walked down the path I was now ascending.
9 They were both more accomplished and better read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in the path of knowledge they had trodden before me.
10 He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from the narrow path.
11 If a breath of air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path.
12 The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks were due; not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my further path, and the power of meriting the kindness which seemed so frankly offered me before it was earned.